The Horse
by Elsa2
Summary: Looking after a Muggle animal should be easy compared to saving Hogwarts from Voldemort. Harry and Draco might disagree with that. Featuring Luna, Marauders, peppermints and, of course, a tall, black, badtempered horse named Simon.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Hogwarts et alia belong to JK Rowling and Warner. Not me. Me make no money here. Me promise.

Summary: Voldemort is on the rise and Hogwarts has been sealed off against him. When's a better time to get a new pet?

Rated M for future gore and bad for books 1 – 4. Probably a few for book 5 even though it's AU from the end of 4th year, but you can consider this a definite AU 6th year for Harry.

WARNING! This fiction is pure whimsy and written as escape from my original stuff (which tends to go badly at times). While there is a Beginning, a Middle, and an End, the Middle is going to be quite waffly. If you don't like waffle (and especially if you don't like horses!) then Stop Reading Now!

ooOOoo

The Horse

To come

Harry Potter ducked as another branch tried to behead him. There were Death Eaters chasing him. He was on a runaway horse. Draco Malfoy was flying alongside on a broom, shouting advice and encouragement. Only one of these was normal, and that was the bit where Harry was being chased by Death Eaters.

"Grab the reins, you idiot! And keep your heels down!" Harry supposed that was encouragement. Coming from a Malfoy it probably was. Grimly, he focussed on the strap of leather half-way up the galloping horse's neck. Now if only he could let go of the saddle for half a second to pick up the reins, maybe he could regain some control here…

"Wall!" shouted Malfoy.

Shit. It _was_ a wall. A high one built out of shale, too. Harry tightened his grip on the saddle and prayed the stupid horse would find enough sense to stop.

Of course not.

The utterly, utterly, bloody animal _did_ shorten its strides on the approach, managing to come down from the flat-out gallop to a more controlled canter, but when the black ears that had been back listening for their pursuers pricked forward Harry knew he was in trouble.

The head lowered as the back arched slightly, the horse bunching up and getting its feet well underneath it, then the powerful hindquarters launched horse and rider into the air.

At the top of the arc Harry caught his breath and looked down. In a magical silence the wall flew beneath them, and for a moment they were level with Malfoy on his broom, who grinned encouragement. And in that split second Harry thought: Merlin, I'm doing this! I'm really going to –

Then they came down.

The horse pecked so badly on landing it nearly tripped on its own nose, and for a moment Harry wondered if some Death Eater had managed to slice its head off with a well-aimed hex. Then it didn't matter, because he had lost his grip on the pommel and was sliding down the satiny black shoulder, down to the ground where hooves shod with silver sliced the turf and –

The last thing Harry saw was a galaxy of stars exploding out from behind his eyes.

ooOOoo

Chapter 1: Blockade

The Forbidden Forest rocked with explosions. From Gryffindor Tower it sounded like Muggles blasting with dynamite, but the three students watching from the window could see the trees thrashing as if a gale were blowing over them. Lights the wrong colours for lightning could be intermittently seen through the weaving black shadows, speeding through the night and bursting on their targets. Occasionally, warped hexes howled out of the shadowy forest, wailing like the damned before crashing into the wards of Hogwarts, sending up sheets of flame like the Northern Lights that danced and limned the trembling stone towers of the castle.

"They'll be okay," Hermione said as a particularly nasty shade of green flickered for a moment. The three turned away from the view and settled on the floor with their backs to the window. "They're all very experienced in fighting the Dark Arts."

"Yeah," Ron added. "And having Mad-Eye Moody and a dozen Aurors can't hurt their cause."

Harry nodded. He would say they were okay when he saw everyone come back safely. Already little Professor Flitwick the Charms teacher had been brought back on a stretcher. Trelawney had limped in under her own steam (probably trying to divine the stars she saw spinning around her head), and McGonagall had been glimpsed in her cat Animagus form streaking back and forth from the castle to deliver messages and retrieve more supplies for the fighters. Or so Harry, Hermione, and Ron guessed – on Hermione's suggestion they'd tried to enchant a scroll to give them some sort of idea of what was going on out in the Forest. It was a spell Hermione had come across briefly in _Muggles – Fact or Fiction?_ and was inspired by the Muggle phenomenon of TV reporting in war zones.

_"Seyennennos!"_ But it hadn't worked very well. Maybe her wand-work was off, Hermione had wondered, or maybe the parchment was the wrong sort. The scroll _had_ given them a vague idea of what a few of the people out there were doing, but it was also telling them the overnight low temperature in Hogsmeade and how the price of Manticore skin had fallen now that the market had gone Minotaurish.

"Shares in Gringotts are at a high," Ron read out. "Typical. Dad always says that when people go to war the price of gold goes up."

Hermione looked out the window again. "Are we at war?"

"If not that then it's something pretty close," Harry said. It was the first time he'd spoken in nearly an hour. He knew it was stupid to wish for it, but he wanted to be out there with the defenders of Hogwarts, not locked up in Gryffindor Tower with the other students.

He stood up to look out the window again. Out there were all the people he loved (apart from Ron and Hermione, and he realised he should be thankful for that small mercy). Even Hagrid was fighting, but it had taken a great deal of persuasion to convince him that his beloved Blast-ended Skrewts were just as useful in combating Death Eaters as for teaching children. It was full moon, and somewhere in the bubbling mayhem a werewolf, bloodlust under control thanks to the Wolfsbane Potion, would be fighting side-by side with a big black dog. Sirius Black the escaped convict couldn't be seen even now, but Snuffles was free to hunt down Death Eaters. Harry wished he was, too.

"Oh – it's working again!" Hermione squeaked. "Let's see… Dumbledore is doing well… He's just defeated a Manticore – that'll help Snape stock up on his stores even if it's too expensive to buy… Hey – Aragog is helping! Well, sort of," she amended. "Some Death Eaters fell into a web and now they're… ugh."

"Cool," Ron breathed. "Midnight snack for Aragog! Never thought I'd be cheering for a giant spider."

"How are Sirius and Remus doing?" Harry asked, still looking out the window. He'd seen the flash of blue accompanied by the brilliant diving flare that could only be Fawkes the phoenix when Dumbledore killed the Manticore. Remus and Sirius wouldn't be using wands: they would be relying on teeth, stealth and ferocity.

"Um…" There was a tapping noise that sounded like Hermione hitting the parchment with her wand. "Let's see… Land speculation in Hogsmeade rife with – nope … Minister of Magic on fact-finding tour – oh, for Heaven's sake… as if he could find a fact if it was right under his nose… that's a big, fat nope, then… Ah-ha! They're both doing fine. Still together and keeping an eye on each other as well as on Dumbledore and… oh, McGonagall's back in the fray. And – hang on, we're back with Aragog… eeyew. What's it say? Oh! Looks like Snape was the one who lured them into that web."

"Might've known he'd be best buddies with giant spiders," Ron grumbled, but he was studying the enchanted parchment just as eagerly as Hermione. "Uh-oh," he added cheerfully, "he's in a fire-fight with Avery. Looks like he's got Avery dealt with, though – oh…"

Ron's voice had got very serious and Harry half-turned from the window. "What?"

"Lucius Malfoy at six o'clock," Ron said. "Snape'll have seen him, though."

Harry thought it likely. He also wondered on the likelihood of his not being the only one who wanted to be out there. Down in the Dungeons Draco Malfoy must be holding court with his sycophantic little followers, complaining how Snape had locked them all in and not let them out to help like the good little Death Eater spawn they were.

Had Draco had any idea whose side Snape was really on before tonight? If he had, odds were Snape would have been poisoned by now. Malfoy would have found some way of slipping something into one of Snape's drinks. Head of House or no, Draco was a Malfoy and that carried certain responsibilities. Like maiming and killing, Harry thought, looking out over the trees as a particularly ugly pus-yellow spell could be seen briefly bursting and then sucking inwards in a way that implied that it had just found its target.

"Oh, Merlin," breathed Hermione.

"What?" When neither of his friends answered, Harry crouched back down next to them again and peered at the parchment. It had gone on to read that the weather in Istanbul at this time of the year was remarkably fine and showed promise for the first Middle Eastern Quidditch match of the season. "Well? Is it Sirius?"

Hermione shook her head, her bushy brown hair flying out around her face. Something gleamed on her cheek.

"It must be wrong," Ron said. He was very white under the freckles. "That _can't _be right!"

"What?!"

"It's Snape," Hermione sniffed. "He didn't see Lucius Malfoy. He got him with… I didn't quite see what the spell was." She hit the parchment with her wand and demanded, "Show us the names of the active combatants!"

Possibly the parchment had been enchanted with a sense of self-preservation, because for once it obeyed instantly.

Harry scanned it rapidly, finding the names of all the defenders of Hogwarts on it save one: Severus Snape. Lucius Malfoy was still there, fighting one of Aragog's granddaughters.

"Maybe he Disapparated," Ron said softly. "It won't show us the name of anyone who's inside Hogwarts."

"You can't Apparate inside Hogwarts," Harry muttered, but he got out his Marauders Map just in case. It showed Trelawney, Pince, Pomfrey and Flitwick, but not Snape.

"We just have to wait and see when it's over," Hermione said practically, if in a quiet voice and more for her own comfort, Harry suspected. For Hermione a teacher was second only to God and possibly just as omnipotent.

ooOOoo

They waited until it was over.

None of the students had been able to sleep anyway, so they were herded along to the Great Hall by the prefects for an early breakfast.

The teachers filed in from a side door. Dumbledore, looking as old as his years, helped little Professor Flitwick up to the High Table. McGonagall's robes were slightly scorched and her hat had lost its point, but her back was ramrod-straight and her sharp eyes as watchful as ever as they swept over the student body, checking for absences.

There was only one absence that dawn.

Professor Severus Snape's chair stood empty.

Harry looked to see how the Slytherins were taking it. Crabbe and Goyle appeared smug, as did Susan Avery.

Draco Malfoy sat between his thuggish bookends with his face a carefully schooled blank. With that determined lack of expression he looked a great deal like his father.

There were cheers as the teachers announced that Voldemort's latest attack had been successfully deflected, although Hogwarts was still blockaded from the rest of the world. There was a strange misty wall partially formed in the Forest and surrounding the larger Hogwarts area, and students were strictly forbidden from going anywhere near it until the staff had better ascertained its nature. Although owls were able to get in and out (and students were urged to write to their parents to let them know they were safe – more cheers, especially from the younger ones who were running out of sweets) the floo system was down. Somehow Voldemort had taken control of the floo system and no-one knew just how. There were no cheers when it was announced that Professor Snape was still missing, although if some of the prefects hadn't been quick with those younger students in their Houses there might have been.

As for Harry, he didn't know what to feel.

ooOOoo

Lessons had come and gone as normal. Well, almost as normal. Remus Lupin (pale after the full moon) had taken over the Potions classroom in lieu of Snape. Harry had expected something of an outburst from the Slytherins at the indignity of having their Head of House replaced by a werewolf, but not a whisper.

Even Draco hadn't bothered invoking his father's name. In fact he had been remarkably silent throughout the day. This, in Harry's experience, meant that the blond Slytherin was brewing up trouble. Harry kept a watchful eye on his rival. But the only time Draco showed any trace of emotion was at dinner when the Malfoy eagle owl arrived with a letter for him. Harry could only presume it contained good news from his father.

Maybe not. Draco went even paler than usual before he carefully folded the letter back up and slipped it into an inside pocket of his robes.

Maybe Lucius hadn't got off so lightly in his fight with Snape. Harry could only hope so. Every time he closed his eyes he saw a sickly pus-yellow light in the darkness. He glared at Malfoy, who either didn't notice or didn't care.

Hermione noticed. "What is it today?" she whispered over her plate of vegetables (Hermione was vegetarian this year).

"Malfoy," Harry muttered back, stabbing a chicken leg viciously with his fork. "You'd think he'd be a bit unhappy that the only teacher in Hogwarts who ever liked him is gone."

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe he is. You're not going to know unless you ask him. Even then… well. Truth's not exactly high on his list of priorities. It's doubtful he knows what it is, let alone values it." She sighed and pushed her plate away.

"Not hungry?"

"No," she replied. "You?"

Harry shook his head.

"Maybe he's still alive. Snape's a survivor." Hermione spoke quietly, as if afraid that showing concern for Snape was something to be ashamed of. Maybe in Gryffindor it was. Further down the table some of the first and second years could be heard whispering their hopes that Potions classes would be cancelled if Snape was dead.

Neville Longbottom, of all people, glared them into silence.

"Yeah. But if he is, then why's no-one looking for him?" said Harry.

Hermione had no answer to that. Soon she announced to no-one in particular that she had some study to do and left for Gryffindor Tower.

Harry went to the library instead, where if he appeared to be busy over his books he could be sure of no-one disturbing him. He didn't leave until Madam Pince shooed him out at closing time.

ooOOoo

The castle felt odd for no reason Harry could describe. Unsettled. And by more than the threat of the Death Eaters who had stopped anyone coming in or out of Hogwarts grounds or the mysterious pearly grey barrier solidifying just beyond the gates which raised the hair on the back of the neck of anyone who went near it. It was as if the stones of the castle knew that one of their inhabitants had vanished. He went back to his dorm and took his Invisibility Cloak out of his trunk and, after telling Ron that he was going to go for a wander, mooched back out into the castle again.

He was just considering going back up to his bed when he heard soft footsteps. They were heading along a corridor that led to a side-door out of the castle.

Already suspicious, Harry became even more so when he recognised the sleek blond head. Draco Malfoy. Off to open up the wards for his father, was he?

Too angry to think about going and getting help, Harry followed Malfoy out into the night.

ooOOoo


	2. chapter 2

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Hogwarts et alia belong to JK Rowling and Warner. Not me. Me make no money here. Me promise.

Summary: Voldemort is on the rise and Hogwarts has been sealed off against him. When's a better time to get a new pet?

Rated M for future gore and bad for books 1 – 4. Probably a few for book 5 even though it's AU from the end of 4th year, but you can consider this a definite AU 6th year for Harry.

WARNING! This fiction is pure whimsy and written as escape from my original stuff (which tends to go badly at times). While there is a Beginning, a Middle, and an End, the Middle is going to be quite waffly. If you don't like waffle (and especially if you don't like horses!) then Stop Reading Now!

ooOOoo

Chapter 2: Two Seekers Don't Find a Snitch  
  
Draco headed towards the Quidditch pitch, wand out and ready. Under the shelter of his Invisibility Cloak, Harry decided he had a point, and got out his own wand, ready to hex Malfoy into next Tuesday as soon as the Slytherin showed the first sign of betraying Hogwarts.

But if Malfoy was going to betray Hogwarts then Harry wasn't sure how the other boy intended to do so. Instead of heading towards the gates and the road to Hogsmeade, or even the lake, he made a beeline past Hagrid's hut and plunged into the Forbidden Forest.

Taking a deep breath, Harry followed.

He walked as quietly as he could. The Slytherin was jumpy, turning and pointing his wand towards any strange noise he heard. But given that this was the Forbidden Forest and the night-life here was more active than in many major cities, Harry wondered if Malfoy would wear himself out so badly looking for danger that when danger finally found him Malfoy would be an easy meal. Twice now, Draco had sent leg-locker hexes in Harry's direction when Harry had accidentally stood on twigs that snapped. Luckily the spells had gone wide, but Malfoy was so twitchy that Harry was seriously wondering if the blond boy had finally snapped under all the pressure of being the heir to the Prince of Darkness.

Once they came across a centaur, or a centaur came across them. It was hard to tell with centaurs.

"Excuse me, sir. Have you seen a wizard out here tonight?" the Slytherin asked, managing to remember to be polite despite the anxiety evident in his voice.

The centaur shuffled his hooves and said, "You are the only human I have seen since my return to the Forest, Hogwarts Student. The planets are inauspicious for searches tonight. Werewolves are also returning. You, too, should return to your place of safety."

Malfoy muttered something inaudible, then apologised to the centaur, who accepted the apology solemnly.

"If you will not return willingly then I hope for your safe if unwilling return."

Draco backed away, wand raised.

The centaur spread out his huge hands. "Nay, wizard child. I will not presume to interfere in your affairs. Your safety belongs to you and your elders."

Malfoy muttered something else Harry couldn't hear and bowed jerkily to the centaur. In turn the centaur bowed his head once before turning and trotting away through the trees.

Then he was off again, appearing slightly less nervous this time despite the centaur's warning of werewolves. To Harry, he seemed to be becoming more and more frustrated.

Harry was becoming more and more unnerved. He was following Draco, which was freaky enough, and – he could have sworn – something was following _him. _He hoped it was Remus, then remembered that Snape was gone and it was entirely possible that Remus hadn't had enough of the Wolfsbane potion to make him safe.

Then he followed Malfoy to the lip of a hollow and froze in horror.

No way could he be planning on going into _there!?!_

Draco didn't. He stopped at the top of the slope instead and shouted: "Hey! Anybody out here?"

Harry nearly shouted back, _Yes, you great idiot. Now _shut up_ before anyone else hears you!_

Too late. There was a rustle and up from the hollow came an eight-legged shape from nightmare. Its exoskeleton glittered in places and its mandibles clicked. Draco kept his wand trained on it. Well, that was something, anyway. Harry suddenly remembered the Death Eater that Snape had trapped in the giant spider web. Had Lucius Malfoy gone so insane that he'd risk his heir to find a missing Death Eater?

Out of the spider's noises came words. Harry strained his ears to hear them, but couldn't make anything out beyond the clicking susurration. Draco was also speaking too quietly. Harry crept closer to hear what they were saying.

By the tense angle of his shoulders, Draco was upset with what the spider had to say. He turned to leave.

That was when the spider moved.

The young wizard was fast with the spell he threw. Almost fast enough.

Almost.

The spider knocked him down and tried to bite him. Draco kicked out and managed to knock the spider over. Another kick broke one of its legs. For a moment it looked like Draco would win.

And then the shadows moved and divided and there were two spiders.

Harry slipped out from under the cloak and threw the first spell he could think of: _"Expelliarmus!"_

The second spider shot backwards, knocking the first with it. There was the rattle of leaves and pebbles as the two arachnids tumbled down the slope.

Harry darted forwards and grabbed Draco by the collar of his robes. "Come on!" he hissed.

Draco jumped to his feet and shoved Harry away. The moon had risen and glinted off the Slytherin's bared teeth. Harry doubted it was because Malfoy was smiling. His normally sleek hair was falling over his face and he was doing a bad job of hiding how terrified he was.

"Potter, you great waste of space – what the hell are you doing here?"

"Trying not to die," Harry retorted, knowing they had to get away from the spiders' area of the Forest before the pair of spiders called out all their friends and relatives for the midnight snack. He tried to grab Draco again. "Come _on_, Malfoy."

The Slytherin shook him off. "Go on, yourself," he snarled. "And mind your own bloody business."

"Fine," Harry snapped. "But my business is making sure that you don't rescue any surviving Death Eaters."

Draco's eyes went wide, then narrowed with scorn. "Is _that_ what you… oh, for Merlin's sake, Potter, grow another brain cell some day, why don't you? The one you've got is lonely."

"The one I've got is telling me that if we stay here any longer we're going to be killed by all the spiders that come swarming up from down there."

Draco sneered. "Know a lot about spiders all of a sudden, do you, Potter?"

"Just these ones," Harry said evenly. "I've only come across them once and I don't want to repeat the experience." He turned and started jogging away. If that idiot wanted to get himself killed, then fine. Harry wasn't some sort of suicide counsellor. There was a brief pause from behind him and then the rustle of footsteps through the groundcover.

Harry kept his wand ready for spider attacks. And because he had Draco Malfoy at his back.

ooOOoo

The attack came from above.

A spell thrown by Draco caught the spider and spun it away before it could decapitate Harry. Harry turned to see the other boy scanning the trees for more spiders. "Thanks," Harry said.

Draco glared at him. He opened his mouth and that was when the spider jumped on him.

Harry's spell missed, and if Draco hadn't been so quick to kick out again the spider might have bitten his leg off. Its mandibles sliced into the muscle of his calf.

"Aah!" Draco grabbed at the wound in his leg that was pumping blood.

Blood that would have practically every creature in the forest salivating.

Harry threw another spell before the spider could pounce again – he missed.

The spider crouched behind a tree, sheltered for the moment. Its eight feet rustled in the leaves as it considered its next move and its mandibles chittered, eager for more blood.

Harry tried to edge into a better position to fire off a spell.

He was too slow.

The spider jumped.

Something big, black and angry bolted out from the trees. It swerved so close to Harry that the boy had to dive down to the ground to avoid being trampled, and then it charged at the spider. It struck out with its front legs and crushed the carapace of the spider in the first blow. The spider screeched and spun around, as did its attacker, hammering the spider with a powerful kick from its back hooves.

The arachnid crumpled, twitching.

Quickly Harry shoved himself back up on his hands and knees and spat out a twig.

The moon came out from behind clouds and showed their saviour.

It was tall, jet black, and had its ears flat back with fury. It stamped its feet as it stood over Draco (who was sensibly curled up and lying still), turning its head to survey the Forest out of eyes as black as its coat.

It was a horse.

The sight of such an ordinary, Muggle animal in the Forbidden Forest temporarily struck Harry dumb. He swallowed. "Malfoy?" he whispered.

"Yeah," Draco's voice whispered back. "What is it?"

"It's a horse," Harry said, and felt stupid. But a horse was so wrong here.

The horse arched its neck so that it could look down its long nose at the boy at its feet. Draco stared back up at it wide-eyed. "Do you think it eats human flesh?"

"If that's the case then you're probably safe," Harry said, and regretted it. Malfoy was lying very still but the blood oozed out of his leg in a thick stream that stained the forest floor. "Your leg…"

"Tell me something I don't know." Draco rolled over, carefully not making any sudden moves. "Ouch," he whispered.

The horse stepped back and lowered its head to snuffle at Draco's hair. Draco went very, very still.

"I don't think it's going to hurt you," Harry said. "It's just a horse."

"Whaddaya mean, 'just a horse'? If it's 'just a horse' then what's it doing in the Forbidden Forest?"

"I don't know. Maybe it was on a Muggle farm near here and got frightened by the fight. It could have… jumped over a fence and got lost."

"Muggle horses… they're not very dangerous, are they?"

"Not that I know of. I think they're meant to be quite gentle." Harry suddenly realised that Draco probably had no idea of what a non-magical creature was like. "Since it hasn't run away from you it's probably quite tame."

"Yes, but does _it_ know that?" Draco groaned. "Sod it. I've got to see to my leg." He sat up and the horse took a step backwards. "That's a start… now if it can back up all the way back to its nice, foetid little Muggle farm I'd be closer to being happy."

Harry tried not to grin. He stood up and walked over to the other boy, being very careful not to startle the horse. He had had a good look at how powerful a kick from those back legs could be. The spider's abdomen was crumpled like a paper bag filled with mince… ugh. The horse snorted a bit and tossed its head, but when Harry moved around it to check on Draco it didn't do anything too frightening.

Draco was already doing a good job of applying a pressure bandage using cloth he'd cut from the bottom of his cloak with a severing charm. Harry helped him tie the knot when Draco's hands kept slipping from the blood, then he pulled the other boy up to his feet. Draco was of a height with Harry – both of them had started to sprout up in the last year – and Harry realised that they had a long hike out of the Forest, especially with the threat of angry spiders and werewolves. Vampires, too, and… That kind of thinking didn't help. One step at a time, decided Harry. One long, bloody, drawn-out, uncomfortable step at a time. "Put your arm around my shoulder," he said.

"Why?" said Malfoy, all bristling suspicion.

Harry sighed, fed up. "Because if you stay out here something will eat you and Dumbledore will get into trouble for losing another student."

Grey eyes flickered with something like loathing for a second but which passed so quickly that Harry might have missed it if the moon hadn't been so bright. "I'm not ready to go back yet," he said mulishly.

"You've nearly had your leg bitten off. You've annoyed every spider within a radius of five miles and you're dripping blood that anything hungry – and that's probably everything in the Forest tonight – can smell. Basically, Malfoy, if you're not finished out here tonight then something out here tonight will finish you."

Draco actually bared his teeth again and Harry wondered just how deranged Malfoys got. The he felt hot breath on the back of his neck and nearly jumped out of his robes.

_I'm too young to die of a heart attack._

It was only the horse, which was getting curious. Its ears flicked back and forth, usually in Harry and Draco's direction, but also to pick up whatever sounds it could from the surrounding trees.

"Come on," Harry said. "Maybe it'll follow us back."

"I'm not going back yet."

Harry let go of him so quickly that Draco staggered and fell with a startled "Oof!" at the horse's feet. The horse stepped back, ears twitching faster, alarmed at this new behaviour. "So what are you going to do instead?"

Draco snarled up at him wordlessly, and Harry was struck by the sheer pain in his eyes.

"Come on," he muttered, ashamed of how he'd let Malfoy drop like that. It couldn't have done the injury any good. Draco cursed at him weakly but he ignored it, pulling the other boy up again and steadying him. Once he was sure the blond boy wouldn't suddenly fall he checked the pressure bandage to see that it wasn't leaking too much. It wasn't. Without saying anything else he slung Malfoy's arm over his shoulder and they began the long trek back to Hogwarts.

ooOOoo

When Draco tripped on a root for the fifth time Harry called a halt and sat down on a log. "I need a breather," he said. He was sweating, too. It would have been awkward with Ron, who was a friend. Heaving a Malfoy through the trees was much worse. It seemed to be inherent that they wouldn't be able to work together, even when it meant saving a life. Harry would have thought the Slytherin would be more co-operative, but he only opened his mouth to curse Harry every time Harry jolted his leg. Harry was getting perilously close to dumping him in the middle of the forest and leaving him to his fate. It wasn't as if anyone would miss him.

"So why don't you?" Draco muttered.

Harry could have kicked himself – he'd been thinking aloud. "Like I said, Dumbledore…"

"…Would get in trouble," Draco finished, mimicking Harry. "Oh yes, we mustn't have the great and noble Dumbledore be seen to be human."

Harry rolled his eyes. The rustle of fallen leaves from behind him made him jump, but again it was only the horse who was still following them. Purely out of curiosity, Harry guessed; when he'd tried to pet it, it had backed off, raising its head and laying its ears back threateningly. It didn't seem very tame.

"Hey!" he squeaked. "What the hell are you trying to do now?"

"Shut up, Potter," Draco said grimly. He was standing up on the log, trying to balance on one leg. "It's a horse. Horses are for riding. I've seen pictures, you know. It can carry me back to Hogwarts. Here, horse." He snapped his fingers. "Come here, horse. Come here, I said."

The horse snorted and tossed its head, black mane rippling down the crest of its neck like midnight surf. Its eyes gleamed in the moonlight and it didn't move a step closer.

Harry rolled his eyes again.

"Come here please?" Draco tried, and held out his hand. "Good horse. Please come here."

"Didn't know 'please' was in your vocabulary," Harry muttered, but he noticed that the horse had its ears forward again which made it look a fraction friendlier.

Draco ignored him. "Come here, horse. Good horse. You're a beautiful horse, you know… you've already saved my life tonight and it would just show what a noble animal you are (even if you _are _a stupid Muggle beast) if you help me get back to Hogwarts. Please? I promise I won't make fun of Muggles… well, not for a little while, anyway, and I can't guarantee any time longer than maybe thirty minutes. Good horse."

It appeared the horse responded even better to flattery. It stepped up to where Draco was beginning to wobble on the log and let the boy put his hands on its withers. It shuddered its skin a little, as if trying to shake off flies, then settled.

"Now will you be a good Muggle horse and let me sit on your back?" Draco wheedled. "I've never ridden a horse and your back looks very bony so if you don't let me sit there then I won't be too unhappy, I guess…" Very slowly, trying not to scare the horse, he slid belly-first over its back and let it get used to his weight.

"Damn."

"What?" asked Harry, who was amazed that Malfoy had got this far with what seemed like a rather skittish creature. Especially the Draco Malfoy who had shown no aptitude in Care of Magical Creatures beyond an uncanny knack of pissing off even non-human creatures.

Draco's voice was strained. "I can't swing my leg over its back without sliding off. Come and grab my arm."

This was quite possibly the weirdest thing Harry had got up to in his time at Hogwarts: Holding onto Draco's arm to stop him from sliding back off a Muggle horse while Draco tried to swing his injured right leg over the horse's rump. It was achieved soon enough and luckily the horse didn't seem too put-out by this behaviour. It only pawed with a forefoot when Draco held on too tight around its neck.

Draco actually apologised to the horse for this. Harry was amazed, but then he looked up and saw how Draco was slumped over the horse's neck with his lips so bloodless they looked white in the moonlight and his teeth chattering, and he realised that Draco was going to lose consciousness very soon. The spider's bite could easily have been poisoned.

"Don't worry," he said. "Madam Pomfrey will be able to cure you."

"I think that sp- spider was poisonous," Draco replied.

"Then you can get a cure easily enough from Snape…" Harry stopped abruptly as he remembered. Draco had turned his face away and with ice in his stomach Harry suddenly knew why Draco was out here.

"Sorry," he said quietly, but Draco didn't look at him.

Harry started walking again and, after a brief moment, heard the soft thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk of the horse's hooves following him.

ooOOoo

As they reached the edge of the Forest he could see a few lights high in the towers of Hogwarts. He hoped they weren't those of people worrying about him…

They were, apparently. A big, black dog came running towards him barking before it changed into the equally agitated Sirius Black, who wrapped Harry in a bear hug. "Over here!" he roared. Only then did he notice the horse, which was hesitant about leaving the shelter of the trees, and the motionless burden it was carrying.

"Is that the Malfoy brat?" he asked, his dark brows drawing together.

Harry nodded, but got no time to reply. A werewolf was running towards them: Remus Lupin, and as Sirius wasn't changing back into his Animagus form Remus must be safe.

No-one had told the horse.

Its nostrils flared and it reared as it roared a challenge. Draco woke up just in time to realise he was falling, and grabbed for Harry, who did his best to catch him. The horse pushed past them and charged at the werewolf.

"Remus! Don't hurt it!" Harry shouted from the ground, his arms full of weakly-struggling Malfoy.

No trouble there. The werewolf was dodging the flying, death-dealing hooves as fast as he could. One struck him on the side of the head and he yelped.

Sirius pulled out a wand and sent up a flare. The red-and-green lights burst just overhead, terrifying the horse, which broke off the attack and galloped off into the trees. Harry tried to see where it went but suddenly found himself too busy with Draco, who had gone into convulsions.

ooOOoo


	3. chapter 3

Disclaimer: Hogwarts and its people still belong to JK Rowling, bless her cotton socks for letting us play with them.

ooOOoo

Chapter 3: Trapped

As there were still people badly wounded from Voldemort's attack, the Hospital Wing was off-limits for casual visitors. Poppy Pomfrey guarded her patients' privacy better than Fluffy the three-headed dog could have done.

So although Harry had a nagging impulse at the back of his mind to find out how Malfoy was doing, there was simply no information. After patching up one or the other of the two boys so many times over the last six years, the medi-witch was well aware that they were Not Friends. Even if Harry had wanted to visit it was unlikely he would have been allowed in – especially not to see Draco Malfoy.

But the second day after Harry had followed the other boy into the Forest, something happened that drove all thoughts of him out of his head.

He was out with Hagrid and Fang, patrolling the edges of the Forbidden Forest, when they found the unicorns. Hagrid had been worrying about how they were faring, what with Voldemort having had recent access to the Forest and always looking for unicorn blood to help him with his bid for immortality; so Harry, who was looking for any excuse to get out of the castle, had asked to go with him for extra credit in his Care of Magical Creatures class. Fortunately the unicorns had chosen to graze close to Hogwarts and it was the third or fourth glade Hagrid and Harry checked which proved lucky.

It was a small herd, the adults gleaming white with their foals varying between the gold of the new-born and the platinum of the weanlings, but this morning the herd had one glaringly obvious difference: there was a black horse.

"Well now, that's summat new…" Hagrid muttered under his breath. He had warned Harry to keep quiet around the unicorns, which were fairly shy creatures and disliked loud noises. The magical battle several days ago must have been traumatic for them and Hagrid needed to make sure none were injured.

"That's the horse that found me and Malfoy," Harry whispered.

The horse had its head up, jaws still chewing with a few stalks sticking out one corner of its mouth, and was watching the two people and the dog suspiciously. It snorted loudly, not seeming keen on the idea of Hagrid, but when the unicorns ignored the half-giant and continued their grazing the horse settled again, tearing up grass with its strong teeth in between keeping an eye on Harry and Hagrid as they wandered through the herd.

Harry had a piece of parchment and a quill ready to take notes from Hagrid. Hagrid seemed to know the unicorns individually, occasionally ruffling one's mane or patting another on the shoulder. Harry kept a mental note of the easy way Hagrid moved through the herd. Fang, after wandering too close to the horse and being threatened with a kick, had been told to stay back. The dog was sitting under a tree. His worried brown eyes flickered between his master and the horse, and a thin thread of drool hung from the boar hound's floppy lip.

Harry knew better than to approach the horse, but when its grazing took it in his direction he didn't step away, either.

Hagrid's lessons had taught him the importance of eye contact in taming wild animals and how most animals – magical or no – considered eye contact a challenge or a threat. So Harry didn't look directly at the horse as it gradually came closer and closer. He pretended to watch the unicorns: the mares with their foals towards the centre; the stallions vigilant on the outskirts; and the younger unicorns – not foals anymore but not adults either – exploring the shadows around the edges of the dell. But out of the corner of his eye Harry managed to get a good look at the long legs with slightly knobbly knees stopping them from getting too elegant, the shine on the black, satiny coat, and the tangles in the long mane and tail. The horse was a lot bigger than he remembered, too. In the night distances and heights and other dimensions became hard to ascertain. In the daylight it was easy to say to himself: _this is a big horse… how did Malfoy manage not to break his neck falling off it? Oh, that's right. Malfoy fell on me._ Its shoulder, he saw when the horse turned side on to see what Fang was up to, was level with his eyes. And Harry had grown a lot taller in the last year.

It seemed interested in the scroll and quill. When it decided Harry wasn't too much of a threat, it came close enough to stretch out its long neck and lip at the end of the feather. Harry grinned – that twitching upper lip was pretty mobile. And the lip curled back when the horse decided it didn't like the smell of the ink, showing long, yellowed teeth.

Then the horse snorted and jumped sideways, startling Harry.

Hagrid had finished examining the unicorns.

"They're all in good shape," he told Harry with relief. "And all o' 'em alive, too. Well, this herd, anyway. I'll be needin' ter check on the others later, o'course." He coughed. "Yer friend here is the only one hurt. He can' be stayin' out here in the Forest – we'll 'ave ter take 'im back ter Hogwarts wi' us."

"He's hurt? Where?" Harry tried to look at the horse, which slanted its ears back and sidled further away, its blackberry-dark eyes gleaming with suspicion.

"Other side," said Hagrid, appearing to look at Harry's notes. Not that Harry had made any – Harry realised that Hagrid was merely trying to make the horse more comfortable.

Trying to appear nonchalant – doing everything except whistling, in fact – Harry eased around in front of the horse to where he could see what Hagrid was talking about.

Merlin's beard. By the clawmarks something had tried to gut it. The black hide was scored down the right flank; three deep, weeping wounds trickled pale straw-coloured fluid. The edges were puffy and crusted where the blood and plasma had dried, while the lines of raw flesh were beginning to ooze pus and the few flies that came near unicorns were homing in on them. The long tail swished up at the flies and when the hairs caught in the open wetness the horse shivered and stamped a back foot, wanting to kick at an enemy but not knowing where the enemy was. Harry swallowed, hoping his stomach would stay put. "What did that?" he whispered.

Hagrid, who was fluffing up the mane of one of the unicorn foals that had come to investigate his pockets, scratched his beard with his free hand. "Vrikolaki, I'd say, by the spread o' them clawmarks. Yer won't have studied 'em yet, Harry; they're powerful Dark creatures, not native ter the Forest. Right nasty lot, they are, and devils once they get on a blood trail. If one o' them's marked this poor old feller then I don't rightly give 'im much hope fer survivin' all that long."

Harry swallowed again. "How do we bring him back?"

"Ah. Well now, Harry, I'm hoping he'll follow us. If'n he don't then we'll have ter bring the unicorns."

In the end they had to bring the unicorns. And it was a snorting, mistrustful black horse with its ears flickering back and forth and its tail switching angrily that followed the unicorns to the side of the castle, where Hagrid had the stable and several pens for various creatures. Luckily most of the specimens for Care of Magical Creatures were gone now, but by the way the horse flared its nostrils the smell of them lingered. Between the barn and the meadow where Harry had met his first Hippogriffs was a tall-sided wooden pen ("We'll be using it later for Girrumphs," Hagrid said). From the outside could be seen the basic structure, with thick vertical posts and the thinner lateral rails. The lining was of solid oak planks fastened magically to the rails to provide a smooth surface no animal could damage itself on, and it rose to the top rail some eight or nine feet high. The unicorns and the horse flowed into the pen as Harry held the gate open. Then Hagrid said, "On yer mark, Harry."

"Okay. Ready."

Hagrid whistled shrilly.

The unicorns didn't seem to like this, and shook their heads as if their ears were irritated. Hagrid whistled again.

Shooting the half-giant dirty looks, the unicorns shot out of the pen. The horse tried to follow, but Harry, who'd already realised what Hagrid was up to, slammed the gate shut and dropped the wooden bar across to hold it.

Just in time.

The whole gate shuddered as angry hooves crashed against it. On the other side the horse squealed in fury.

Harry rubbed his arm, which had been against the wood and was now tingling from the shockwaves. He clambered up the rails to check that the horse hadn't damaged itself.

It didn't seem to have, but it was running around the circular pen, whinnying to the unicorns. Harry looked over his shoulder. Out in the meadow some of the unicorns had paused. One whickered back to the horse. Hagrid whistled the high-pitched whistle again, and the unicorn turned, kicked its back feet into the air, and rejoined its fellows. Harry watched as the herd flowed back into the forest, soundless as mist.

Somehow the horse had sensed them leave. It was trotting around the enclosure now, stride long and elastic, head low as it scented the ground for previous occupants. The bare earth held no hoofprints other than those of the horse; unicorns were light and tended not to advertise themselves, and whatever had been in here before was long gone. Small puffs of dust rose as the horse wheeled and turned. Its ears were laced back against its skull. The last time Harry had seen it this upset was right before it attacked Remus.

So they'd got it back to Hogwarts. Big deal. How the hell were they going to treat it?

Hagrid, who had to stand on the bottom rail to peer over the top of the wall, might have read his mind. "Yer not ter go in there, Harry," he said quietly. "I know less'n a thimble-full o' what I ought about Muggle animals… but I know thissun ain't going to be pleased wi' us right about now, and it's not what I'd call safe." That was saying a lot – Hagrid's idea of 'safe' was a giant three-headed dog or an acromantula, both of which had tried to kill Harry.

The gate rocked again as the horse spun and kicked it.

ooOOoo

"…And now Hagrid's trying to find someone who knows something about horses," Harry finished. He was in the Great Hall for dinner with Hermione and Ron. He and Hagrid had left the horse with a bale of hay and the largest bucket of water Harry could safely levitate over the wall. Dumbledore had just announced that the pen behind the barn was off limits to all students unless directly supervised by Hagrid. "He's hoping some of the Muggle-born will know something… well, _anything_, really." He looked hopefully at Hermione, who shrugged.

"Sorry," she said. "I grew up in the city. And my parents would never have let me near a horse – one of the girls I went to school with had her front teeth knocked out by one. But I can see if the library has anything on them."

"That's a start, I guess," Harry said slowly. "I mean, thanks, 'Mione," he added hastily when she frowned.

She nodded, mollified. "But you haven't heard the latest around here, have you?"

"What – I've only been out for an afternoon. What is it? Have they found out what that barrier thing is all about?"

"Huh, I wish. No. Not the barrier. It's –"

She was interrupted by a gloating Ron, who stabbed his fork into a sausage and waved it around in the air. "It's only the coolest thing ever!" he exulted. "Malfoy came out of hospital today!"

Harry grinned and raised an eyebrow. "Ron… I didn't know you felt that way about –"

Ron glared. "Prat. No. Malfoy's blind. As in: he can't see a thing. Madam Pomfrey has to assign him people to stop him walking into walls… she even – get this – she even asked Professor Lupin if she could borrow his dog Snuffles as a guide dog!" He burst out laughing.

"Ron, that's not very nice," said Hermione, but her mouth was twitching.

Harry had to bite his lip. "Oh no… What if Remus agrees? Poor Snuffles!"

Ron sniggered. "Maybe I should offer…" His face took on a rapturous look. "I could accidentally let him walk off the top of Astronomy Tower. I could…" He broke off.

Harry turned to look at what had caught Ron's attention.

"Speak of the devil," breathed Hermione.

Draco Malfoy walked into the Hall with his usual arrogant stride, but this was the first time he'd come in arm-in-arm with one of the younger Slytherin students. The younger student led him to his usual seat between Crabbe and Goyle, but Harry, watching narrow-eyed, noticed how Malfoy's two bodyguards exchanged uneasy looks over Draco's head. Pansy Parkinson was more blatant in her disapproval. She leant forward and hissed something meant only for Draco.

Malfoy's cheeks flamed. In one motion that made Harry wonder just how blind he really was, Draco stood and sneered down at Pansy, who looked back up at him mulishly. Harry couldn't have heard what was said, but by the way Pansy's cheeks reddened to match Draco's, it couldn't have been nice.

Then Draco stepped back over the long seat, turned and made for the side door leading out to the stairs. It wasn't until he put his hand up to check if the door was open (and it was) that Harry realised he really was blind.

He watched Draco touch the doorframe on the way through and then the other boy was gone. The younger student who should have helped him was sitting miserably at the table, staring down at his plate as the other students around him whispered questions. Occasionally he would shrug.

Harry watched and turned a chicken leg over between his fingers as he thought. Gradually he became aware that Ron was talking.

"…and that'll stop him from going out and breaking the wards in the middle of the night…"

"What?" said Harry, suddenly dropped back into reality.

"Well, I thought you knew? You were the one who dragged him back, Harry, old boy. Got to say, it was a huge lapse in judgement. Should've left him out there for Aragog. Malfoy was out there to let his Death Eater daddy and uncles in."

"No he wasn't," Harry said, frowning, but not at Ron. "Is that what everyone's saying?"

"Well, yes," said Dean, who was sitting across the table and had been talking to Parvati. She was listening in now, too.

"Well they're wrong," muttered Harry, throwing down the chicken leg uneaten. He'd lost his appetite. "Merlin, this place is a rumour mill. I've got a headache."

He stood up and left to find Hagrid, ignoring the cries of, "Harry! Hey, so tell us what really happened… Harry?"

He really was getting a headache.

ooOOoo


	4. chapter 4

Disclaimer: Hogwarts and its people still belong to JK Rowling, bless her cotton socks for letting us play with them.

ooOOoo

Chapter 4: All Horses Look Grey in the Dark

Up at the High Table (and it was weird not having Snape there glaring at him… not good, not bad, but certainly weird) Hagrid was in animated conversation with Madam Hooch, the Flying Instructor. "…And 'ere he comes now. All right there, 'Arry?"

"Hey, Hagrid. Um… about the horse... have you found anyone who can help?"

"Funny you should ask." Hagrid winked. "Turns out Madam Hooch knows a bit."

"I'll come out and check Hagrid's new pet after dinner, Mr Potter – how's that?" said Hooch, her fierce hawk's eyes a little less fierce than usual.

Harry beamed, relieved that there was finally a problem in the world he didn't have to be responsible for. "That'd be great. Thank you. I'll meet you there."

Outside the Hall he stopped at the foot of the staircases, which were lazily moving through the warm, late spring air, and thought how nice it would be to have the dorm room to himself for a little while, just to be able to lie down and rest for a half-hour without people pestering him with questions. He didn't want to know about the gossip about Malfoy – he'd been there as a witness for the real thing and after all the malicious rumour-mongering aimed at him – ironically enough, much of it coined by Malfoy – he didn't care to be a part of it from any angle. He was also a bit out of temper with Ron. He didn't like other people gloating when he, Harry, had taken the brunt of something nasty. So it irked to see such behaviour from Ron. Again, it was a case of not wanting to be involved in it from any angle.

"Was dinner that bad?" asked a painting, making Harry jump.

"Oh! No. I was just… thinking."

"Ah," said the painting. It was a portrait of an elderly wizard with a large gold chain around his neck and a fur cap. "Too much thinking can be dangerous. Or is it too little…?"

Harry left the painting of the wizard to work that out, and started up the stairs, ignoring the young woman in yellow robes who winked at him from another painting. He made it to the landing when a thought that had been nagging at him since he saw Malfoy walk in to the Hall suddenly took form:

He'd never seen a blind wizard.

Oh, Mad-eye Moody had his glass eye where his real one should be, but that wasn't the same as seeing someone put up a hand to feel if a door was open or closed. When Draco had been in the Forest the other night – in the dark and nervous as hell – he'd been ready with his wand to hex anything that startled him.

Maybe there were no blind wizards because they were too dangerous to be allowed outside. Maybe there were no blind wizards, period. After all, if you couldn't see to cast a spell, how could you aim one?

Instead of finding himself in the corridor leading along to the picture of the Fat Lady and the Gryffindor common room, Harry's feet had taken him down another flight of stairs and along a different corridor; a corridor which was darker and damper with flickering sconces. In spite of himself Harry wanted to make sure Draco had made it back safely to the Slytherin common room – at least that way he could be sure Malfoy hadn't managed to curse someone out of sheer nerves. Wait: there were voices ahead coming towards him. Given that the voices were trying to be hushed but too gleeful to really succeed, and given that he was deep in Slytherin territory, he opted for discretion over valour and hid in a niche behind a suit of armour.

Three students – sixth years whom Harry knew from shared classes: two boys from Ravenclaw and one from Hufflepuff – were tiptoeing along the corridor. Muffled giggles were a dead give-away that what they were up to wasn't within Hogwarts rules. Between them, wrapped up in an old tapestry, floated a long cylindrical object. Harry watched them go until they reached the corner. The bundle slipped. One of the Ravenclaws cursed, the second muttered: "_Mobilicorpus_," over the bundle, and then they were off again up the stairs. Harry sighed in relief.

It wasn't until he reached the next corner that he remembered what _mobilicorpus_ was for. Well, maybe he was being suspicious…

He raced along the last of the corridors to the entrance to the Slytherin rooms and said to the portrait (a nasty looking witch holding a fishbowl with a barracuda in it instead of a lap-dog): "Has Draco Malfoy come here yet?"

The witch raised an eyebrow, much like Snape di-…had used to do. "No. I thought I heard his voice a moment ago, but I could not see him. Nor did he give me the password." She looked puzzled, and a little anxious.

"Thank you," said Harry, and sprinted back the way he had come.

The twisting, turning corridors had one advantage: When he rounded a corner and ploughed into Crabbe and Goyle they didn't have time to pick themselves up off the floor and find who had knocked them down before he was up and gone again. In the entrance hall he stopped to ask the portrait of the wizard with the gold chain and fur hat if he'd seen three students with a rolled-up tapestry go past. When the wizard told him he'd seen the trio sneak out the front doors and around to the left, Harry was off and out the doors. He skidded on the flagstones out the front. A pair of first year Hufflepuffs looked over at him anxiously, possibly worried he was going to start foaming at the mouth and throwing a fit. Harry reminded himself for the umpteenth time that telling people 'Yes, I am Harry Potter, now get over it' was little use, really, and demanded: "Where did those three sixth years go?"

The two little girls shrank back, but pointed to the side of the castle.

"Thank you." Great. Harry should have guessed the lake. He ran down the grassy lawn, past the trees and bushes where he'd spent summer hours drowsing with Ron while Hermione studied, and out to the little jetty.

Waves lapped and sucked at the wooden pillars but that was all. Even the Giant Squid was off sleeping somewhere else. Nobody other than Harry was here. Harry scowled and smacked himself in the forehead.

Those girls hadn't just pointed at the lake – they could just as well have been pointing at the barn and the meadow… or the Quidditch Pitch, for that matter. But after Dumbledore's warning about staying away from the pen with the horse in it, Harry thought he could made a fair bet that it wouldn't be the Quidditch Pitch. He forced his legs back into a jog and puffed his way back up the slope, cursing all Malfoys with what little breath he could spare.

He was halfway across the meadow when he saw them.

"HEY!" he yelled. As one person, the trio turned to look. When they saw it was only one person – and when they saw who it was, they continued levitating their tapestry-wrapped bundle over the wooden wall of the pen.

Harry heard the loud bang of the horse's hooves smacking into the gate even from there. "DON'T DO IT!" he shouted. His legs were burning, and so were his lungs, but he broke into a run.

One of the boys laughed – "Oh, come on, Potter – we're doing you a favour as much as anyone in this school!"

Then he waved his wand. The tapestry unrolled, and sent something – a body – spinning into the air. The boy with the wand clambered up to the top of the wall for the second it took to lower the motionless body to the ground. Harry heard him say: "_Finite incantatum,_" and then the trio were off and running back to the castle. One of the Ravenclaws called back over his shoulder – "Your word against ours, Potter! Don't mess this up!"

Knowing as many spells as he did, Harry could have cast several words against them and messed them up pretty seriously indeed, but he didn't have time. He hauled himself up the outside of the pen, dreading what he would see.

At first glance everything was quite calm.

But the bucket of water was tipped over with a big horse-shoe shaped dent in the side, and hay had been spread over half of the large area. If the horse hadn't eaten any of it, a few dark piles showed that the horse had eaten something in the last day or so. Draco, sitting up slowly and shaking dust out of his hair, had been lucky enough to land in one of the piles of hay.

Over on the other side stood the horse. From the height Harry was at it looked less threatening. The length and strength of leg and muscle weren't so obvious. And the head looked finer now that the slightly convex profile of its nose was not accented. But those ears were still flat back, giving the animal a wicked serpentine look, and the black eyes glittered with menace. Harry readied his wand. "Malfoy," he hissed. "Malfoy. Can you hear me?"

Draco looked up and managed a reasonable approximation of Harry's location. "I'm blind, not deaf," he snapped, his gaze ghosting somewhere past Harry's right shoulder. "Where the hell am it?"

"You're in a pen out the back of Hagrid's barn."

Draco lost what little colour he had. "Shit. What else is in here with me?"

"The horse."

The look on his face was one Harry would treasure for the rest of his days. "The… the _horse?_ The horse from the other night? Not some Blast-ended Skrewt or baby bloodsucking monster-du-jour? Just my horse?"

"Yeah. Except he's not your horse. And he seems kind of angry as animals go. He's been hurt. And he's not happy at being locked up. And right now he looks _really_ pissed off that you're in there with him. Hagrid's been warning people not to go into the pen…"

"So Messrs the Intellectual Ravens and… I think it was a Hufflepuff… they decided to chuck me in here and put me out of their misery?"

"That looks like the plan, yes."

"So how do you come into this, Potter? Come to make sure the job is finished?"

Harry sucked in his breath. "God, Malfoy, but you're the biggest idiot to walk the Earth since the dinosaurs. No, I'm here to tell you not to make any sudden moves. You're too far from the gate to use that, so I'm going to come down into the pen and together we're going to levitate back over this wall… Um… No, we're not. Damn." The horse had raised its head and had one eye fixed on Harry in a way he didn't like. "Preferably _without_ using my wand, okay, because this horse seems to hate the sight of them by the way he's watching my hand… We'll climb out. I'll show you where the handholds are. Well, direct you to them, anyway." Harry pushed his wand back into his pocket.

The horse seemed to relax a fraction – the muscles under the gleaming black coat shifted slightly, and the ears weren't quite so flattened. But when Harry swung his leg to climb down into the pen the horse snorted and sidled closer to Draco. Harry froze.

Draco should have frozen, too. He pushed himself to his feet, a little wobbly without his eyes to tell him where the horizon was. "Tell me which way the wall is, Potter," he said.

The horse moved forward, its skin shifting over sleek muscles like oil on water. It brushed past Draco and knocked the boy down.

"Ow! What did you do that for?"

"It wasn't me," said Harry from between gritted teeth. His head was pounding with tension now. Damn – he was going to have to hit the horse with a spell… he had no idea what that would do. If he stupefied it, it could fall and break its neck. Those long legs and slender ankles looked ridiculously fragile when compared to the bulk of the body, and the whole thing crashing down… what if it landed on Malfoy? It would squash him into a blond Slytherin pancake.

And Malfoy, Merlin help him, was trying to stand up again. This time the horse didn't rush him. It stalked closer, step by step, tossing its head and sniffing the air for enemies. Draco held his hands out flat in front of him, side by side and palms to the sky. The horse would bite them off.

Or so Harry was expecting. So his eyebrows flew up in surprise when the horse didn't rip Malfoy's hands off at the wrists, and instead blew gusts of air into them, sniffing carefully as if trying to remember. Harry saw the moment the horse did: the ears relaxed and came forward, and the thick muscles bunching from the crest of the neck down through the shoulders and along the spine smoothed out. Draco raised a hand and tried to stoke the long nose, but the horse moved its head sideways and away. "I think it remembers me from the Forest," he said softly.

Harry nodded, then realised there was no way Malfoy could have seen that. "Yes. But it doesn't mean you should stay there. It might remember other things. Like how much it hates people at the moment." Carefully watching to see how the horse would react, Harry slowly climbed down into the pen. "Easy there," he said to the horse. Draco had managed to put his hand on the horse's neck and had his fingers in the black mane. When Harry put his hand out the horse shied, dragging Draco over.

"Oof. Potter, what did you do now?" he snarled from the ground. He sat up, listening as the horse came back. "It's standing right over me, isn't it?" he said quietly. "I can feel its shadow on my face."

"Yes. Give me your hand."

Draco grudgingly held out a hand and Harry took it, carefully pulling the other boy to his feet without startling the nervy horse. "So," Malfoy said. "How do we get out of here?"

"Climb the wall, I guess… Hang on a minute. Someone's at the gate. Who …?"

The latch of the gate clunked as it was lifted from the outside, and the horse raised its head, perhaps getting ready to charge at the exit. Wood creaked as the gate began to open. A slim figure sipped through the gap.

Harry's jaw dropped when he saw who it was.

ooOOoo


	5. chapter 5

Disclaimer: Hogwarts and its people still belong to JK Rowling, bless her cotton socks for letting us play with them.

ooOOoo

Chapter 5: Luna Lovegood on the Near Side

"Hello," said the newcomer brightly as she shut the gate behind her. "I brought the horse an apple." The vague voice was distinctive, as was the long, lank blonde hair and the protuberant silvery eyes.

"If you're about to tell me Luna Lovegood just walked into this pen I don't want to hear it," Draco said flatly.

"Then I won't tell you Luna Lovegood just walked into this pen," Harry replied as soon as he had control over his motor functions again. "Luna, what in Merlin's name are you doing in here? Didn't you hear Dumbledore at dinner?"

"I wasn't at dinner. I'd heard there was a Lesser-spotted Whoopkacker up in Astronomy Tower. But I guess the boy who told me was mistaken."

"Or sent you on a wild Lesser-spotted goose chase," Draco drawled nastily. "Whoopkackers don't exist outside children's books."

"They do too. But maybe you're right about the goose chase. But my father says it's important to stay open-minded to these things, though."

"There's open minded, and then there's lobotomised," Draco said, frowning in her general direction on general principal. "I'm in here because someone wanted the horse to kill me. Potter's in here because he thinks he's in training to be a hero. You're in here because… what? You're too daft to save your own skin?"

Luna didn't seem upset. She snickered instead. "_I'm_ daft? I'm not the one who thinks this cute little pony is dangerous. Honestly – the person who thinks they can use a horse as a murder weapon is the daft one." She bit a piece out of the apple and held it out to the horse.

It stretched out its neck and sniffed at it then, as if conferring a great honour, ate it. Luna bit off another piece and, walking close enough to the horse she could rub its neck, started feeding it chunks of the apple. The horse allowed this, even permitting Luna to kiss it on the nose, although it snorted afterwards as if it was putting up with a grave impertinence.

"What just happened?" said Draco, sensing that Luna was standing between him and the horse.

Harry was wondering that, too. "Luna just kissed the horse on the nose."

"Is that… legal?"

Luna grinned at Harry. "Isn't he lovely?"

"I hope you're not talking about me," snapped Draco.

"No, of course not. I'm talking about the _horse_."

"Huh." Draco sounded even more put-out now.

"But nothing's quite so lovely when it slobbers on your boots," said Harry dryly. "Mind you seeing as they're Malfoy's boots that got slobbered on I suppose it's a point in the horse's favour."

"It _slobbered_ on me?" squeaked Draco. "God, that's revolting! Luna, give it a napkin, at least…"

"There we go," said Luna, ignoring the two boys as she finished feeding the horse the apple. "Poor old thing. They've got you locked up in here… _Tsk_. Honestly. Let's see about that, shall we? Hmm?"

Harry was becoming increasingly alarmed. Did Luna mean to let the horse go? Then she pulled out some leather straps from inside her robes – hang on, that couldn't be normal female underwear. Could it? Maybe it –

Bad thoughts. Bad, _bad_ thoughts… especially concerning Luna, Harry told himself sternly. "What in Merlin's name are you doing _now_?"

"What in Merlin's name is she doing _now_, Potter?" Draco said at the same time.

"Watch or listen," said Luna, speaking calmly and softly. "My uncle has a horse. He lent it to me and Mum the last summer she was alive and she taught me how to take care of it." She separated a length of soft cotton rope from the leather harness and stood so that she was facing that same way as the horse and her right shoulder was tucked under the horse's throat. The horse was tall, but, like Harry, Luna had really shot up this last year, and her shoulder fitted neatly in behind the horse's jaw. "You put the rope around the horse's neck… like this…"

"Is she going to hang my horse?" said Draco nervously.

"No… Well, I don't think so." Harry frowned. "And since when was it _your_ horse, Malfoy?"

"I found it."

"_It_ found _us._"

Luna ignored them. "The rope is to give a bit of control while you put the headcollar on. Now. You work from the horse's left. Or 'near side', if you want to use the correct term. The right side is called the 'far side'. You don't want to start from there."

Harry quashed a reflex quip about Luna already being on the far side.

"Make sure the headcollar is ready and the buckle on the strap that goes around the nose is done up to the right hole for the size of the horse's head… too big is better than too small…" She managed to do something with the leather straps that turned them from an unintelligible mess into something with regular shape. A loop at the bottom went over the horse's nose and then she slung a leather strap over the horse's neck just behind the ears. "And then you buckle the head strap up like so. The buckles are adjustable so if part of the headcollar starts rubbing a patch in the horse's coat you can change it and make it more comfortable. There. Good horse," she added happily, stepping back and patting the horse on the neck.

She'd been almost hugging the horse's head as she put the harness thingamajig on it, Harry realised. And the horse had allowed this to be done. Was it just that she knew what she was doing? The horse seemed more relaxed around her than either himself or Draco, and now was turning its head to snuffle at her pocket.

"Oh yes, I've got another apple for you… Here you go." This apple had been cut in quarters and she fed it piece-by-piece to the horse. If this was an example of what she carried in her pockets it was no surprise Ginny had once commented how Luna's quills were always in a mess. "Most horses like apples," she said. "A few don't but luckily this one does. I also had some peppermints in case he was one of the few." There was the rustle of a paper bag and the horse's ears pricked. This seemed to be a sound it was fond of. Maybe its owner brought it treats in paper bags. "Hold out your hand," Luna told the two boys.

Bemused into submission, Harry and Draco did as she said. Into the hand of each of them Luna placed a large round peppermint. And she planned on giving them to the horse? What a waste! With the blockade of Hogwarts by the Death Eaters, sweets were at a premium, and the few students who'd thoughtfully saved the lollies sent to them after Christmas just before the blockade started were doing a brisk black-market trade. Rumour had it that some of the Ravenclaws were trying to cook up their own version of Canary Creams. The resulting Transfigurations of those students stupid enough to buy them had been interesting to say the least. Hogwarts had been thin on harmless entertainment these last few months, although it was doubtful that Padma Patil being turned into a velociraptor and bailing up Colin Creevey when he tried to take her photo was all that harmless.

"Keep your hands flat so the horse doesn't bite your fingers."

"It bites fingers? What am I holding this for, then? Extra flavour?" said Draco scathingly.

"No," Luna replied, and by the way her eyes bulged and her mouth twisted Harry could see she was busting a gut with her efforts not to burst out laughing. Maybe she thought if she did she'd scare the horse. She was scaring Harry either way. "Horses don't eat meat. Well, maybe if it's really well salted meat they might. But if he can't see where your fingers are he might bite them by accident when he eats the peppermint. So… just hold your hand flat. If you're scared I'll feed him for you."

"Who said I was scared?" Malfoy managed a credible glare despite being blind.

"Your body language," Luna replied gently, as if he was an idiot.

"What sort of idiot twaddle are you giving us now, Loveg- OW!"

The horse had laid its ears back and nipped Draco's shoulder. It wasn't a nasty bite, but it must have stung.

"What the hell was that?" said Draco, and nervously moved closer to Harry.

"You're making the horse anxious," Luna told him calmly. "Keep your voice calm. Stop trying to fight with me – it doesn't like that."

"So… it's your bodyguard now?"

Luna smirked at him and ruffled the silky black mane. Lucky Draco was blind or she'd have been hexed for that.

"Here," said Harry. "Let me try." He held out his hand. The horse eyed him suspiciously for a moment but the smell of peppermint must have been too much temptation. Wiry whiskers and a velvety muzzle wisped over Harry's palm and the peppermint disappeared. There was the muffled crunch of it being crushed between powerful molars and the smell of peppermint rose in the cool evening air.

Harry couldn't help grinning. It was like being six years old at the Dursleys' again and sneaking out with a piece of bread to feed some birds. On that day a few sparrows had come up close enough to take bread from his fingers. He reached out and patted the horse on the neck the same way he'd seen Luna do. The hide was fine and silky under his hand. A bit dusty, though.

"Just give it a go, Malfoy."

Draco's pale brows drew in between his eyes, but he held out his hand with the round sweet balanced in the centre of his palm. He didn't flinch when the horse gobbled it up. The horse seemed to be getting used to them, Harry thought. Draco smiled in relief when he realised he still had all his digits and reached out to pat the horse's nose. The horse allowed this like it had allowed Harry to pat its neck. Grudgingly.

Luna pulled the rope that had been draped over the neck down and held it loosely. "He doesn't like it in here," she said. "I think Hagrid has probably had predators in here and the horse can smell them."

"We can't take him outside," protested Harry.

"Yes we can," said Luna dreamily. "Like this: _Alohomora."_ The gate swung open. Harry was about to rush over and slam it shut when he realised that the horse wasn't charging out to freedom. It had started a little when the gate was opened, but that was all. It dipped its head to nuzzle Luna's shoulder. "You lead a horse from its left," she said. "If it's well trained it should walk with its head by your shoulder on a loose rope." She clicked her tongue and walked through the gate. There was no wild gallop. Luna was not trampled into the ground. The horse walked at her side, the rope hanging slack between them. The silky black tail swished idly as the horse strolled back into the open.

"Coming?" Luna called back, like she'd just remembered there were other people in the world.

Harry realised he and Draco were standing in the middle of the empty pen. "You, um, could put your hand on my shoulder, Malfoy," he said awkwardly as he realised he couldn't leave Draco standing alone outside the castle. "That should work."

"Thank you, Potter," Draco said graciously, although by the look on his face it was an effort. They followed Luna and the horse.

ooOOoo

"What in Epone's name do you think you're doing?" Madam Hooch almost exploded with rage when she and Hagrid finally found the trio plus horse around on the sunny side of the barn. "I thought the horse had escaped… that would have been preferable to you three trying to commit mass suicide!"

"We're giving the horse a drink," Luna told the Quidditch instructor gravely, as if she couldn't imagine what Hooch was making such a fuss about.

"And you couldn't put water into a bucket and levitate that into the pen?"

Hagrid wasn't pleased, either. "Harry… yer knew it were dangerous…"

Harry wilted under his friend's displeasure. "Sorry, Hagrid. But Luna seems to know what she's doing. She had a head counter and a leader rope…"

"And apples," Draco added. He was sitting on an upturned bucket by the tap and seemed to be enjoying himself immensely now that people were angry at Harry. Harry decided not to tell him his boots were getting muddy. "Peppermints, too."

"Yes, thank you for your input, Mr Malfoy." Hooch turned back to Harry and Luna. Luna seemed mostly astonished Hooch and Hagrid were here. She'd found a curry comb and was brushing tangles out of the horse's mane. Luckily the horse was in a sleepy mood and kept its head down, otherwise Luna would have had to commandeer Draco's bucket to stand on. Things would have got ugly then. Uglier. "It's a dangerous animal," Hooch continued, her hands on her hips as she glared at the three students.

The horse yawned.

Luna blinked her odd bulging eyes at her. "No he's not," she said, coming the closest Harry had ever heard her to anger. She pulled the horse's head around and kissed it on the nose again. "He's a lovely horse."

"Did she just kiss that Muggle animal again?" asked Draco.

"You're not helping, Malfoy," Harry muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

Draco smiled sweetly. "I fed it a peppermint."

Hooch gave him a longer second look. "How are you feeling, Mr Malfoy?"

"Excellent, thank you. I was just trying to point out how tractable the beast is. Miss Lovegood has been teaching Potter and I how to work together so as we don't upset the poor, nervous Muggle animal."

Now Hagrid and Harry were staring at Draco in amazement.

"Oh…" said Hooch, obviously at a loss for words. She rallied. "That's… very worthwhile of you, Luna…"

"Yes, indeed," came a new voice. Everyone jumped, including the horse. Harry looked around.

"Headmaster," began Hooch, looking flustered, "I'm sorry, but Hagrid and I didn't intend to let the students anywhere near –"

"Quite all right, Xiomora," said Dumbledore. "Nobody hurt and according to young Mr Malfoy here there's been quite a coup for inter-House relations." His eyes twinkled as he pulled out a paper bag. The horse's ears pricked up again at the rustle, but when offered a sweet it rolled it around in its mouth for a bit before spitting it out.

"Ah," said Dumbledore. "Not one for the sherbet lemons. Oh, dear."

"He likes peppermints," said Luna.

"Does he? Very good. And he seems to like you, Miss Lovegood."

Luna beamed so brightly Harry wouldn't have been surprised had Draco seen it.

"Well, well. That's a pleasant development. Perhaps you wouldn't mind helping with our latest guest's care?"

Luna blinked, as if not helping with the horse was something she'd not considered.

"Excellent," said Dumbledore. "And you will take care of the Ravenclaw corner… Harry, I expect you to do Gryffindor proud, as Mr Malfoy will do Slytherin proud, no doubt. Hmm… Hufflepuff… Although no students have stepped forward from that worthy house to help we can't rule out future possibilities." He tactfully ignored Draco's sniff of disdain although Hooch's yellow bird-of-prey eyes narrowed in the Slytherin's direction. "Well, Xiomora, it looks like it falls upon you to uphold the honour of your House. Would you mind so terribly?"

Madam Hooch ('She's a Hufflepuff?' thought Harry) nodded after a moment's thought. "Quidditch lessons are out for now – too much chance of students being targeted by aerial Death Eater reconnaissance… All right. I know enough about equines to train one nag… I'll have it trained and cared for or my name's not Xiomora Rolanda Zoe Hooch."

"He's not an old nag!" Luna was bristling. "He's a very nice horse. And you can't approach a stallion with an attitude like that."

"Stallion?" exclaimed Hagrid.

Hooch was bending over to have a look between the horse's back legs. The horse gave her a filthy look. "Oh dear," she said quietly.

"What's wrong?" said Harry and Draco in stereo.

"Well, that changes everything," said Hooch to Dumbledore. "You can't have children looking after a stallion."

"Why not?" said Luna, too upset to care she was being rude. Harry thought she must really love horses. Maybe it was because she associated them with her mother… Almost on cue, Luna said: "When my mother taught me about horses she borrowed a stallion from my uncle… just because it's a stallion doesn't mean it's nasty or vicious or liable to go crazy or violent, and not all stallions are psychopaths, just a few of them… and only a few have to be fed through slots in the wall and handled by men in body armour in case the stallion tries to squash them against a wall or kill them with its front hooves…"

She wasn't helping her case, and now Harry was beginning to feel alarmed. He noticed Draco sidling back along the barn wall away from the horse.

Luna was hugging the horse's head now. It looked irritated, but didn't shake her off. "I'm the best person to have taking care of this horse," she said. "He likes me and I like him. Mum taught me ever so much and I'm bound to remember it soon."

She'll never see the horse again, thought Harry, and was astonished when Dumbledore said, "Well, I suppose if Madam Hooch is here with you to make sure it's not one of those, ahem, vicious horses you mentioned, I can allow you to keep looking after him. He doesn't seem particularly psychopathic," he added to Hooch when she started puffing like a kettle coming up to the boil. "Even if he doesn't like sherbet lemons. And it's good for the children to have an interest in times like these." He patted the horse on the shoulder. From over Luna's arm which was wrapped around the horse's nose one dark eye gleamed balefully back at the headmaster, and the horse sighed.

Dumbledore chuckled to himself, then frowned. "Hagrid. Didn't you say the poor animal was suffering from an injury?"

"Oh. Right. I'll see ter that ri' away, sir," Hagrid said. "Er… On the other side, Headmaster."

Dumbledore strolled around to check the horse's injured side. He went very still. "Hagrid," he said softly, "make sure he doesn't go back into the Forest. Whatever did this will want to finish what it started."

Hagrid nodded. "He'll be safe and sound here by the castle."

Dumbledore still looked less than happy. "Shall I send out Madam Pomfrey?"

"I think we can see to 'im ourselves, sir," replied Hagrid. "Any more strangers might upset 'im. So… it's all right for these un's ter look after th' horse, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore smiled, although the smile looked tired, and popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth. "I don't see why not, Hagrid. He seems like a nice enough horse to me." He rested a gnarled hand on the horse's withers. "Not in the least bit vicious."

And Harry couldn't help wondering why Dumbledore's eyes twinkled all the more as he said it.

ooOOoo

Harry wondered about Dumbledore's sanity from time to time. Like how the headmaster considered horses to be non-violent. And not psychopaths. At times like these, when he'd just had a bucket bounced off his head, he really wondered.

He sat up and rubbed at his forehead.

"Is it your scar, Harry?" Luna asked, peering close.

"No, it's not my scar." Harry glared at her and pushed himself onto his feet. He had to brush some hay from his robes. They had moved the horse inside the barn now that the sun had gone down. Although the horse hadn't been keen on the idea of going into another enclosure it had allowed itself to be coaxed in by Luna and her bag of peppermints. "It's just the dent where that bloody bucket hit me."

"Oh. I said 'chicken'."

Harry sighed. "It's 'duck', Luna. 'Duck'. Not 'chicken'." He eyeballed the horse. It eyeballed him back with twice the menace. "Do you think it'll kick the bucket again if we get some warmer water?"

"Maybe," said Luna. She'd been confident the horse would behave like a little lamb when they tried to treat the wounds in its flank. It had behaved more like the ram with toothache who'd just seen what dentists charge. The second bucket had been kicked at Harry – or so Harry suspected. Hagrid was still out looking for the first bucket; it had bounced off _his_ head. The horse held a grudge, it would seem. And was possessed of uncanny accuracy. "Shall I try my wand?"

"NO!" Harry and Hooch shouted together. Both were sopping wet from the first bucket. Hooch had tried to get out her wand earlier and the horse had kicked a hole in the wall at the sight of it. Tempers were getting short and the horse was no closer to being healed.

"Get out your wand and see what the horse does, Lovegood," said a thoughtful voice. Amazingly it was Draco's. He was lounging in a mini-hayloft up above the loosebox where they'd put the horse.

"Are you nuts, Malfoy?" said Harry.

"Maybe," Draco replied agreeably. "But the horse likes Luna. It seems to think she knows what she's doing. Law of Averages, I suppose – at the end of every bell curve of statistical probability lies a region where the weirdest things can happen. There's a statistical curve of people who know Luna and know what she's like with a wand in her hand. This horse is at the end where at least one person in the universe thinks she's capable of doing something productive."

"Huh?" said Harry.

Luna tilted her head. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said about me." She climbed up the ladder and planted a quick kiss on Draco's forehead.

"Uh… did Luna just kiss me? And if so, has she cleaned her lips since kissing the horse?"

"Shut it, Malfoy," growled Harry. His headache was back. Why did he bother trying to rescue Draco, anyway?

Draco smirked but didn't say anything.

Luna used her wand to fix the horse's injuries. The horse stood still as she waved her wand and muttered the incantations. The wounds closed over like they had zips. It was that simple. Then Luna picked up the bucket of warm soapy water and washed away the scabs and clotted blood. After a drying spell she found the softest brush and used it to get rid of the last of the mess the blood and seeping fluids had left behind. A final polish with a soft cloth, and the horse's jet black coat was gleaming and unmarked. No-one would have known it had ever been injured.

The horse turned its neck an amazing degree to whuffle down the back of Luna's neck. She giggled. "You're welcome," she said and gave the horse another kiss on the nose. Then she waved her wand again and sent the buckets and brushes flying back to where they had come from. A soft rug undulated onto the horse's back. The horse had its ears pricked and stamped one foot uneasily at the sight of self-propelled blankets, but didn't spook as Luna settled the rug into place and cast a charm to make sure it didn't slip off during the night. Harry couldn't help noticing how clever her wandwork was. What were those rumours he'd heard of her Transfiguring an eggcup into an enraged erumpet? Must have been false… or based on jealousy.

Hooch was the first to break the stunned silence. "Time to see you lot back in your dormitories," she said in a puzzled tone of voice. She looked at her watch. "It's nearly curfew time. Go on – Harry, see Luna back safely, will you? Hagrid will make sure the barn is closed up properly."

As he walked back to Hogwarts (with Luna explaining to him her theory of how the Martian Space Bunny Colony had been established using Gringotts money) Harry wondered what this feeling of having forgotten something was. Whatever it was, Hagrid or Hooch would make sure everything was taken care of.

ooOOoo

Hagrid made sure that the horse had a nice thick bed of straw to lie on as well as a manger of sweet-smelling lucerne hay to eat. He added some sliced carrots into a good-sized bucket of chaff and the sweetfeed he normally saved for the unicorns and made sure the trough in the horse's loosebox was full of clean water.

Then he quietly closed the door behind him and went back to his hut where Fang was waiting for his evening snack of half a sheep.

ooOOoo

The horse stood in the middle of its loosebox for a while, possibly waiting to see if the door would open again, but possibly not. It was impossible for an observer to tell if it missed its freedom or if instead it was happy to be in an environment designed by people for horses. Maybe it missed roaming the forest. But, since it was a horse and all horses have 'greedy opportunist' specified in the blueprints, it turned its attention to the sweetfeed, eating steadily and not too quietly.

Its noises woke Draco.

ooOOoo


	6. chapter 6

Disclaimer: Hogwarts and its people still belong to JK Rowling, bless her cotton socks for letting us play with them.

ooOOoo

Chapter 6: Measuring in Hands

_Grunch, grunch, grunch._

He'd only climbed up into the loft over the stall when Hooch had suggested it would be a safer place for him to sit. He'd dangled his legs over the edge for a while, listening to the kerfuffle as the others tried to treat his horse. Then, when he'd dispensed his wisdom for the day and Luna was busy washing (and he could hear the water go glurgle-sloop in the bucket and the way her breathy voice changed when she leaned down to dip whatever she was using into the bucket) the horse's healed injuries, a wave of tiredness had hit him like a plank. It was a long walk back to the Infirmary and everyone sounded too busy to help him anyway, so Draco decided to lie back in the fragrant hay and close his eyes (_ha!_) for a bit.

When he woke up again he could hear something making terrible moist crunching sounds and the air was cold. There was a very… _organic_ … smell to the air that suggested whatever was in here with him wasn't housetrained.

"Hello?"

The crunching stopped, then started again as if whatever was making the noises couldn't be bothered with one misplaced Slytherin.

_Grunch, grunch, grunch, grunch…_

Draco's sleep-addled mind raced as he tried to catalogue the noise. Thief of Socks, no – that was a myth. Dire Bookworm – not in a barn.

Barn!

The sound was similar enough to the one the horse had made when that Ravenclaw girl fed it apples to make Draco think that this was just the horse eating something else. He could smell horse, too. Warm and sharp. Utterly distinct, although reminiscent of deer and unicorns. And he thought he could also smell… carrots?

"Hello, horse? Is that you?"

Stupid, stupid, stupid… What would he do if someone replied "Yes, Draco, it's me, the horse"?

So everyone had decided to forget about Draco Malfoy, had they? They were probably having a good laugh now, thinking of him stuck alone in the night outside the castle; maybe they thought he'd try walking back and get lost and disappear into the Forbidden Forest for good? That brute Hagrid and Hooch (who needed a shave almost as bad as the freaky half-giant) were probably down at the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade thinking up new ways of tormenting the Malfoy brat if he lived through the night.

Well, he'd show them. He'd show everyone.

He'd show them just as soon as he figured out a way to show them…

Fuming slightly, Draco found the ladder (set into the wall so as an occupant couldn't brush up against it and injure itself) and climbed down. He followed the grunch-grunch noises, which suddenly got louder as the horse lifted its long nose out of the bucket and swung its head around to investigate this late-night wanderer. The smell of carrots and molasses was much stronger as the horse sniffed his face. Draco was amused by the way the horse kept chewing as it made sure this wizard wasn't a danger. Finding nothing more interesting than what it already had, it turned its attention back to the contents of the bucket.

_Grunch-grunch-grunch_.

Much reassured by the fact that the horse was relaxed enough to ignore him, Draco stepped closer until he could hang an arm over the blanket-covered high back and lean against the warm side. The horse seemed content to keep ignoring the boy, which suited Draco just fine. It was a chilly night and the horse was nice and warm. Draco yawned, automatically covering his mouth with a hand. Good manners didn't get left outside a barn, after all.

What time was it? There was no way to know. It had been late when he'd suggested Luna fix the horse's injuries, so it must be a lot later now. If he went back into the castle Filch would probably catch him and give him hell, the rotten Squib. With no Snape to protect him Draco would most likely feel the wrath of McGonagall: she was the only teacher with the guts to take on the older Slytherin students and her bias against his house was the stuff of legend. Maybe he should stay here…

Humiliating though it was to admit it, Draco knew no-one in Slytherin House would be too concerned if he didn't show up. He didn't know who was doing the rounds of the dormitory now that Snape was dead. He didn't really care, anyway. It was warm here, and the company was undemanding, although after a week with no-one interesting to talk to Draco was feeling more than a little stir-crazy. Besides, if his father broke through the wards (and Draco was confident the resourceful Lucius would one day soon. Anyone who could kill Severus Snape and live to boast about it in a letter to his son was resourceful) the Death Eaters would slaughter a Muggle animal… and Draco was feeling oddly possessive of this one. It _had_ carried him out of the forest. It had saved his life from the spiders, too (although okay, what was the point of being alive if he was blind?). He'd found it (okay, _it_ had found _him_) and so it belonged to Draco. (Because a wizard, even a blind wizard who was no better than a Squib, couldn't belong to an animal, Muggle or magical!) Okay, so now that he was blind he was done for as a wizard and he wouldn't have a lot of clout with his father, but Lucius still needed him to carry on the Malfoy bloodline.

Gah.

That would mean Draco was even more likely to marry some ghastly chit of his father's choosing to breed with. Well, not that he'd ever thought he wouldn't, but it was nice to dream occasionally of choosing his own wife; someone he could respect and who respected him in return. Love was for romantics. Draco had never been a romantic, but he was a recent convert to pragmatism, and respect was well within the boundaries of pragmatism.

When the horse finished eating (and Draco envied it a little – he'd skipped dinner and now his stomach was protesting with loud growls) and lay down, the boy carefully worked out where the legs had been arranged then lay down too, choosing the inside curve of the horse's neck as his pillow and pulling straw over himself to keep warm.

But he didn't go to sleep for a long time. He lay there listening to the horse's soft snores and thought about things. General things like politics, and specific things.

Like Harry Potter, the Dark Lord, and Cornelius Fudge.

When at last he slept he dreamed he was playing poker with those three. All the cards were marked but no-one seemed to know how the markings worked enough to do some serious cheating. The queens were Luna for some strange reason, while the kings were Lucius, and all the jacks had green eyes and stupid scars on their foreheads.

When Fudge called Draco to show his hand, Draco put down his cards and watched all five turn into aces. Each ace was a black horse: one for diamonds, one for clubs, one for spades, one for hearts… and the last black horse had a green and silver pentacle over its back.

"Well played," said Harry, showing Draco his own hand which had four jacks. The jacks, who looked exactly like the boy holding them, said in unison: "Yes, well played."

"You have an equine flush," said Voldemort, his red eyes twinkling over his half-moon spectacles, and his voice sounded like Dumbledore's.

Draco smirked and drew his winnings towards him. The stakes had been cities and towns and villages and houses. Tiny sparks represented the lives of the people within them. Draco was gentle as he pulled them towards his chest.

"Wait," said Fudge. He was wearing his stupid little bowler hat. "Blind people can't play. You were cheating. "

And then Draco realised that he couldn't see anything. People were trying to hold him, control him, stop him from breathing… He shouted at them to go away as he struggled out of their grasping hands and tried to run away from the table.

The strongest hand clamped down on his shoulder. The fingernails were sharp. "I've got a present for you, Draco," said Lucius. He opened his free hand and a spell shot out, a curse the sickly yellow of old pus. Draco was blind but he could see it as it arced away and hit –

"NO!"

He woke as the spell hit Snape and ripped him inside out.

ooOOoo

The hand on his shoulder was still there and Lucius was breathing hot on the side of Draco's neck. But the world was black again. Small mercy, that: Draco had the image of Snape being torn apart tattooed on his useless retinas in technicolour shades of red and scream. He froze, waiting for his father to say something.

But his father stayed silent. The fingers (fingers? No!) relaxed on his shoulder when Draco tried to sit up. It was the horse. The horse had bitten him. It had woken him up. The fingernails were its teeth, and Lucius' breath was really the horse's. Draco reached up with shaking hands and touched a velvety muzzle. Hot air gusted over his fingers, reassuring him that the horse was alive and unharmed, a condition not congruent with his father being present. Draco shuffled backwards so that his back was nestled in against the horse's neck and he could pat the animal more easily. "Good horse," he said, his voice thin and still shaking from the nightmare. "Thank you for waking me up from… that."

It whuffled softly to him, just as he'd heard it whuffle to Luna, and rested its nose on his knee. Draco reached forward to pat it.

It was calming just touching the horse. The soft, satiny hide over the strong bones of the convex nose was a lodestone for reality. Nightmares drew back into shadows even a blind boy could see, but now he could see them for what they were: nightmares. Only nightmares. Unmagical and unfragrant, the horse trumped them. It stayed still as Draco's fingers continued to explore the alien physiology of the animal's head.

Draco began to map it out by touch. In the darkness of the night, there were no shadows under his fingertips. And little by little the nightmare drained away.

The velvety skin around the wrinkled mouth and broad spreading nostrils switched to the sleek pelt Draco had already felt on the horse's neck, but with shaggier, softer whiskers under the jaw. The cheeks were flat with muscle. When Draco ran his hand up behind the jaw and felt the slight jowliness there he dug his fingers in and the horse pushed back, like it was enjoying having its jaw scratched. Draco smiled and stroked the hair flat over the neck until his fingers found something… odd.

It was a wrongness. That was the best way he could describe it. A lump that (even though he didn't know anything about horses) he knew shouldn't be there. Draco sighed to himself and moved back to the horse's head again. He'd ask Hooch about the lump tomorrow. The ears flickered when he bumped his fingertips into them, and Draco pulled on one, laughing silently when the horse didn't pull away. Between the ears was a bony bump covered in the same long hair Draco had felt in the mane, and he scrubbed at that with his fingernails while the horse pushed back happily.

Draco's happy mood dissolved when he moved his hand down flat and felt something tickle his palm. Eyelashes. His hand was covering the horse's eye. A lump formed in Draco's throat as he realised the horse trusted him enough to let him get close enough to blind it.

The lump in Draco's throat threatened to cut off his breathing as hot tears spilled down from his own useless eyes. He wanted to see again. He wanted to see the world and know that he had a place in it.

The fluttering against his palm brought him back to reality. He sniffed and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his robes. Bugger manners – this was a barn and barns didn't come with hankies. He sniffed again and realised he still had his hand over the horse's eye. The flickering of the eyelashes like a line of tiny paintbrushes was the most amazing feeling he'd ever felt.

Draco moved his hands over the horse's head again, but this time with more care and with a clinical intensity. He found the 'lump' on the horse's neck again and felt the wrongness as an itch under his fingernails.

He took in the smells of horse and hay and the laundry soap the house elves used on his robes.

He heard the faint rustles of trees in the wind outside and the gurgle of food in the horse's belly … and the gurgle of his own, empty belly.

Then he ran his fingers through the horse's mane, deciphering the different textures.

Then he leaned back against the horse as it put its head down and began to softly snore again, and he put his hands together.

Hands.

He carefully touched his thumbs to each opposing finger. Hands and thumbs and fingers. He'd never given them any thought before. They'd always been there – like eyes.

Hands were a miracle all of their own.

Snape's hands hadn't been pretty but they'd been clever. Draco had envied him that cleverness. Pansy's hands… grasping pudgy things. Crabbe and Goyle's hands like slabs of meat; butcher's hands; hands for dealing with the aftermath of life, Draco had always thought, and it had amused him once to consider that he, Draco Malfoy, would be one of those deciding how life would change. His father's hands were beautiful creations, representative of Lucius himself: cool and capable of quick, unlooked-for cruelty. Blaise Zabini… that boy had hands always with that faintest trembling, and only now did Draco consider what might have given the other boy such a characteristic. Millicent Bulstrode's hands were strong like Crabbe and Goyle's, but there was a more practical art to hers, as if she was waiting for the day when she'd learn she was to be famous for carving wood or work the lapidary magic that spun castles out of mountains. He couldn't remember Potter's hands even though they'd smacked into Draco's face enough times, but of all the Gryffs it was Granger's hands he held in his mind's eye. The Mudblood had the hands of a scholar, as his father had described them, although Lucius could never have condoned such a generous compliment to a Mudblood, even though Granger was (gah – Draco had to admit it) possessed of a brilliant mind and a not unattractive body. She did Mudbloods proud, and was – at least superficially – better than many purebloods; and in the lonely hours in the Infirmary Draco had mulled this paradox over, weighing it up against what Lucius had instilled in his son from the cradle.

Sometimes, Draco thought, his father had some really dumb ideas.

Draco's hands were so familiar that it hit him like a punch to the gut that he didn't remember what they looked like. It was like describing his mother: she was so familiar he couldn't picture her face as a physical thing, only as the series of passing emotions the thought of her evoked. Strange. He sat there and realised that whatever force had created humans – God, evolution, elf overlords, whatever – it had truly gifted people when it saw to it that they had hands.

Draco sat in a barn with a Muggle beast, blind, friendless, and – because he didn't kid himself when it came to this – powerless. All through history, a blind wizard was destined to be no more than a pawn. Unless he took his destiny into, as it were, his own hands and shaped it to his liking.

And he thought about hands and, for the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy bowed his head and felt blessed.

ooOOoo


	7. chapter 7

Disclaimer: Hogwarts and its people still belong to JK Rowling, bless her cotton socks for letting us play with them.

A/N: Generally speaking, horses sleep lying down. Maybe some like to sleep standing up (and they are equipped for it with special locking knees), but the ones I've known have all preferred to stretch out – preferably in the sun for a nap, and who can blame them? In the bad old days horses were kept in narrow stalls, which gave them no space to stretch out. Looseboxes of decent size let horses sleep lying down.

ooOOoo

Chapter 7: Monster in the Night

Just as he was dozing off to the snores of Ron and Seamus, Harry remembered what he'd forgotten.

Draco.

Bugger. He wasn't going out to rescue the little creep at this time of night – hopefully Malfoy had enough sense in his blond head to stay in the stable where it was safe. Harry rolled over as his conscience prodded him and told him the stable mightn't be all that safe for a blind boy, especially when everything in the Forest was so stirred up. He argued back that Hooch or Hagrid would have brought Draco back to the Slytherin dormitory.

That seemed sensible.

His conscience thought that seemed sensible too, and let him go to sleep.

ooOOoo

Something had woken the horse. And the horse woke Draco when it lifted its head and snorted. This wasn't the sort of snort that cleared flies out of its nose – it was hollow like a drainpipe and the sound rippled. Draco thought the horse sounded frightened. He rubbed at his eyes, wondering for a brief moment why everything was so dark before remembering. With a small sense of satisfaction he realised there was less bitterness today at his blindness; it had been replaced by a more pragmatic desire to get on with things as they stood ("Step 1 in my plan for World Conquest: stop fretting about the resources I don't have" had been formulated back in the hospital wing), and Draco stretched his hearing to sense what had disturbed the horse.

There were the morning songs of birds, clear and sweet and distant… a bit too distant, perhaps? But nothing he could hear that would have startled a horse. Although…

What was that smell?

Draco sniffed again cautiously.

Something rank and tinted slightly with sage threaded through the sweet, wholesome smell of hay and the heavier, tangier smell of horse. Draco snorted in disgust at the same time as the horse, and frowned to himself – clearly he'd been spending too much time around Muggle animals if he was starting to pick up their behaviour.

The horse nipped Draco lightly and Draco, a little confused by the attack however mild, stopped leaning on the horse. Did it want him to go away? There was a rustle of hay and a slight grunt of exertion, and the horse climbed to its feet.

Oh. That was all. His couch merely wanted to stand up. Draco put out a hand to check where the nearest leg was – there, all ligament and bone – and the horse dipped its head briefly to sniff his hair. For a second Draco smiled, but then there was a shuffling noise outside the doors of the loosebox and the leg beneath his hand thrummed with sudden tension. Draco realised he was in a prime position to get stamped on, and quickly got to his feet. The horse snuffed his hair again, then brought the solid, bony head around to push Draco back into a corner.

Draco didn't like this at all. But he stayed. He wasn't quite sure what corner he was in, anyway, and maybe it was better to stay away from the door. He put out a hand and touched the soft woollen blanket covering the horse. It was warm and a few strands of hay fell away at Draco's touch, but underneath Draco could feel muscle solid over the ribs, and when he lifted his hand higher and pressed down to feel for give, the muscles along the back were like steel cords under the blanket. The horse turned its head again and butted Draco more firmly into the corner. Ouch. Draco rubbed his hip where he'd banged it into the manger. Okay – he could take a hint… when he chose to.

The doors creaked open and there was a strong whiff of rotting sage that made Draco gag. He found he was shaking now; there was something coming into the stall that was all wrong, and he was blind and even if he could see he didn't have his wand – they'd taken it off him because they said he didn't need it anymore and –

The horse screamed.

ooOOoo

Millicent Bulstrode was the first big shock of Harry's day. And everyone else's, he expected.

Under The Blockade (it had gone on so long now Harry had begun to capitalise it in his mind) breakfast was a fairly relaxed affair at Hogwarts. Apart from the roof, which was showing the pink-streaked grey-blue of a promising day, it was Saturday thus there would be no classes even if there could be no Hogsmeade visit, but even aside from the general Saturday morning feeling of an outing denied the mood was one of tentative contentment, surprising Harry because for the last few days everyone had been speculating fearfully about the pearly barrier thickening around the Hogwarts perimeter. Theories ranged from magic run amuck and setting up a standing wave, to a secret defence by Dumbledore, to the latest in quiet viciousness from Voldemort. Luna had even suggested the barrier was a manifestation of Id from the collective subconscious.

Harry, along with most people, was going with the Voldemort origin theory.

The teachers encouraged inter-House solidarity now (although so far only Dumbledore had advocated sharing a new pet), and so instead of the tables being rigidly divided into the four Houses there was a growing prevalence of House badges being seen at tables where those badges had once been rare. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had led the charge, of course. Those two Houses had always shown a spirit that was more community than team. But Gryffindor had taken up the challenge: Padma joining her sister Parvati this morning wasn't unusual, but down the table to Harry's left was a small knot of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor third year girls, giggling over something with fluffy antennae one of them had in a box. Looking across the Hall at the empty fourth table, Harry frowned.

No-one had told the Slytherins about this new esprit d'ecole. Or, more likely, they had heard about it and then decided to turn their noses up. Typical. Not one Slytherin was in the Hall for breakfast.

Just as Harry was thinking that, Professor Sinistra, her manner flustered and her bootheels clattering on the stone floor, hurried into the Great Hall. She pursed her mouth and ducked her head apologetically as she came in; Harry thought she was apologising to Dumbledore, but couldn't say for sure. She led a procession of the Slytherins, from oldest to youngest. Silently they filed in to their places at their table and sat in unison, all without saying a word. The temperature of the Hall took a sudden downturn.

It was eerie.

The Hall was silent for a handful of seconds, then hunger overcame the moment and the students dug into breakfast again.

The only one not reaching for food was Millicent Bulstrode. Harry's eyes narrowed as he watched her scan the Hall. Her eyes met his as they passed on their slow examination then continued by as if he wasn't that interesting. Harry chewed slowly on his toast, watching, but careful not to seem to stare. What was she looking for?

And where was Draco?

Ah. She was looking for Draco. Something cold settled in Harry's stomach. Draco hadn't made it back last night, and now Bulstrode was looking for him. Harry tensed, wondering if he should go over to the Slytherin table and offer to help. Millicent leaned back to speak around Goyle who was sitting between her and Pansy. Harry saw her mouth move, saw Pansy's one-shouldered shrug, and saw Millicent's face darken.

Then Millicent stood. She cracked her knuckles and said something to Pansy that made the other girl flinch back. What in Merlin's name was going on in Slytherin now that Draco was blind? Was this some sort of power-struggle? If so, it was the first time Harry had ever considered Bulstrode as a contender in anything other than an all-comers mud-wrestling-a-thon. Harry realised he had stopped chewing, and forced his throat to swallow.

The way the Slytherin girl put back her shoulders and adjusted her robes had something deliberate to it.

As did her straight-backed walk as she marched up to the High Table.

Inter-House relations might be easing up, but it was still unusual for a student to approach the professors. And when the Slytherin stopped before Dumbledore, Harry realised he wasn't the only one who was watching. The entire student body had gone silent.

And so Millicent's voice, quiet as ever, carried through the Hall.

"Headmaster, where is Draco Malfoy?"

Dumbledore blinked.

"Is he not in his dormitory?"

Millicent was a big, strapping lass who wouldn't have looked out of place heaving barrels of beer around. And when she squared her shoulders and firmed her jaw, Harry wondered if she had the strength to tip the High Table over.

"No," she said calmly. "He is not. And I believe it is your job to know the whereabouts of your students."

Small birds could have been sucked in through the windows as the students took a collective breath.

"Unfortunately some students, such as Mr Malfoy, have an unfortunate habit of leaving their dormitories after curfew. I suspect he is –"

"Lost," she stated bluntly. "He was not in the common room last night. No-one has seen him since dinner last night. He would have been unable to leave Slytherin last night, anyway, so your excuse holds no water."

Someone in the Hall dropped a teaspoon. It tinkled in the silence.

"Why did you not call for a staff member, then?" Dumbledore asked, frowning.

"I tried. But of course as the Slytherin dormitory was completely sealed off, I was unable even to call for a house elf."

Dumbledore looked at Sinistra, who blushed. "I'm sure there was some way to –" he began carefully, but was cut off again.

"I'm absolutely sure there wasn't." Millicent's mouth was a firm line and her hazel eyes bored into Dumbledore's blue ones, which had lost what little twinkle they had had this morning.

"Miss Bulstrode," Professor McGonagall interrupted crisply. "Please remember who you are addressing."

"I believe I do," replied Millicent, her face as calm as an unsmiling Mona Lisa, her eyes not leaving Dumbledore's. "I am addressing the headmaster, whose job it is to mind the welfare of all students nominally in his care. Not just the flashy and pretty and popular Gryffindors. All of them. Even the Slytherins."

"Miss Bulstrode!" McGonagall's anger could be measured by how strong her accent grew: She'd rolled the 'r' for a good whole second. "It's not yourrr right to tell the headmasterrrr how to do his job!"

"Then whose is it? Someone has to. It's bad enough we've lost our Head of House –" her voice wobbled infinitesimally "– but then to be relegated to the status of inconvenient pets is intolerable.

"Professor Snape is the only one who ever looked out for us, and now he's gone. We have to look out for each other, now, and it's tricky to do that when outside forces are piling up against you. It's extremely frustrating, for example, being imprisoned in your dormitory when you know one of your Housemates is missing. You could, perhaps, try and contact a staff member. Unfortunately no staff member is willing to listen to you, even if you could get a message out from your rooms. Now that Professor Snape is gone Slytherin is isolated every night… if there was a fire or a medical emergency someone could die. If someone is missing – someone blind and literally unable to look out for himself, for example – we are unable to search for him or notify anyone of his absence.

"Bias against our parents aside, Headmaster Dumbledore, you allowed us into this school and in so doing became responsible for our welfare. We don't expect care or affection and especially not fairness from you, but we do expect not to have our lives thoughtlessly endangered despite…" she took a deep breath "…your past record of treatment of Slytherins, and we do expect to be able to find one of our Housemates when he may be in danger. And you, the headmaster, are ultimately responsible for that. So I ask you again: where is Draco Malfoy?"

Dumbledore looked into Millicent's eyes and his expression was sorrowful. "I am afraid I do not know," he said.

"Headmaster," McGonagall huffed, "She is…"

Dumbledore waved a hand. "She is correct. And I have been negligent."

Sinistra was almost scarlet with humiliation, and Harry guessed it was she who must have sealed off the Slytherin rooms. She opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by two embarrassed coughs from further down the table. Hagrid's nearly eclipsed Hooch's and sounded like a small avalanche. "No, Headmaster," said Hooch. "I was the teacher on duty. I should have been more aware. But I expect he is safe…" She didn't meet Millicent's level stare: Harry read the look as saying: _'expect,' or 'know'?_

"He… was with us in the barn when we were caring for the horse he and Harry Potter found." Hooch was slowly turning pink under Millicent's calm gaze.

Millicent nodded slowly. "Then that's where I'll look for him first." She nodded to Dumbledore before she turned, but it looked like a formality, as if someone had once schooled her on good manners.

A scowling Pansy grabbed at her robes as she walked past, but Millicent twitched it out of her hand, saying "Not here," and Pansy sat back with her face glowing like Sinistra's and Hooch's and Hagrid's.

Millicent Bulstrode walked out of the Hall just as calmly as she'd walked into it. Two of the younger Slytherin girls wiped their mouths and hurried after her. As they disappeared down the stairs of the Entrance Hall there was a collective _whoosh_ as the students let out their breath. Harry looked down at his hands. He'd been holding a napkin, and somewhere between Millicent standing up and Millicent walking out, it had mysteriously shredded itself. He threw it down and, heedless of Ron's "Harry, mate, where are you –?" and the way Hermione tactfully stopped Ron from following, not to mention the hiss of suspicion from the Slytherin table. He didn't even notice Dumbledore wave McGonagall's angry sputterings into silence and reply, "She is right," then briefly cover his face with his hand.

Harry jumped down the steps three at a time, but needn't have hurried. Millicent was at the bottom of the stairs with one of the Slytherin girls holding her hand. The girl was saying something Harry couldn't hear, but then Millicent sighed and sat down with one girl on either side of her and said, "Yes, I know. I miss my mum too. But you'll see her soon, I'm sure. This… situation can't go on forever. And sometimes the owls get through… what you can do is write to her and tell her you're not afraid –"

"But I _am_ afraid!" the girl said, and smiled.

"Well, that's because you're sensible," Millicent replied, not able to stop smiling herself. "But write a letter telling her you're fine, and then as soon as an owl comes in take the chance to send the letter out. Oh, and ask her for some liquorice for me, too, while you're at it, huh? I haven't had any for ages."

"Why should she send you liquorice?" the second girl asked.

"Because, my Slytherin sister, then I will help you and her with your History homework."

"Huh. Okay… That seems fair. I guess."

"Right. So. Are you going to go back and finish your breakfast?"

"No. We're going to help you find Draco," said the smaller girl who had been worried about her mother. "Pansy was wrong what she said. P'fessor Snape warned us about divide and conquer, and that's all that's happened since Draco got hurt."

"Hmm," replied Millicent, her face impassive. Harry wondered what really went on behind it. He'd only ever seen her before as muscle for Pansy – Crabbe or Goyle in drag. He decided perhaps it was time to let her know he was watching.

Millicent looked up when she heard him cough, and her expression hardened into one of mild dislike and stupidity – Harry was familiar with it, but beginning to wonder just how much he should trust his eyes. "What do you want, Potter?" she asked.

"To make sure Malfoy's okay," he replied mildly, not wanting her to see he was disturbed by how quickly she had closed off on seeing him – or how the two younger girls had clustered closer to their larger, older Housemate like chicks to a hen, and were now eyeing at him with distrust. "I was working with him and Luna Lovegood yesterday evening. I thought Hooch and Hagrid had taken him back to the castle…" He paused. "Was that true about being locked into your common room?"

Millicent's expression hardened further. "Don't worry – you don't have to believe me if –"

"No, I do believe you. I just… Never mind. I'll show you where I last saw him."

He heard a rustle from the stairs behind him, and turned in time to see one of the younger Slytherin students disappear behind a column. So. They were checking up on him, were they?

Harry couldn't say he blamed them.

Then Professor McGonagall descended on them like the Caledonian wrath of God.

"_Miss Bulstrode!"_ she hissed, sounding in that moment like she was channelling Snape. "How _dare_ you behave in such a disrespectful manner! That will be one hundred points from Slytherin, and a week's detention for you!"

Millicent shrugged. Harry read a lot more into that little motion than if she'd opened her mouth, and realised the Slytherins must have stopped worrying about points when Snape died. As for the detention, _at least_, the shrug said, _I brought attention to what I wanted to_.

Merlin, no wonder Sinistra had locked them away last night. If Bulstrode was to be taken as some sort of weathervane the Slytherins were a matchstick away from exploding into open rebellion.

Just as he realised that, he noticed the quiet ranks of students lined up on the stairs above, apparently materialised out of nothing. It seemed to be the entirety of Slytherin house, even including Pansy, who gave Millicent a look that said: _We haven't finished this, but for now…  
_  
Harry almost – almost, but not quite – missed the slight nod Millicent gave Pansy.

McGonagall looked up and swallowed audibly. Harry didn't blame her: their silent watchfulness – _judgement –_ was making all the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

A pale, nervous sixth-year boy Harry had only noticed as being one of the few who could see the Thestrals, spoke up:

"Will that be one hundred points from each of us and a week's detention, Professor? Because Bulstrode spoke for each and every one of us."

As one, the Slytherins nodded.

Dudley had been allowed to watch whatever videos he liked, and he loved horrors. Harry had occasionally seen one. _Merlin, it's like "Children of the Corn."_

McGonagall narrowed her eyes; the tone may have been mild and the boy's demeanour polite, but Zabini's words smacked of open rebellion. Harry wasn't sure what would have happened at that point, but Dumbledore stepped through the silent students. "No," he said. "First and foremost, it is time to find Mr Malfoy. After we are sure of his safety we can argue right and wrong. Miss Bulstrode, I believe Mr Potter was about to show you to the stables?"

Harry was grateful of the chance to escape. He was used to the Slytherins watching and sneering at him, but this cold politeness was making his stomach queasy.

ooOOoo

When they were in sight of the barn, Harry noticed the door was open. "That's odd…"

"What?"

"The door should be shut. And can you smell that?"

Millicent sniffed. "That's… odd."

"Poo," said the younger of the Slytherin first years. "Is that what horses smell like?"

"No," said Harry, frowning. "It's not. I –"

Then something started screaming.

ooOOoo


	8. chapter 8

Disclaimer: Still not my little puppet people.

ooOOoo

Chapter 8: The Lassie of the Horse World

When they got there it was all over. Dust from the aftermath rose and hovered in tiny motes, caught by nearly horizontal light threading and weaving through a few loose boards in the wall. The light played tricks on Harry's eyes, making it harder to see shadow. He concentrated harder until he saw the darkest, slowly moving shadow. It was blood, a slow, spreading pool trickling out of the open doors of the loosebox and seeping into the dirt floor. An equally dark shape lay half-in, half-out of the doors, crumpled in on itself. One foot twitched.

At first Harry thought it was Draco in his black Hogwarts robes, and his stomach lurched. "Stay back," he ordered the three girls hoarsely. Not bothering to check if he'd been obeyed, he drew his wand and crept forward.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the figure on the ground wasn't Draco. It wasn't even human, he thought, although the body was so battered it was hard to make a snap judgement. When he peered around the door to check the head, he had a brief glimpse of something thoroughly pulped into the straw and, apart from its position at the top of the torso, otherwise unrecognisable as a head; then something reared high over him and lashed out.

Harry ducked back just in time as the horse crashed back down to earth.

His wand hand was shaking – the horse had only recognised him at the last moment before it would have struck him with its front hooves. Could Madam Pomfrey mend a smashed skull?

He didn't want to try her skill that badly.

He was shaking all over. Harry breathed deep. Funny – he'd dealt with dragons and blast-ended skrewts, not to mention Fluffy and Aragog, and now it had almost been a Muggle pet which finished him off. After that scare he was tempted to hex the animal back into the Forest.

He took another deep breath and wished he hadn't. The dead creature stank. But Luna said you had to be calm when dealing with horses. What would Luna do now?

"Steady, boy," Harry said quietly, putting his wand away. He edged around the frame of the door, carefully not looking down at the shattered creature lying in the straw, and even more careful to whip back behind the door if the horse attacked again.

The horse was standing in the centre of the loosebox. Its head was high and its ears were back, and it was shaking slightly as it watched him.

"You too, huh?" Harry said. "So something scared you… and now you've just scared me." He was babbling, but Luna had told him it was important to let your tone of voice tell the horse how you were feeling. Hopefully his tone of voice was a good liar, because Harry didn't feel particularly calm. After being utterly creeped out by Slytherin House (not unprecedented, but not usually over breakfast) and confronted with a dead monster and a horse on the warpath, Harry was a long way outside Calm. With a bit of luck the horse wouldn't find that out. "Steady, now… I'm just going to come in and check you're all right…"

"Potter? Is that you?" The voice was high and shaky, but definitely Draco's. Harry realised, amazed, he'd completely forgotten why he'd come out here in the first place. "Be careful – there's a monster out there."

"Um, actually it's under here," Harry said, deliberately keeping his eyes above the ground. He was uncomfortably aware of the stickiness sucking at his sneakers as he ventured another step into the stall. "How about you – are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Draco replied, but Harry, looking through the dim morning light filtering in through a high, dusty window, could see the other boy looking paler than he'd been since the spider bit him. He was standing in the manger, pressed as far into the corner as he could possibly wedge himself. "How's my horse?"

Harry didn't say, He's not your horse, Malfoy. Instead he moved forward a little, raising his hand to the horse's nose to make sure it knew who he was and – hopefully given that – not attack. "Hey there," he whispered. "So how are you? That was a hell of a wake-up call you must have had this morning. Hmm? Let's see, now…"

"Well?"

Draco sounded more anxious than self-important, so Harry replied softly, "He's covered in gore… all over his front legs and chest, anyway. Steady…" He reached out and put his hand on the head collar to hold the horse's head still while he looked closer. The horse twitched its head, but when Harry didn't yank back, it stilled with a sigh. Harry thought it looked relieved. "Okay… let's see… Lots of blood, but I don't think any of it is his own. Oh, hang on…"

"What?"

"Try to sound calm, Malfoy. Remember what Luna said… the horse nearly kicked my head in when I arrived, and I want to keep him happy."

"Oh. Because that would have been such a disaster. What, pray tell me, is wrong with my horse?"

Sarcasm, but at least it was sarcasm delivered calmly. "There are some scratches on his neck. I think that creature might have been…" He took a closer look at the pattern of clawmarks. "I think it was a vrikolaki. The clawmarks look similar to what was on his flank yesterday. Hagrid also said that once a vrikolaki marks its prey it will keep hunting it down. I guess it was a bit too stubborn."

"Huh. And where is it now?"

"Um. Kind of… next to me. Some of it's under me. Some of it's out of the door. And some of it – sorry, boy – is on the horse." Harry used a stalk of straw to brush a clinging bit of membrane off the horse's knee. "There we go. But you're going to need a bath."

"Well, I _have_ spent the night in a stable; what do you expect?" Draco said huffily.

"Not _you_; the _horse_."

"I take it the monster's not a threat right now."

Harry looked down for a second. And looked up again as his breakfast threatened to come up, too. "Nope. Not ever, I think. Do you know what happened?"

Draco paused for a moment. "The horse woke me up. I could smell something nasty. Still do, for that matter. Then we stood up and the horse – it's time he had a name, don't you think? – then he pushed me into the corner here and something opened the door. Then…" Draco frowned as if there was some poison in the memory. "Then something came in and I… and then the horse started screaming and roaring and... I thought it was going to… And then there was this banging and crashing and something else was screaming, too, but not angry like the horse… it was just… just… screaming. And then it stopped and I kept hearing something thumping on the ground, making it shake. And then that stopped, too, and you came in." Draco wrapped his shaking hands in folds of his robes.

Hell, thought Harry. "Couldn't you have done something? Sent out a message or something? Or just a flare…"

Draco's blind face twisted as he glared at Harry. The pale eyes seemed to fix on Harry's face as he hissed, "And how would I do that, Potter? You don't think they'd let a blind wizard keep his wand, do you? He might do something stupid, like, oh, I don't know… defend himself."

"I… didn't know. Sorry." Harry turned back to look at the horse. It dropped its nose to rest on his shoulder for a second. "Let's get out of here," he muttered. "Wait a tick."

The leash – Harry couldn't remember what Luna had called it – was hanging on the outside of the door. He clipped it onto the ring under the horse's chin – he didn't want it running off out the open door; Luna would kill him – and went over to help Draco out of the manger. "Here. Put your hand on my shoulder. Good. Let's go. I want some sunshine…"

"Is it sunny out?"

It seemed like the most inane of conversations as they stepped over and through the mangled remains of the vrikolaki, but Harry needed something from normal life – vrikolakis might technically be normal life for Harry Potter, but all in all he'd rather talk about the weather. "Yes. It looks like being a lovely day."

"Super. Let's have a picnic."

"With tomatoes and lettuce?"

"And lashings of pumpkin juice."

Harry could only pray Malfoy had never read Enid Blyton.

With Draco on his left and the horse prancing nervously and snorting on his right, Harry carefully led them along the wide central aisle of the stable, and out into the rising sun. He breathed in deep, filling his lungs with the cool, dewy air gratefully. Then suddenly remembered:

"Bulstrode, put your wand away, please."

"Why?" Millicent was standing to the side of the sliding wooden doors of the barn with the two younger girls tucked behind her.

"The horse doesn't like wands," Draco said, turning in her direction. "I can hear him fidgeting. Besides, the monster's dead."

The horse was fidgeting. Harry put a hand on its neck to soothe it, but the horse shook its head when Millicent put her wand back into her robes. The horse relaxed a little again, then swished its head in a long arc, tugging Harry away from the barn.

"Uh – I think he wants to keep going…"

"Fair enough," said Draco, and shivered. "It still stinks out here."

"What was it?" asked the littler girl.

"Potter thought it was a vrikolaki. Is that Trudi?"

"Yes," said the girl, blushing with pleasure. "Daisy's here, too. We wanted to know if you were all right because we couldn't get out of the dormitory to find you last night – nobody could. They locked us in, can you believe it? Well? Are you all right? Vrikolakis are meant to be really nasty."

Draco was looking a little happier from Trudi's information. "I'm fine. The horse defended me."

That was true, Harry thought, looking sideways at the horse, which was still trying to tug him away from the barn. _You could have run away out through that open door at any time, but you stayed and fought. And Draco said you pushed him into the corner to keep him out of danger. Are you the Lassie of the horse world or something?_ "Come on – let's go around to the tap."

The horse didn't want to be anywhere near the barn, but grudgingly obeyed when Harry insisted on going around the corner. It stood and swished its tail resentfully as Harry fixed a hose to the tap and washed off the worst of the muck. He ignored the shivers as the water ran through the cuts, and wondered how to clean them -

"Hello, what are you doing out so early?"

Luna. Well, that solved that problem.

"We found Draco."

"I can see that. Did you get a good night's rest, Draco?" Luna asked. Harry braced himself for the answer, but Draco seemed to be feeling a bit more relaxed after his near-death experience.

"It was fine until my wake-up call. Thanks for getting me back to the castle, by the way."

"Sorry. I thought Hooch and Hagrid would make sure you were safe. Why didn't you say anything when we left?"

Draco looked a little embarrassed. "I must have fallen asleep. I've been doing that a lot lately."

"Oh. Well, now that I know, I can be a bit more careful."

"Thanks. Luna – Potter says my horse was injured. Could you have a look at him?"

"What?" Luna's bulging eyes fixed in accusation on Harry. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing! The monster was already dead when I got there!" Harry felt he was fast losing control of the situation. Again. Off to the right Millicent and the first-years were watching the scene act out. What was it with Malfoy and Lovegood? Somehow it ended up with Harry being the villain of the piece, and all because he'd had the impulse to do a good deed.

No good deed goes unpunished.

"Look, Luna," he sighed. "The horse was attacked, but seems to be able to defend himself. There's smelly, squashed proof inside if you want to check. But first, could you see to the cuts on his neck?"

Luna fixed the cuts in a jiffy, and wanted to go inside to see the monster ("A vrikolaki? They were thought to be a myth, you know, like the punk-tot…" Draco: "The punk-tot _is_ a myth, Lovegood."), but the horse, as soon as it saw where she was going, whipped the leadrope out of Harry's hands so fast he nearly got a rope burn and trotted over to get between Luna and the door. When she tried to slip around it, she was nipped for her disobedience.

"Ouch. All right…" Luna rubbed her shoulder. The horse butted her away from the door and out towards the meadow. As soon as it reached grass it began snatching mouthfuls then lifting its head to stare around and into the Forest, the black hide quivering on its withers as if there were flies bothering it. Harry could see it was still upset. He must have said something aloud, because Luna replied quietly, "That's normal behaviour. When horses are upset they comfort-eat. It's almost human, isn't it?" she added, smiling up at him.

Harry smiled back, not really hearing what she said. He was distracted by the way the morning sun brought out the faintest pink bloom in her cheeks, and how well it contrasted with the blue of her eyes. She had just asked him a question. "Sorry? Oh, yes. You're right."

She beamed at him. It was quite captivating how her lips curved. There was something about the finely formed upper lip set against the softness of the lower lip that was positively artistic, and -

And she'd just asked him another question. "Oh. Of course," Harry mumbled.

Luna startled him by clapping her hands. "Oh, how wonderful. Daddy will be so pleased to have you come and carry the equipment on our next trip to Siberia!"

"What?"

With a hurt look, Luna walked off towards the horse, saying over her shoulder, "Honestly, Harry. You haven't listened to a word I've said." She clucked to the horse, which had pulled the leadrope out to its full extent to better get to a stand of tall grass. "Draco, have you eaten anything yet?" she said, dragging the horse over to where Draco was sitting on his bucket by the tap.

Harry stood there feeling like a complete idiot. What was wrong with him? Luna of all people, thinking he was daft… now there was a pot/kettle situation. And now she was arm in arm with Malfoy and pulling on the leadrope for the horse to follow. The three Slytherin girls followed along to Draco's left, Millicent giving Harry an unreadable look. And Draco was saying to Luna, "Not terribly. I never had dinner last night, so you'd think I'd be starving, but for some reason I'm not hungry."

"Well, having a monster squashed in front of you must make quite a good appetite suppressant."

Draco chuckled. "There's something for all those who want to go on a diet. Not a method _I'd_ recommend, but there's always someone willing to give the craziest fads a go. No, it was the smell that put me off food… Ugh. Change of topic, please."

Harry paused, feeling like an outsider all over again. What the hell was Luna doing chatting so comfortably with a complete git like Malfoy? She was _flirting_ with him, he'd swear it on Godric Gryffindor's grave.

The horse paused, giving Harry a measuring look, and refused to move when Luna tugged on the rope. Harry realised it didn't want him near the stables. When he started after the others the horse twitched its ears and looked a little less tense. Harry wondered again how smart horses were – this one was too aware of students near a place it considered dangerous. Amazing – in less than a day it had gone from attacking people to making sure they were safe from monsters. Well, Harry would go along to make sure the horse was all right, that was all. If Luna wanted to be chummy with that snake Malfoy it was her business. Harry would be magnanimous when she came back crying and saying how Malfoy had treated her so badly. Harry would heroically refrain from saying I told you so. Hell, he'd survived Voldemort. He could stop himself from saying I told you so. And in the mean time he'd… keep an eye on the horse.

He walked around to the right hand side of the horse and put his hand on its shoulder as they walked, feeling the lean muscle slide under fine skin and over strong bone. "How about finding a nice place for that picnic?" he asked idly.

"Sounds like a plan," Draco said. Luna smiled at Harry over the horse's back.

Harry pretended not to notice.

ooOOoo


	9. chapter 9

Harry Potterverse still not mine. Last time I claimed otherwise lots of friendly men in white coats came and took me to an interesting building where they gave me little pills and a really groovy white coat with, like wrap-around sleeves, man.

A/N: This chapter: Draco makes a joke and gets a second-hand pair of gloves (okay – not a very good pun… and his joke won't be much better than mine).

Thought for the day: I always find it odd in the books that although Slytherins are meant to be ambitious, they don't seem to have the nonce to pull off their ambitions. You'd think sooner or later one would come along who realises that one good direction for ambition is to be good to people and honestly and passionately believe in promoting their welfare. Or is the ambition of Slytherin meant to be purely personal/family-name orientated? Would Mahatma Gandhi, for example and with all due respect, have been a Slytherin?

OoOOoo

Chapter 9: The Timeless Story of a Boy and His Horse

The young girls and Millicent went back to the castle as soon as they were sure Draco was going to be safe. Millicent didn't seem to think Draco's safety was in any way helped by Harry Potter's proximity, but left anyway after giving Harry a level "watch yourself, mate" look. "I'll ask a house elf to send something out for you," she said. "Watch the sun, Draco. It's getting strong enough to burn."

"Yes, Mum. I won't touch it."

"You'll not be so sarky when you need me to make up my sunburn cream for you."

"Sorry," Draco grinned. "Oh, and Milli?"

"Yes?"

There was an abrupt shift of mood from light to serious. "Thanks."

Millicent smiled slightly. "You're welcome. Right, you two," she said to the young girls. "Let's get those books you needed for History."

"But we don't have your liquorice –" Daisy began, but was cut off by Trudi.

"Oh, for Salazar's sake… don't argue!"

Millicent raised her eyebrows in amusement as she looked back over at the three by the horse. "I'll send out a house elf. Anything else?"

"It might be an idea if you tell the headmaster we found Malfoy," Harry said.

Millicent shrugged. "I guess. How many search parties per day are we budgeted for? All right, then, you two..."

As she led the two girls back to the main doors, Draco said, "She'd make a good teacher one day."

Harry didn't think she had the brains to be a teacher.

"People can surprise you, Potter," Draco said, yawning, having correctly interpreted Harry's snort of disagreement. "Now… where in Merlin's name have you brought me now? I can smell fresh water."

ooOOoo

It was Luna and the horse who had chosen the spot near the lake. Mainly the horse, really, who had almost dragged Luna (and by association Draco and Harry) away from the barn and the borders of the forest. And apart from the tension between Harry and Draco, it was a pleasant picnic.

The horse had grazed nearby for a time, gradually relaxing until it kept its head down for minutes at a time without nervously lifting it to peer around at the castle and the forest. What it thought of the squid sunning itself in the shallow waters nearby was anyone's guess, but it didn't seem to be worried by the giant monster. Now it was stretched out in the sun, occasionally twitching an ear at a fly. The picnic became even more pleasant when Draco stretched out and fell asleep in the sun, too. Harry was in the same lazy mood. The picnic that had floated out to them (the horse barely blinked at the flying basket) had been large, but since none of them had eaten much that morning (or in Draco's case, in the last twenty four hours), it was demolished in short order. And now Draco's soft snores (punctuated by snorts when his nose was tickled by grass) seemed to contribute to the lassitude of the morning. Harry and Luna lay side by side on their backs and stared up into the blue sky, trying to see shapes in the clouds.

Harry had to give Luna full credit for imaginary cloud shapes – she had quite a range and described them in such detail he could see the mugwumps and bull kelpies she swore actually existed outside of cloud patterns.

"But how do you know they exist?" Harry kept asking.

"Why should they not?"

Harry didn't feel this was particularly logical, but was too sleepy to argue. "I dunno…" he said around a huge yawn.

"Exactly. This summer… well, if everything comes right again, I want to go to Australia to look for a bunyip. My uncle says they're a folk memory of an extinct animal, but Daddy says they still exist. So they're going to take me to Australia this summer, I hope."

"Sounds like quite the world tour you'll be having this summer. Is this the uncle who owns a horse?"

"Yes."

There was a subtle tension there that alerted Harry. "Do… you see him often?"

"Oh, yes. It's not like I have a lot of family – only Daddy and Uncle, now."

"You said he was your mother's brother." Harry wasn't particularly interested, but it would be intriguing to find out just how far into reality Luna ventured in any one conversation.

"I guess I did."

She yawned, which set Harry off again. When he got control over his jaw again, he said, "It must be nice to have family you care for. I've got an aunt and an uncle and a cousin, but they hate me."

"Really?" Luna didn't sound like she thought he was being melodramatic like most people would; she sounded like she was weighing up scenarios. Harry found that amazingly refreshing. "Do you hate them back, then?"

"I guess, yeah. But there're other people in the world for me to hate and it gets a bit, I don't know, a bit thin in places."

"So you save up your hate for those around at the moment?"

Harry paused to consider this. When he was away from the Dursleys he pretty much forgot about them. "Can you make hate wait until you've got time for it?"

There was a slight chuckle from Luna. "I guess so. Why not? Maybe it's like love. You can love someone to bits and not think about them until you see them again, or something reminds you of them."

"What about when you're in love with someone? You can't stop thinking of them, and at the weirdest times…" He blushed as she propped herself up on her elbow and grinned down at him.

"Why, Harry Potter. Are you in lurrrve?"

Harry felt his face grow hotter. "No. But…"

"You had a crush on Cho last year."

Merlin, his face was going to spontaneously combust. "You… know?"

Luna flopped back down and folded her hands over her stomach. "Oh, everyone knew. She made sure we did."

"God."

"Don't worry. She's very pretty. Are you over her?"

"I am now."

There was a muffled snort of laughter from the direction of Draco. Harry sat up and glared. "You're supposed to be _asleep,_ Malfoy!"

"What, and miss this conversation?"

Luna threw some grass stalks at him. But she was grinning. "So in the interests of self-disclosure, who have you had a crush on?"

Draco rolled over and yawned, covering his mouth with his hand politely. "Me? Oh, my mirror, of course. Such a shame being blind."

Luna laughed. Harry couldn't believe his ears. "Was that a joke, Malfoy?"

"Maybe. A better one is: 'my horse walked into the Leaky Cauldron. The bartender said, "Why the long face?" and my horse said, "I'm a horse."' How's that one?"

"It was old when Muggles told it… and for the hundredth time, he's not your horse," grumbled Harry, but Luna was almost crying with laughter.

"'I'm a horse! I'm a _horse!' _That's the funniest thing I've heard since…" She paused and ticked off her fingers, abruptly sober. "Wednesday. Yes, Wednesday."

Draco's blind eyes stared up at the sky in amazement. "Good God, Luna," he drawled, "do you actually _catalogue_ these things?"

"I'm a Ravenclaw. We're supposed to notice things."

"There's noticing, and then there's obsessing."

Harry wondered why Luna was still smiling, then realised Draco wasn't trying to be insulting. Just… a Malfoy. Possibly this was banter by his standards, but he'd never come across it in Draco before. Luna seemed happy with it, fortunately for Draco, because blind or no, Harry would chuck him in the lake if he turned on Luna. Or made a move on Luna. Or… well, pretty much did anything outside of these Dumbledore-condoned horse minding sessions with Luna. There was something about her that should be protected, maybe because there were so few genuinely nice people in the world.

If Harry wanted her help with his History homework he doubted he'd need to bribe her with liquorice.

ooOOoo

Harry was appalled to find that Luna and Draco had beaten him out to the horse after dinner.

That afternoon, after Harry had shown him the mess in the barn (the furious horse had been left in the pen for the meantime – Harry would need to find a bribe to sweeten up the horse's temper after this indignity), Dumbledore had frowned and walked slowly around to the other side of the castle, past the Quidditch pitch and up towards where the back of the castle nestled into the craggy hills. There, he had waved his wand. Out of the ground grew thin saplings, which bent over and twined around each other until they formed a long fence line enclosing a respectable-sized field. A small grove near the top of the hill wove themselves into what looked like a decent-sized hut.

"Well?" asked Dumbledore. "Do you think Hogwarts' latest resident will like it?"

Harry looked over the new paddock and stable and grinned. "There don't seem to be any monsters."

"Ah. Then how will he know it's his home?"

"I'll make him a letterbox with his name on it. When he gets a name, of course. It's brilliant. Nice and quiet… and far from the forest. Is there some way for me to tell if a wolf or something comes near? How do the Muggles deal with this sort of thing?"

"Unfortunately the good Arthur Weasley is kept busy tidying up after the occasional creature forays out of the Forest. It's warded, of course, but what with the Death Eaters disrupting everything around to keep us isolated, not to mention the way this new barrier which is effectively on top of the perimeter, the wards are operating at less than full efficiency." He sighed. "Even though the barrier now seems to be impermeable, I dread to think what is happening to those poor Muggles living within range of the forest on the other side of it… there's nothing to stop any vampires or werewolves from wandering." He sighed.

"If the horse managed to come through the Forest, do you think people could have come through, too?" Harry asked, worried at this new threat; even more worried, however, by this revelation that the mysterious barrier everyone had been talking about was now confirmed by Dumbledore to have solidified. "There might be some Muggles in the forest…"

"Well, Harry, it might be possible, but I think our equine friend was an anomaly. The centaurs would have alerted me if a Muggle was nearby." Dumbledore paused, looking up at the weathered hills. "I will put wards on this area. If anything comes near which should not, I will be aware of it."

"But if I –"

"Harry. If anything comes along that seriously threatens a horse who has just trampled a vrikolaki to death, I think it better if you were safely in the castle." His blue eyes as they peered over the half-moon spectacles were grave. "I promise you I will protect this horse of yours…" and his eyes regained a hint of a twinkle. "Who am I to get in the way of the timeless story of a boy and his horse?"

ooOOoo

That was something for Harry to think about when he went to the pen to find the horse after dinner: a boy and his horse.

When the horse proved to have disappeared, Harry felt panic seize his chest. It was a tense ten minutes before he tracked the horse down to the new field, where Luna and Draco were walking around the fence line while the horse grazed near the gate.

_A boy and his horse? More like a horse and his boy,_ Harry thought, angry after the initial relief at finding the horse unharmed. Even when the horse lifted its head and pricked its ears at Harry, looking almost pleased to see him, he wasn't mollified. Harry went to check it was all right and found that for once it was uninjured. "Keep up with that attitude," he murmured, patting the horse on the blanketed shoulder. The horse considered him for a moment, then bent its neck around and scratched its head on Harry's shoulder, nearly knocking him over. "Hey," laughed Harry. "I'm not an itching post, you know."

The horse decided that if this was so, grass was more interesting. Harry gave it an affectionate pat on the back and went over to see what Luna and Draco were doing.

Luna waved to him and then put a finger to her lip. Draco seemed to be walking quite well without any contact with Luna, but there was a bit of arm-waving going on. His hands were held away from his body, sometimes in front of him, sometimes to the side, as if he were walking waist deep in water and touching the little waves lapping around him. He seemed to have some odd sort of gloves on, too.

Careful to step quietly, Harry ventured closer. It was a shame Luna had asked him to keep quiet: right now Draco was walking like the living dead – it really was too good an opportunity to pass up without making a comment. Harry made a mental note to say something later.

"Now where is the horse?" Luna was asking.

Draco's face tensed in concentration. Then his hands with their odd fingerless gloves came around to point down the slope. "Over there…" he said slowly. "Up – no. Downhill from here. Twenty-seven meters away. By the… by the gate."

"Excellent. Now, where is the oak tree?"

Draco paused. "There," he said, pointing to a young oak. "But the gloves want to point over towards the Forest and I can't get a number in my head for the distance… I guess there are so many oaks there it weighs on the locator spells."

"Hm. That's worth considering. Now, where is Harry Potter?"

Draco turned towards the castle, and then an expression of annoyance and disappointment settled on his face. "They aren't working. Typical bloody Potter; he's broken my gloves…"

Luna was grinning as she winked at Harry. "Tell me what they say."

"Ah, all right… he's standing there –" he jabbed a finger at Harry "– two point six meters away."

"Sounds about right," said Harry, carefully not laughing when Draco jumped. "Where did you get those?"

Draco gathered himself together again, smoothing down his hair with one hand while the other stopped touching the breast of his robes where his wand would have once been. "Dumbledore gave them to me."

"Professor Snape made them," Luna supplied happily.

"How do you know that?" Draco snapped, glaring in her direction. "I hadn't told you that yet."

Luna shrugged. "There are potions that need to be made in the dark. I went and asked Professor Snape about the Diopsid Glow once. He showed me the gloves and explained how to make them."

Draco looked stunned. "You're joking!"

"No, or I'd be talking about horses going into bars."

"But… but that's Dark Magic… it uses banshee tears and -"

"Daddy wrote me a note. He looked up the spells and said that if Professor Snape agreed, I could research them. It's misclassified Dark Arts, anyway."

Harry frowned. "Snape was teaching you Dark Arts?"

"No," Luna said, her dreamy air evaporating into the annoyance she usually only showed around Hermione and other sceptics. "He just helped me out with my research when I was curious about something. He's not stupid – if he hadn't helped me I would have just gone looking by myself and maybe done some damage." She smiled. "Being Loony Luna has its advantages."

Harry looked away, embarrassed. "Don't call yourself that…"

"Everyone else does," she replied pragmatically.

"Better than Ferret-features," Draco drawled, smirking.

Luna burst out laughing. "Maybe a little. But the thing is people expect me to do something daft, so they think if they head me off with a lesser danger I won't go and blow myself up."

"Hmm. Still doesn't give me any ideas on how to use 'Ferret-features'."

"Could be worse," Harry said moodily. "They expect me to merrily go out and slay Voldemort."

"Feeling sorry for yourself, are we, Potter?"

"Just because you'd rather Voldemort kills me so you can go and be his happy little henchman –"

Draco tilted back his head, sneering. "Don't presume to know what I'd rather, Potter. Besides, the Dark Lord isn't going to want a blind wizard." The sneer evaporated, replaced with a genuine smile that reached his blind eyes. "I guess there's a bright side to everything."

"That's what I was saying," Luna said. "Anyway, let's stop arguing before the horse comes up and bites someone. You know he doesn't like it."

"True," said Harry rubbing at his arm where the bruises were turning purple. "When did Dumbledore give you the gloves, Malfoy?"

"Oh, about an hour ago. I was testing them out around the stairs when Luna found me."

"They're excellent," Luna added enthusiastically. "I wonder if Professor Snape made another pair? There are so many photophobic creatures and if I had some gloves like those I'm sure I could find at least one a week, especially if my uncle takes me to Bolivia…" She trailed off, looking briefly worried, then shook her hair away from her face. "But that's ages away. Do you think you can find your way back to the horse without falling over again, Draco?"

"Only one way to find out…"

ooOOoo

Draco did fall over. Twice. But the hillside was tricky enough for Luna and Harry, and Draco didn't complain. Much. Harry was still trying to work out this new Draco Malfoy. There was a new determination to him, and a quiet one instead of the brash posturing he was used to seeing. The second time Draco fell over he tumbled head over heels into a thick stand of heather, and when Luna dug him out he was laughing.

"Quidditch should have such soft landings!"

Harry couldn't disagree with that, and grabbed Draco's other arm to help him up, grudgingly cheered by the Slytherin's good mood. "Are you coming to see my horse or not?"

"That's _my_ horse, Potter," Draco shot back, still smiling.

"The horse belongs to the horse," Luna said unusually firmly.

"Don't you think it's time the horse had a name?"

ooOOoo

They settled on Simon. Draco wanted to call it Salazar and Harry wanted to call it anything other than Salazar (and secretly suspected Draco had only suggested it to wind him up). Luna suggested Simon.

"We shouldn't give him a guy's name," Draco protested. "How's it going to sound if you say you're worried because Simon isn't eating properly, or Simon ran away from you, or worst of all, if Simon bit you?"

"He's got a point," said Harry. "I don't want to have to go looking for him, calling out 'Yoo-hoo, Simon, where are you Simon?' I've got enough problems."

"Like what?" Draco sneered.

"Like, oh, I don't know… how about petty-minded Slytherin students selling me out to every media hack they come across, or monsters rampaging around Hogwarts, or the occasional passing minion of a Dark Lord or a Dark Lord in person if he can fit me into his busy schedule, or exams…"

"When you put it like that, yeah, I guess being blind isn't so bad," Draco snapped back.

"Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself –"

"Me?!? What about all this whining: Oh, poor little me… everything's out to get me… why isn't the world the way I think it should be?"

"Hello, Pot? This is Kettle."

Draco's pale cheeks had points of colour. "I'm not feeling sorry for myself," he hissed. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm getting on with things. Unlike everyone else in this castle, who all seem to be living under a siege mentality… Ouch!"

"Ow!"

The horse – Simon – had had enough of the argument. When Draco and Harry stopped bickering long enough to rub their arms and glare at (or just to the left of) the newly-christened Simon, the horse simply snorted and went back to grazing.

After a moment Draco muttered, "We're the sentient beings. Should we be putting up with being chastised by a horse?"

"Are you going to argue the point with him?"

Luna sighed. "Being sentient doesn't mean we're automatically kings of the world."

"You sound like Granger and her daft 'free the house elf' campaign," Draco sneered.

"I do not! I'm nothing like her." Luna glared at Draco. "And what I meant was that we may think we're in charge of the horse, but I think Simon thinks he's in charge of us."

The trio considered this for a minute.

"Is that a bad thing for a horse?" Harry asked. "I mean, he did defend Draco this morning. Maybe if he thought Draco was in charge Simon wouldn't have stayed and fought."

"That's true," said Luna, chewing on her index finger as she eyed the horse. "But I've been thinking…"

"Merlin save us…"

"I think you've already used that one this week, Malfoy," Harry growled.

"So it's useful. Go on, Lovegood. What have you been thinking? Enlighten we poor mortals."

"All right. I've been thinking that as this is a plain, ordinary horse, and plain ordinary horses – especially stallions – might need some sort of hierarchy to stop them from getting aggressive (well, that's what some of the books I've been reading said and I don't think Simon is going to do anything more than give us a nip when he thinks we're behaving like foals), then maybe we should start training him."

"For what? The Grand National?"

"Well… He looks like he could be fast enough…"

"That was sarcasm, Lovegood," Draco grumbled. "And the Grand National is a top-notch horse race over jumps, Potter," he added. "That mental 'huh?' of yours was strong enough for me to hear. Muggles think they run it and several other systems, but legalised gambling is really a way for Gringotts to exchange Galleons for Muggle money."

"I didn't know that."

"No, that would have been because you were raised in a cupboard…"

"I _was_ raised in a cupboard!"

"Like we're really expected to believe that!"

"Believe what you want. Luna, you were saying…?"

ooOOoo


	10. chapter 10

Disclaimer: Not mine. Nuh uh. Harry et alia belong to JKR and the suits at Warner.

A zillion points to the house of whoever manages to divine the Muggle versions of some of the books Harry and co. find in the library.

ooOOoo

Chapter 10: The Horse Mutterer

Luna had been reading books and thinking, it became apparent. And now she wanted Harry and Draco's help. Harry was still considering how he could be any use a day later.

"I've heard that a suicide attempt can be a cry for help," Ron said cheerfully, helping himself to some more roast potatoes.

"It's hardly that," Harry protested. "Here – you missed one," he added sarcastically, tilting the silver platter Ron had almost single-handedly emptied.

"Ta."

Hermione sighed. "It's not very safe, Harry."

"What? It's just a horse, not a hippogriff. And Hooch is going to help us." They hadn't tried anything with Simon today. Today had been more of Luna brushing the horse until he went to sleep standing up. Harry had been of a similar mindset, but couldn't manage it, and had gone to help Draco and Trudi practise with the gloves while Luna fussed happily over the dozing horse. Harry had spelled a few items to see if the gloves could get a fix on different spells – they could, but they tended to group spells into classes and if – for example – Harry put an itching hex on one rock and a tickling hex on another, the gloves chose the closest. Or the most strongly applied. Still, it was interesting in a clinical way, which was the best way to see it as he and the two Slytherins maintained a rigid formality. That wasn't unexpected between himself and Draco – it was probably the easiest way to work – but Harry found himself regretting it with Trudi, who seemed like a neat kid, just extremely shy and with a tendency to overcompensate for it by being as ferocious as a crup on guard duty.

He'd spent the afternoon catching up on assignments and now guessed he was ahead enough to spend a little more time helping Luna.

All in all, a good day. But there was still time for an argument with his best friends, whom he had been neglecting lately…

"I don't see that Luna has paid much attention to what any of the teachers might want her to do," Hermione said shrewdly. "I think she's become a bit accustomed to going her own way since all of the teachers have been so distracted with finding a way to break the Blockade."

"Not like anyone we know, then?" Ron said, grinning.

"Breaking the Blockade? I'm still working on – oh." Hermione rolled her eyes. "We've always had each other to stop ourselves from getting out of control. We put limits on ourselves."

"You think?" said Harry. "I can give some good examples of times we didn't."

"Well, we learned from them, didn't we?"

"I'd hate to think we didn't."

Hermione's smile was warm. "We were lucky. Luna mightn't be. She's very independent."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Ron had been listening carefully, frowning a little. "Why are we so different?"

"We're different because we're us. Not because we're Harry, or Hermione, or Ron, but because we're Harry and Hermione and Ron. There's this amazing synergy we generate – I know I sound like I'm boasting…" and Hermione was keeping her voice low "… but it's true. Do you know how lucky we are to have had each other?"

Harry, who had been feeling guilty for neglecting his friends in favour of the horse, Draco and Luna, nodded. "I do," he said equally quietly. "But it doesn't mean Luna is wrong, or that I shouldn't help her."

"And Malfoy," Ron said – for once without wrinkling his nose like he'd just smelt something decaying. Harry wondered if Hermione and he had been talking.

"And Malfoy. Who can be almost pleasant when he puts his mind to it," Harry added, unable to see how far he could push Ron on this one.

Ron just grinned like he was ten years older than Harry. "I guess anything can happen."

"Um… yeah. Well, I think you're worrying too much, Hermione."

"I'm not –"

"Yes, you are," Ron interrupted, pushing his plate away. "And Harry appreciates it. Don't you, Harry. But this is just a horse, not Voldemort. Or even Malfoy with sight and a wand. And if you or I were more interested in pets other than the magical kind, we'd be practically rather than politely involved, even though Luna rubs you up the wrong way."

"I don't think Harry needs our help on this," Hermione said, glaring at Ron.

"Yes, I do," Harry said, pouncing on the opportunity and mouthing _thank you_ at Ron when Hermione wasn't watching. As soon as Hermione turned her head, Ron toasted Harry with his goblet of pumpkin juice. "Luna has some practical experience, Hooch too, but Draco is just along for the ride – so to speak – well, that's the impression I get from him… that and he's found something new to be possessive over; but I don't know anything other than what gets filtered through Luna and Hooch. I didn't want to ask, because I know you're busy with your Prefect duties as well as studying for exams, but I wouldn't mind a bit of help sifting out the good information about horses from the bad."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Oh… well, I guess I could put some time aside…"

"How about after dinner?"

"Well, I _was_ going to colour-code my study notes, but… Oh, all right."

ooOOoo

"Thanks, Ron."

"No problem. You know how Hermione gets if she feels she's not needed."

"And she says _I_ have a rescuer complex."

"Yeah. Well, hopefully she'll relax a bit. It's not easy when your girlfriend is upset and doesn't want to, um… You did know, didn't you? Harry?"

Harry's jaw had dropped to the floor of their dorm room, along with (more literally) his satchel.

"Harry?"

"I…. Ahh…. Congratulations. And no, I didn't know. When did this happen?"

Ron's ears were pink, clashing with his red hair. "Last week. Sorry. You… You don't mind, do you?"

"What? Of course not! Ron – you're both of you my best friends. I just… um. You – I'm not jealous, if that's what you mean…?"

"Jealous? No – that wasn't what I meant!" Steam of relief was blowing out of Ron's ears. "But I'm glad you're not. Jealous, I mean."

"I've never thought of Hermione like that. She's pretty, and really smart, but I guess she feels more like a sister to me. Like you're the closest I have to a brother."

Ron was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "We'll be late to the library… don't want to upset Hermione now."

But Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Ron look so happy.

ooOOoo

Getting Hermione in for research turned out to be a good idea after all, Harry reflected over a mountain of books. Luna had turned up halfway through their evening in the library and, after carefully choosing the seat furthest from Hermione, put down her own selection. Harry looked at the titles: _Back to Basics: binding spells to keep you on wild animals;_ _Tails of the Wild and Wyrd;_ and what seemed to be two children's books: _My Pal Pooka_ and _Winnie the Witch Goes to Pony Club_.

Hermione carefully didn't look at Luna's selection of books beyond the titles. Her own selection from the Muggle Studies section (which boasted quite a good range on pet care, Harry was surprised to find) included an arithmancer's take on the subject, _The Amazing Pip Popadopolis' Guide to Natural Horse Wizardry_. The introduction stated how easy it was to tame a horse if you followed the 64-step P-program, which involved only a little higher-order mathematics delving into _i_-space and the Mayan calendar. Hermione had thought that one looked extremely promising.

Harry put it aside – his brain hurt just looking at the introduction.

_Wiccans and Horses_ by Ginny Newarithmancy seemed little better – it was all about the natural harmony between female spirits and equines. Hermione blushed when Harry looked at it. "That's one I picked up by accident," she whispered. "It looks like something that old fraud Trelawney would read." Harry agreed. Among other things (like tides of the moon affecting the emotional bonds), the author stressed the importance of building up a psychic relationship with your equine partner.

("'_Bonds'? 'Equine partner'?"_ Ron muttered in disgust. "I can't believe that sort of stuff is allowed out of the Restricted Section!"

"What do you mean, Ron?" asked Luna.

Ron blushed like a sunset. "Ahhh… nothing… Harry, what's that book you're holding?")

The library was relatively unpopulated for a Sunday evening. Usually the tables were all occupied as students worked on assignments they should have finished two weeks ago and had to be handed in by Monday at the latest. Thursday evening was usually busy for a similar, Friday-due-date reason. But because it was so quiet Harry and his friends were keeping their voices down with extra care so that Madam Pince didn't notice them. They hadn't heard her take points from anyone this evening – she was probably hoping someone would do something to annoy her soon just for the opportunity.

"Hey, I wonder if we're related?" Harry whispered as he saw the author of the next book: _Potter's Horse Dictionary_. He looked inside. "Eyew. That's gross." He slammed the book shut again, getting a severe look from Madam Pince. But no loss of points, luckily. "Simon looks okay on the outside, but if that's what he looks like on the inside I may never go near him again."

Ron picked up the book. "That's disgusting!" he said happily. "I've never seen stuff like that even in Snape's office. What's a tapeworm – can you measure things with it, or something? And what's this spavinitis of the near fore fetlock business? I dunno… I guess as this book was written… let's see… first print was in eighteen-twelve, this edition came out twenty-two years ago. Better get out the family records, Harry, mate, if you want to prove this guy as a blood relative. Bloodworm relative, maybe," he added thoughtfully as he looked at a writhing photo.

"Shut it, Ron."

"Hey, I was just –"

"The _book_, idiot. I've just had dinner."

"Yeah, good point." Ron put it down on top of the books they had looked at earlier: _Ponyshaman_ by a North American wizard, and _A Practical Guide to Horseshoeing_, which Luna wanted kept out for some unexplained reason.

"Here," said Hermione, pushing a book under Harry's nose. "This one got good reviews in the literature, and a lot of articles in the more recent magazines on Muggle pet care cite it."

Harry looked at the cover, which showed an older, slightly battered-looking wizard sitting on a horse. There was no bridle or saddle or even a headcollar, but the horse moved calmly around an arena, trotting a serpentine course without seeming guidance from the wizard. "Cool," said Harry, wondering if Simon would ever let him do that. The title was _The Horse Mutterer_, and it was written by Robert Python, presumably the man on the horse on the cover. The man somehow made the horse stop and back up a couple of steps, then he tilted the brim of his cowboy hat to Harry. Harry found himself smiling at the man on the cover. "I'll start with this book."

Luna leaned over. "Ooh – that's Robert Python. Mum took my uncle on a course with him ages ago. She had a great time and learned ever so much."

"And what about your uncle?" asked Harry.

"Oh… I expect he learned a lot, too," said Luna with her daffiest grin, the one where she looked like she was about to burst out laughing at something the invisible Little People were telling her. Harry wished she wouldn't – it was hard enough getting Ron and Hermione to like her without her acting like Loony Luna.

Maybe he'd shown a bit too much on his face, because Luna was watching him now with the sort of thin-lipped calculating assessment that made him cringe. He'd only seen it a couple of times, but it always unnerved him. It gave him that awful sinking-fear/rising-reactionary-anger feeling like he had just had points taken from Gryffindor –

"Oh, there's Draco," Luna said, distracted. Not entirely thankfully. Harry would have preferred it to be someone other than Malfoy.

Draco was standing over by the checkout desk, talking to Madam Pince. Unlike virtually all of the other staff, she didn't seem upset by Draco's blindness. It was strange – even though Draco was the one who was blind, it seemed to be everyone else who didn't know where to look.

Trudi was standing next to Draco and her expression was guarded and a little bit wound up. If anyone looked at Draco and looked at him wrong they would have to deal with her. Harry smiled at her loyalty. It wasn't something obvious in Slytherins, but he supposed part and parcel of ambition was knowing when to use loyalty like the tool it was, and –

– and when did he start thinking like a Slytherin? Now he was creeped out by Slytherins for the second time that weekend.

"I wonder what they're doing?" said Luna. Before Ron had finished saying "Who cares?", she had picked up her books and walked over to the desk. Harry saw her smile at Trudi, who looked nervous at a non-Slytherin someone being friendly, and saw Draco smile back when he heard her voice.

When he felt Hermione's hand on his arm, he realised he'd stood up to go over and… well, he didn't know.

"She's fine," Hermione whispered. "And it looks like Malfoy has an appointment with Madam Pince."

True enough, the sour-faced librarian led Draco and Trudi (and Luna) into the back room where mysterious things like rebindings and appendectomies for books took place. Harry had never been any further into it than the smell of fresh glue and old paper.

Harry looked down at the book again, where Robert Python was watching him with an ageless, non-judgemental expression of knowing exactly where Harry was, and what he was doing.

Harry wished Mr Python could tell him where and what that was.

ooOOoo

Harry was so engrossed in reading the story about the Muggle racehorse stallion who tried to kill anyone who came into range that it took a little time for the palpable tension radiating from Ron and (to a lesser extent) Hermione to get his attention. He looked up to see a beaming Luna, who had dragged over Draco and, by default, Trudi.

Draco looked bemused. Trudi looked capable of murder. Harry didn't miss the way one of her hands was hidden in her pocket.

Ron looked like he was about to spit slugs. Harry supposed it was easier to be more tolerant of someone when they weren't standing in front of you.

"I know we're still in the library," Draco was saying. "But it's going to take the spell a bit to settle into the gloves, so why don't we go and practise outside some more?"

"Yeah, Malfoy. Why don't you?" Ron was leaning back in his chair, his eyes narrowed with dislike.

Draco stiffened, his head swinging around to face Ron just as if he were still sighted. "Luna," he breathed softly, "I thought I specified in our tests you weren't going to drop me into any cess-pits. Weasleys count as such, you know."

The legs of the chair squeaked across the floor as Ron stood up and shoved his chair back. He shook off Hermione's hand. "Would've thought cess-pit was a step up for a junior Death Eater…"

Draco's face flushed crimson. "What would you know about it, Weasel?"

"Enough to ask Dumbledore to check your arm before he lets you into classes again, you piece of –"

There was a sharp _crack!_ and Ron went silent. But only to anyone on the outside of the large blue-green bubble he was floating in. Ron's mouth opened and closed angrily, and Harry guessed by the odd purple tinge his face was going, it must be almost as red as his hair now.

"Who did that?" Madam Pince, thin and predatory where offenders against the library code were concerned, stood over them. "Potter – Malfoy! No magic in the library!"

"I didn't!" Harry protested. Amazing. Everyone always blamed him…

"How could I?" Draco drawled. "I don't have my wand. And thank you ever so much for instantly thinking it was _me._"

"Yes, well. Old habits die hard. Of course it wasn't you… But who was it?" She glared around the table.

"Sorry, Madam Pince," squeaked Trudi, looking like she wanted to disappear through the floor. "But he was saying nasty things about Draco being a Death Eater – which he isn't – and… and… Well, he shouldn't have said that."

"That's right," said someone – Hermione, in total defiance of all natural laws. "Ron got a bit worked up and said some things I'm _sure_ he will apologise for –" she glared at the bubble. Ron's mouth worked frantically, but no sound emerged. Harry wished his lipreading was better… then again, given what he thought he could understand, maybe it was better it wasn't. "Poor Trudi here naturally wanted to defend Malfoy, and she didn't do anything nasty… At least I think that's just a simple bubblehead charm grown to full-body size…"

"That's right," said Trudi, wringing her wand in her hands. "I use it when I go diving in the summers… it's not nasty, it just… makes people shut up for a bit."

Madam Pince's mouth did not twitch in a smile. Harry probably only imagined it had. "Well then… if you release him right now I shall only take five points off Slytherin… and as for you Mr Weasley… I hope you can hear me, because if you come out of that bubble speaking the sort of nastiness that got you into it, it will be twenty points off Gryffindor and a detention. Five points as it is for picking a fight in the library. It would have been ten, but as you were beaten by a first year, well…"

Draco had his eyes half shut. Harry suspected he was praying Ron hadn't heard and would get the detention.

After making Trudi promise to teach her the Instant Quiet spell, the librarian released Ron, who carefully kept his lips pressed together but couldn't stop the glower at Malfoy who, of course, couldn't see it.

"Um… there's a chair here," said Luna, considerately indicating an empty chair on the side of the table furthest from Ron (and, incidentally, closest to Luna).

"We're researching horses," she continued as Draco sat. Trudi dragged over another chair from a nearby table and glared at Ron, who looked perplexed to have someone so young glaring at him. Ron shook his head and looked askance at Harry, who gave a small grin back. Ron shook his head again, but looked like he was trying not to laugh, to Harry's relief. "Hermione's found some great books," she added magnanimously."

There was a sudden tension at the table. Draco, looking like the words burned him, said, "Well, I expect if anyone could find books on an obscure subject it would be Granger."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Thank you."

"Not at all," Draco gritted out. Then he smiled sourly. "Don't suppose you have some with large print?"

"Do you want to use some of the books to practise with the gloves?" asked Luna.

"Oh," Hermione said. "Harry mentioned you had some Mendeleev gloves." At Harry's bemused stare, she added, "Well, that was what he described."

Draco looked pleased, and held up one hand, flexing his fingers to show how they fitted around his hand, fastening at wrist and around the index finger and cut back away from the other fingers. It was a little like two triangles of soft tan leather fixed together to cover the palm and the back of the hand. "Yes. They're quite marvellous. Unfortunately they're keyed in to potion ingredients, but I've been widening their scope to landscapes and varied surfaces. A spell to help with reading books was integrated into them when they were made, but never activated. That's what Madam Pince just did for me."

"How abstract can you get with the instructions?"

"I can tell them to point out things which can cause me harm, but unfortunately the whole of creation can damage you if you use it wrong – for example, oak leaves." He grinned. "I nearly dislocated my shoulder when I tested the command under a tree."

"Ouch. Hmm. What if you gave them parameters like, ah, 'use human common sense'?"

"Tried that. Either there is no such thing as common sense, or it's too abstract."

"The former, I expect," Hermione said, trying not to laugh out loud. Madam Pince had already been cross with them once today.

Trudi and Ron were staring at the pair as if the world had suddenly shifted on its axis.

Harry had been thumbing through the books. "Here's some poetry," he said, doubtful if Draco would be interested.

"From this century?"

"Um… no. An Australian wizard. Ukulele Fiddlesticks. A ballad – _The Shaman From Snowy River_."

"Oh, I know that one," said Trudi unexpectedly. "It's about a young initiate who needs to prove himself – and does so by riding a horse down a cliff and through three dimensions."

"How did that prove he was a shaman?" Draco asked. "Don't they have to have visions or something?"

Trudi shrugged. "Maybe not in Australia. Or maybe the poem was allegorical for his psychedelic journey."

There was a brief silence as everyone – including Draco who had forgotten he was blind – stared at her.

Trudi went scarlet and muttered, "Well, when my father was posted to the Australian embassy we had to learn some of the local culture."

"Your father's a diplomat?" asked Hermione.

Trudi was staring down at the table. Draco answered. "Her father's ambassador to Australasia and Pacifica. Trudi… do you think there's any truth to the story? Do you think a horse could be ridden through another dimension?"

"I don't know. I think it was just a story. A Muggle animal shouldn't be able to, um, sense dimensions, let along go into them."

"Hmm. Find me a book with big words and pictures, will you?"

ooOOoo

It had been all Ron could do not to comment at the table. He held himself back until they were back in the common room.

"Honestly… I thought I would die," he said, flopping down on a couch. "I wanted to go and find a My First Wizard Reader for him… And then when Trudi gave him that book on nailing bits of metal to horses –"

"Shoes, Ron," Hermione said, grinning.

"Nailing metal shoes to their feet, then. And his face when he figured out what they were doing with the hammers… and he said…"

"Not to _my_ bloody horse!" Harry and Hermione joined in.

"Shame Madam Pince chucked him out. He was just getting entertaining." Ron sighed.

"He took the book with him, did you notice?"

"Oh, don't worry 'Mione, he was probably just looking for new torture ideas. Nailing things onto people might be something he hasn't explored fully yet."

"I just thought it was odd, that's all," Hermione said, tapping her fingers on the windowsill. "Why that book?"

Harry shrugged. "It had large print."

"And pictures," laughed Ron. He sat up. "Hey… where did he get those gloves? Mendeleev gloves are Dark Magic."

"Dumbledore gave them to him," said Harry. "Luna said they Snape made them – I know, I know, how does she know? It turns out Luna isn't so loony after all. She knew how to get around some of the teachers to do research."

"Speaking of research," said Hermione, and was interrupted by groans from the other two. "As I was saying… I wonder if those gloves could help with research?"

"How?"

"I don't know."

"Do you think they could find a Secret Weapon for Harry to do in old Voldie?"

"I'm certainly open to suggestions on that one," Harry said.

"I've been trying to find something to help with the Blockade… maybe open up a new way to communicate with the outside world. The owls are too erratic. When was the last time we had any get through, anyway? I think I've got a few leads, but they keep turning out false – still, I know there's something there, some shadow of an idea. I just don't know how to track down the information. Malfoy said the gloves weren't very good at anything too abstract, which seems reasonable if Snape made them to use in making light-sensitive potions, but maybe they could be used to find specific information. Do you think he'd let us trial them, Harry?"

It appeared Hermione had been researching a great deal more than horses.

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because he doesn't seem to hate you so much now that you're working on a project together."

Ron snorted. "Is that what that horse is? Besides, _you're_ the one who was all chummy with him in the library!"

"I was not 'chummy'. I was taking advantage of a moment when he was nearly civil in my presence to ask him some questions."

"Huh."

"Harry, back me up on this."

"Sorry, Ron – you're losing your girlfriend to Malfoy."

Hermione stood up, her face flushed. "If you two are going to behave like… like _boys_ I'm going to go and find some decent conversation in a book. Or possibly with Luna. If all else fails, I'll go and talk to _Malfoy._"

She slammed the door on her way out.

"What did I say?" said Ron.

"I think it was 'what did _we_ say?'" said Harry. "Pass me that Horse Mutterer book, will you?"

ooOOoo


	11. chapter 11

Disclaimer: Still not my little puppet people.

Kudos and as many points as she wants to Morena Evensong for guessing "The Horse Whisperer." Any particular House you want them assigned to? And yes there really is a Practical Guide to Horseshoeing. "Potty's Horse Dictionary" is a prize in its own right even apart from the name – read it and you'll be amazed a horse can so much as stroll across a paddock without croaking.

ooOOoo

Chapter 11: A Bubble in Time

There was mist prowling the grounds in thick wisps of dampness when Harry went out before breakfast. Ron was asleep and Hermione probably still wasn't talking to him – she'd barricaded herself in her room and even Ginny couldn't persuade her to come out. In a rare moment of sisterly solidarity with Hermione, Parvati and Lavender were giving him and Ron the evil eye, having decided it was their fault for being male and (by definition) stupid.

Harry was thinking of visiting Simon to make sure the blanket wasn't falling off the horse or something else minor – anything where blood wasn't involved was good – when he heard the muffled slow triple-drumming of hoofbeats.

His first thought was, _Oh no… he got out of the paddock!_

His second thought was, when he realised the hoofbeats seemed to be confined to one area and almost with the rhythm of a waltz – not what he'd expect from a panicking runaway horse – _someone's playing silly buggers._

He strode through the damp grass, his cloak fluttering around his ankles, his wand in his hand, following the sounds.

He could believe his ears – it was his eyes he was having troubles with. For a second he thought someone had jinxed his glasses.

There, weaving through the mist, was Luna. On the horse. She was wearing a dark bottle-green frock-coat cut darted at the back to allow her to sit astride. She was also wearing some sort of cross between white tights and trousers. They clung to her legs like a second skin and were tucked into knee-high black boots.

Simon was wearing a bridle and saddle. He was cantering in a slow circle with his neck arched and his head lowered slightly. His ears were back, but not in anger. He looked as though he was concentrating hard on his rider.

Harry walked forward. One of the horse's ears flicked in his direction, just enough to tell him he'd been noticed and dismissed as unimportant. Luna didn't notice him, though; she had her eyes half-closed and her lips parted as she concentrated on the horse. Her slim back and hips rocked to the rolling canter and her legs stretched down to give subtle signals to Simon, her hips tilting and her hands squeezing just that fraction needed to bring the horse to an almost stop then stretch out into that slow, ground-eating canter again.

Harry's mouth was dry and he felt hot and cold all over.

He watched entranced as Luna brought Simon down to a trot, first slow and calm, before at some magical signal making Simon lengthen his stride so that they floated over the ground through the mist. Then she brought the horse back so that it was slowly and carefully trotting on the spot, its ears still back in ferocious concentration, then somehow she had Simon trotting _sideways_, tail swishing, all the time with that amazing, graceful fusion between horse and rider.

She had said she knew how to ride a horse a bit. Harry was pretty sure this wasn't what most people meant when they said "a bit."

And Simon… if he didn't know better, he would have said Luna had the horse under the Imperius.

Yesterday they had still been discussing whether they should try training the horse. Even if Luna had been up all night after leaving them in the library, she had trained him remarkably quickly. Now Simon was trotting on the spot once more, but slowly turning ninety degrees before Luna sent him striding out again across the gleaming turf. Were all horses this fast to train? Harry doubted it. And what was this odd, tingly feeling he got all over his skin watching them? It was like watching living artwork, but Harry had never been particularly interested in art before. It was like seeing Luna discover on a horse what he had discovered the first time he caught the Snitch. He felt -

He felt a presence behind him, a shift in the mist, and turned to see Madam Hooch staring at Luna and Simon, her eyes wide with disbelief, and wasn't sure if he was relieved someone was here who would back him up when he told Luna what she was doing was dangerous, anger at having this private moment interrupted, or worry that Hooch was going to blow her stack.

Had he been this confused before Luna? Maybe with Cho a bit, but Luna wasn't Cho. Not in the least.

_Merlin; when did Luna get such lovely legs?_

"Someone is going to be _very_ angry about losing that horse," Madam Hooch said quietly when she saw Harry looking at her.

"How do you mean?"

"I mean that's a good horse. A _very_ good horse. Very, very, very, very, very…" she took a breath "… _very_ good. Luna just had him doing piaffe and passage, and very nice examples of the movements, too… Circe… Look at that…" she breathed.

Harry turned to see that Luna had somehow coaxed Simon into standing up on his hind legs. It wasn't high and half-crazed with fear like when Simon had nearly brained Harry after the vrikolaki – it was low and controlled with carefully precise angles, and Harry fancied he could hear the creak of the knees in the horse's back legs (hocks, he remembered from the Potter's Horse Dictionary) as they strained under the weight. The horse managed to hold his balance for all of a second, frozen like a Greek statue, and then dropped back to all four feet. Luna gave him a pat on the neck for a reward, and then they were back into that lovely, floating canter Harry had first seen.

"Levade," Hooch said.

"I beg your pardon?" Harry wondered if she'd just sworn because Luna was off, well, being Luna.

"Never mind. Suffice to say I've only seen that twice before in my life, and once was when I went to the Spanish Riding School."

"So… only Spanish horses do that?" Harry asked, confused.

Hooch gave him a look of amused superiority. "The Spanish Riding School is in Austria. But you've got the right idea – not a huge number of horses can do that trick. I wonder if he can – oh, yes, it looks like he can," she added, laughing helplessly as they watched Simon rear again before jumping up into the air and lashing out with his hind legs. "A bit clumsy, but then perhaps he's out of practice. Oh dear, Harry… you do tend to find the most amazing things in your travels… How about taking a walk in the hills after breakfast and finding a map to Atlantis or the gold at the end of the rainbow? Should be simple enough after your Simon." She ruffled his hair. And his sixteen-year-old dignity. "Come on. Lets see how she explains this one away."

ooOOoo

Luna explained it away by saying that having an adult watch her while she was riding made her self-conscious, and that made her more likely to make mistakes. It wasn't like, or so she claimed, she had been careless; Simon had taken having a bridle and a saddle on him so calmly that she had felt quite confident in trying him out with a rider as well.

"So you just jumped on the back of a horse you know nothing about, with only Mr Malfoy and Miss Ricci here to help if something went wrong…"

"To be fair, Luna wasn't the one who was first on the horse," said Draco. He and Trudi were sitting on a log by the side of the meadow where Luna had been working Simon. Harry had only seen them when he and Hooch came closer. "She said it was better to have someone who knew what they were doing holding the horse's head."

Madam Hooch's expression turned from exasperated to one of sour disbelief. "Are you going to tell me _you_ were the complete idi – the one who decided to find out if the horse was going to go up like a match in a crate of Filibuster's finest?"

Draco shrugged. He couldn't see her face, but it wasn't likely he couldn't hear her displeasure. "Well I wasn't about to throw poor old Trudi up there. Besides – Luna's done pretty well so far. And I _have_ ridden the horse before; who brought me out of the Forest after the spider bit me?"

"Um, that might in fact have been me," Harry said sarcastically.

Draco sniffed. "It was my horse. I was there. I remember the early part of it quite well. Saddles are much more comfortable than bareback riding. The point is, he was quite gentle and from what I've heard, he only panicked when he saw a werewolf. I can't fault him on that one."

Harry felt his face growing hot at the slur against Remus. Lucky Remus wasn't here… or Sirius, for that matter. They'd been so busy patrolling and investigating the parameters of the barrier he'd seen them even less than Hermione and Ron.

"I also remember him kicking buckets at Hagrid and I," Hooch retorted tartly.

Harry wondered if he should say he'd had a bucket bounced off his head as well, then decided Luna might think he was ganging up on her and Simon.

"He was perfectly calm," Draco insisted. "And as I had Trudi helping me – keeping an eye on things, as it were – I didn't feel too worried about letting Luna try riding my horse. Trudi is quite capable of calling for help – After that whole fiasco with Sinistra – oh, I'm sorry – _Professor_ Sinistra – Bulstrode had the foresight to equip all the first and second year Slytherin students – and myself," he added, looking a trifle embarrassed "– with locator charms. And the passwords are keyed to our voices. So if we get into trouble fifth, sixth, and seventh year students will come to our rescue. Theoretically."

"Impressive."

Draco smirked. "Poor old Milli' – everyone thinks she's too stupid to come up with something so common-sense."

"Well, I never said that, but… yes. Twenty points to Slytherin," said Hooch. "If you haven't already been awarded them. Jolly good show. As for you, Miss Lovegood…"

"Didn't it look like she knew what she was doing?" asked Draco. "I mean, I don't know an equestrienne from an éclair and I can't see anything, but I can hear well enough and there weren't too many screams, so it seemed to me she was quite in control of Simon. And the whole situation."

Hooch hesitated. "Be that as it may, she was specifically told – as were you all – not to try riding that horse without adult supervision. Ten points from Ravenclaw, Miss Lovegood. But if you show me how to get that horse to do a capriole again I'll give you fifteen."

Luna grinned and picked up the reins. "Do you want to ride him?"

Hooch grinned back, her hawk's eyes gleaming in the rising sun. "Hell, yes."

ooOOoo

After a surreal quarter hour watching Luna give Hooch a riding lesson (Simon seemed a bit perplexed by the change of passenger, but submitted gracefully if with less enthusiasm than he'd had with Luna, and although he wouldn't perform any of the fancy leaps for Hooch, she did manage to coax him into those beautiful, flowing movements Harry had watched earlier, and at the end of the lesson a glowing Hooch gave Luna twenty points), Draco and Trudi went back to the castle with Hooch while Harry and Luna took the horse back to the paddock. Luna spent nearly half an hour grooming Simon from nose to tail until the black coat gleamed, then put the rug back on. Up close, the white trouser-tights of Luna's were even more flattering. When she bent and ran a hand down Simon's leg to pick up his hoof Harry had a surreal image of himself doing the same to Luna. Simon was giving him a highly suspicious look of 'what do you think you're looking at?' which made Harry blush.

After all, it wasn't as if Harry and Luna needed a chaperone.

They left Simon happily munching on a bucket of horse food, which reminded Harry of how hungry he was. If they hurried they would just catch breakfast. Harry sighed to himself. It had been lovely spending time with Luna alone, but as soon as they were with other people – people who made fun of her for being, well, just Luna, he got terrible tight bands around his ribs. Maybe this was what Trudi felt like walking around with Draco, he thought glumly.

Back in the castle Luna disappeared in the direction of the Ravenclaw common rooms to get changed and Harry found to his relief Hermione was talking to him again, but only when she wasn't burying her nose in a book on magical applications of metallurgy. "Did you ask Malfoy?"

"What? Oh – the gloves. No, sorry, I forgot. I'll ask him later," Harry said, grabbing some sausages as a plate floated past. A plate of hot, buttered toast popped into existence in front of him. Dobby. Harry grinned. Having an insider in the Kitchens was a bonus. When was Dobby's birthday? He'd have to get him something special – matching socks – no – unmatched socks. Dobby hated matching socks. Maybe the house elf thought they were boring or something.

"What are you thinking about?" Hermione was saying, an amused look on her face.

"Dobby and mismatched socks," Harry replied honestly. "And when his birthday might be."

Hermione laughed. "Never change, Harry."

Harry couldn't decide if that was the sweetest thing he'd heard or incredibly patronising. "Pass the jam, would you? And what are you thinking about?"

Hermione gave him a strange, sideways look as she handed him a jar of blackberry jam. "It's a bit vague…" she said.

Harry shrugged. "I've been spending a lot of time with Luna." Realising how that must have sounded, he quickly added, "It's teaching me to be more open minded, I guess. Fire away."

"All right…. You know how the Death Eaters have us basically sliced out of the rest of the real world…?"

"I may have noticed that in passing, but do tell."

She cuffed his arm lightly. "Well, it's turned out to be a little bit more literal than a simple Blockade. This barrier… it's a new manifestation. It seems to be a temporal thing."

"How do you mean?" Harry should have asked Dumbledore more about it when he had the chance.

"I asked Professor Lupin about it. He said it's created a sort of bubble in time. But no-one's really sure how it works yet. I was wondering about finding a way to break through it and all the wards the Death Eaters erected. I might have overheard the headmaster and Professors McGonagall and Flitwick talking about the magical energy Voldemort used being cyclical and almost self-sustaining and that the new barrier is a solidification and culmination of the previous selected layers of wards…"

"Yeah – Voldemort's managed to trap us in a bubble." Harry stabbed at a sausage. "On the plus side, he's out of it and my scar hardly bothers me these days."

He wanted to think it was because Voldemort wasn't busying himself torturing people, but didn't kid himself. It was the Blockade. Even before the barrier had gone up, Harry had gradually felt the connection through his scar becoming fuzzier and fuzzier. Since the barrier, nothing.

Hermione leaned closer and whispered excitedly, "But don't you see? That's part of the magic. We're so totally removed from the rest of the world – most days even owls can't find the place and the floo network is completely useless – Dumbledore (I was in McGonagall's office at the time – oh, and she was helping me with an assignment before you accuse me of eavesdropping), Dumbledore was saying he thinks Voldemort didn't really take control of it, not properly, he just moved us all in space and time so that the fireplaces are no longer aligned. If we could somehow break the wards we could realign the floo system and get help. Or reliably co-ordinate something using owls. As it is, only Voldemort and a few owls – oh, and that crazy horse of yours, and I didn't know horses were so interesting – have been able to get through the wards. Nothing since the barrier, of course. No wonder he's finding it so easy to blackmail the rest of the Wizarding world into doing what he wants – he's got their children locked up and accessible to him and his followers…"

Harry, who had been wondering why she suddenly thought horses were so interesting, blinked. "You think he's blackmailing parents?"

"I know he is – Mum managed to get a clipping through to me this morning via Crookshanks – the Daily Prophet was running an article about how long the wards would trap us here."

"And? How long did it say?"

"Indefinitely."

"Oh. Damn." Harry ran his hands though his hair, toast and sausages forgotten. "Do you know what the anchor points for these wards are? And how we can break them?"

"I don't really know. That's why I thought Draco's gloves might be useful. But I think one anchor point must be inside the barrier. Trees, probably – you need something solid but alive for spacio-temporal magic of this magnitude."

"That's good."

"Well, yes. But the other one – or two, and I suspect it's a triple-anchor – would be outside the barrier."

"That's not good."

"Well, no. Even if we _could_ get to them we'd need a strong counter-curse to lift the spell."

"Remus might know…"

"I already asked him. He said nothing short of a myth would help."

"What did he mean by that?"

"I think he meant that I should stop chasing around after things the grown-ups are meant to take care of," she said acidly. "But I do have some ideas…"

"So? And?"

"Well, when he said 'a myth,' I started thinking of counter-curses from history. But the trouble is that there aren't that many of them, and most are to do with boils or shingles or love-potions or something like that. So then I started thinking about magical weapons – those generally lend themselves to myth quite well. I thought about the sword of Godric Gryffindor, but that's more for your bog-standard attacking monster –"

"– Quite right –"

"– and not really what you need for destroying the link between a source and an effect, which is what you get with wards where you have a standing wave of magical intent. So then I re-read _Hogwarts: A History_, and found that Helga Hufflepuff had made something for containing the magic of plants – especially the really ancient Celtic magical plants, and _wand trees_," she hissed excitedly, "which is what I think Voldemort would most likely have used as an anchor. It seems to have been something made of gold, although the legend isn't clear. I tried to find out more about it, but everything ends up back in myth. It's one of those things where there was probably only one source of information, and the people who wrote about it later on in history used that one source and interpreted it according to the fashion of the day – or their own personal whims. One wizard – Dygrin the Dyspeptic – speculated that it was nothing other than her gardening tool of choice, stained by rust and usage."

"Great. So where do we go from here?"

"Charms class. Here's Ron – oh, he brought your books down for you. That was thoughtful. Now you won't be late," she said, beaming with pride at Ron, who grinned back goofily.

Harry rolled his eyes, but they didn't notice.

ooOOoo

He mentioned it to Luna that evening as they were grooming Simon. She'd taken the right hand side and Harry took the left. Simon flicked his ears bemusedly at first, then must have decided the two young humans weren't going to do anything too crazy and dozed off. Harry noticed Simon did this a lot: be extremely suspicious of anything new and then, when it didn't do anything too crazy he'd ignore it and go to sleep. Horses were natural paranoids.

Harry could relate. After Dursleys and Dark Lords and Malfoys and Snape he was kind of paranoid, too.

"…So Hermione thought there might be some way of disrupting the link…"

"'Fruit of the Moon, Cut by the Sun's Halo'," said Luna. It sounded as if she were quoting something.

"Huh?" Harry stopped brushing and stared at her over the dip in Simon's back.

"That's what you were talking about, wasn't it? Something to disrupt the spell?"

"Was I?"

Luna frowned at him as if he was the one being daft. Maybe he was. "If Voldemort has anchored the barrier to a living medium to prevent it lapsing back into an unstable flux, which is what an uncongealed mixture of the previous wards would have been, then he's probably used a tree. A wand tree. And if I was him I'd use oak rather than rowan or holly. If you want to overcome something anchored in oaken magic you need a potion made from the botanical equivalent of quicksilver. Mistletoe."

Harry wondered how long he stared at her before Simon shifted and stood on his foot. "Aargh! Get off, you brute!" He pushed the horse's shoulder hard until Simon sighed and moved his hoof.

Simon turned his head to see why he was making all the commotion. Harry sighed and patted the long nose. Simon snorted and shook his head.

"He's not a brute," Luna's mouth was set in a firm line. Harry hated it when she did that: it was her 'I'm going to take a gazillion points off Gryffindor' expression. Maybe she'd been hanging around McGonagall.

"I know. But I don't like being stood on."

"Fair enough," drawled a familiar voice. Fair hair gleamed in the last light of the day.

Blast. Malfoy. He moved too quietly for someone who was meant to be blind. What had happened to all that falling over he used to do so well? Oh, Trudi Ricci was with him. That explained that.

"What was all that about mistletoe?"

Luna beamed. "Harry's had the most marvellous idea. Voldemort –" she ignored Draco and Trudi's automatic flinches, although Harry saw it and marked it down as something in their favour "– might have anchored the barrier spells in trees."

Draco turned his face to Harry. His eyes looked just past Harry's right ear. "Oak?"

"That was Luna's idea," said Harry. "And the tree was Hermione's idea." He quickly related what Hermione had learned and hypothesised about the barrier, and waited for a sarcastic comment about Mudbloods or Harry being too dumb to come up with anything on his own, but Draco only nodded as if he was giving the idea serious consideration. "She thought wand trees. Luna thought oak."

"Oak seems likely. But it could be any wand tree. I certainly wouldn't rule out ash."

"Do you think your gloves could find them?" It felt odd asking Draco, almost like he was betraying Hermione… or everyone he held dear. Draco was still a Malfoy, of course. But Draco had been civil to Hermione last night, and she'd asked Harry to ask about the gloves…

Draco frowned, chewing on his lower lip. He held out one hand. "It's worth a go, I guess. Right: glove… direct me to a tree anchoring the Dark Lord's barrier spell."

He spun ninety degrees so fast he nearly smacked Trudi across the face.

"Hey!"

"Trudi? Sorry – did I get you?"

"No. I duck fast."

"Huh. Good girl… Looks like we've got a tree. And Granger must be right about an anchor. The glove feels very definite." He started walking down the hill, Trudi scampering after him with her robes hiked up to the knees to avoid catching the hem in the heather. Luna clipped the leadrope on Simon's headcollar and unlatched the gate. She slipped under Simon's neck to Harry's side. "Give me a leg-up, will you, Harry?"

"What's that?"

"Oh… never mind." Luna grabbed a handful and mane and half-vaulted, half-swung up onto Simon's back. Simon snorted and sidled but, when she just sat there talking to Harry, calmed down again.

"Come on," Luna was saying. "Walk near his head; it'll be good for him to get used to a break in routine."

Harry didn't see how this was helpful, but obeyed. He was too interested in what Draco was doing to worry if Luna knew what she thought _she_ was doing.

Ahead of them, Draco had tripped over a bush. There was mild swearing, but not with any real rancour. Simon didn't put his ears back and bite anyone which was always a good sign. The horse was moving easily down the slope, Luna balanced fluidly on his back, holding the leadrope without tugging on it. Simon seemed to know that she wanted him to follow Draco. It didn't look like a very reliable method of control, however. So Harry walked alongside, ready to grab the rope if Luna found herself in difficulty and trying not to notice the way her slim thighs held her in place.

By the time they reached the outskirts of the Forest Luna was still doing fine. There was one part where Simon balked, snorting uneasily, but Luna murmured to him and squeezed her legs and he dropped his head unhappily but followed Draco, the blond head like a beacon in the fading light.

"How far in, Malfoy?" Harry called out softly. The hush on the Forest this evening seemed like one that shouldn't be broken.

"We're close," Draco called back, equally softly. Maybe he felt it, too. He stopped so fast Simon bumped the back of his head with his nose. "Ouch. Careful, Simon." Draco reached back and found Simon's nose, patting it and looking relieved to find the horse. "It's this tree right in front of me." He waved his hand forward. "Simon!"

The horse had his teeth in the shoulder of Draco's robes and was tugging the boy backwards. Trudi was moving from foot to foot nervously, clearly wanting to save Draco from the Muggle Monster, but just as clearly not having a clue how to go about it.

Harry cleared his throat. "Um, Draco…"

"What?"

Harry felt bad saying it, but… "There's no tree in front of you."

"Huh? Then what's this?" Draco pulled his robes out of Simon's teeth and darted forward, arm outstretched.

There was a crack and a flash of green light.

Simon reared as Draco fell.

ooOOoo


	12. chapter 12

Disclaimer: See chapter 1

ooOOoo

Chapter 12: Lights, Camera

Black and green afterimages burst in Harry's retinas. He kept seeing bright light casting Draco and Simon into silhouette over and over again, one falling and the other growing into the green and purple sky. He reached out one hand with a Seeker's instinct and caught a rope.

Simon.

"Steady there, boy," he said, and as the misfiring nerves in his eyes calmed he became aware that the muffled irregular thumping was the sound of the horse prancing nervously at his side.

"I've got him, Harry," said Luna softly. She was standing on the ground now; she must have slipped off deliberately because she was holding the rope, too, and there were no leaves or traces of dirt on her from a fall. Simon rolled his eyes until the whites showed, darting his head around as he looked for attackers.

Harry remembered he'd been hexed in the Forest that night. It was a miracle he hadn't bolted now.

"Check Draco," Luna said.

A miracle or Luna. She'd stopped the horse from running.

Harry shook his head, trying to clear the lights that were popping in them. In front of him was a grim picture: Trudi was kneeling over a prone figure, shaking its shoulder. She looked up at Harry. Her face was drawn and pale as the moon. "He won't wake up," she said, her voice as tight as her expression.

Harry knelt next to her. "Malfoy? Draco…?" He pressed his fingers into Draco's throat behind his jaw. Was there…? Yes. "He's alive," he breathed in relief. "We need to call Madam Pomfrey…"

There was a groan.

"Malfoy?"

"Draco?" Trudi squeaked.

"Ungh…"

"Well, it's a start." Harry unclipped his cloak and shook it out over Draco. "Come on… can you hear me? Say something or I'm going to send for Pomfrey…"

"Don't. Ghastly woman hates me…"

Harry grinned. "I think he's going to be all right," he whispered to Trudi, who smiled back at him gratefully and quickly wiped her eyes on her sleeve. Harry knew he was meant to have a handkerchief for situations like these, but he was always losing his or it was dirty or wrapped around something as a tourniquet…

"Do I have to be?" moaned Draco. He rolled over.

"Careful," said Harry. He and Trudi took one arm each and helped Draco into a sitting position.

"_Now_ you tell me to be careful… Ouch. Triple sodding ouch. Was the tree the Whomping Willow?"

"No," said Luna. She'd led Simon up. The horse leaned down and blew softly at Draco's hair, messing it only a little more. "It's invisible. But not to Mendeleev gloves. I think you triggered a backlash by touching a focal tree with a magical artefact."

"You think? God. I'm glad now they took my wand off me…"

Luna nodded happily. "If you had touched it with your wand, it would have blown you right over Hogwarts."

Trudi gave her a horrified look, which she ignored.

"You're still wearing those gloves and we've got our wands. Can we have this conversation a little further back?" Harry said.

Draco nodded. "I think I'm going to need a little help."

They dragged him back a few meters.

"So is it a tree?" asked Harry, puffing.

Luna picked up a stone. "It's all right, Simon," she said, making sure the horse was on the other side of her to the others. She took out her wand and charmed the rock so that it flickered green and red like a Christmas ornament. Then she threw it.

This time the tree didn't erupt in the same dramatic flare of light, but it was enough to outline the midnight shape of spreading branches which shook like they had a palsy as the magic crackled along branches and down into roots.

Well, it was a tree, all right. Seeing the green light arcing along the forest floor as it burrowed into the ground, wasp-angry, literally earthing itself, Harry was glad they'd done this experiment from a distance.

"It's a tree," said Trudi.

"Glad to hear it," said Draco. "Now I'm going to see if I can do this new-fangled walking nonsense all the young people today are raving about…"

His legs weren't working all that well. After a brief discussion about levitation and its potential for damaging a body which had just suffered a magical backlash compared with the potential of a horse to inflict a more mundane physical hurt by, for example, throwing someone onto the ground and stamping on him, Harry and Luna decided it was marginally better if Simon carried Draco back to the castle. Draco grudgingly allowed that they might be right just this once. After a couple of tries, they managed to lift him onto Simon's back.

"Ouch," said Draco again, but from a different cause as he shifted on the horse's back in the futile effort to find a comfortable spot to sit. "Now I know why saddles were invented. Are all horses this bony, Lovegood?"

Luna shrugged. "I don't think so. Mainly thoroughbreds, I suppose. The little fat ponies look quite comfortable."

"Simon has more style."

"True. Hold on to his mane." Luna picked up the slack in the rope and Simon turned to follow her. He'd been quite patient all through Luna and Harry's efforts to lift the Slytherin boy onto his back. He'd only bitten Harry once, and that was after Harry elbowed the horse in the neck. Harry had considered that a fair provocation.

"Won't it – whups!" Draco grabbed a silky handful of mane as Simon started walking. "Won't it hurt him?"

"No. It's not as sensitive as ours. Trust me, he'll let you know if you hurt him."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Draco grumbled.

The silence stretched. It might have been nice if it was just him and Luna, but with the two Slytherins it gave Harry a bit of a prickly feeling between his shoulder blades. So he was glad when Draco broke it.

"Right. We've found a tree that holds the binding for the Dark Lord's barrier."

"Unless it's a tree with a completely different reason for being enchanted," Luna pointed out.

Draco frowned. "I'm not wandering around getting zapped by psychotic trees until we've found all of them. That was the one my gloves found. I hope you remember where the tree is."

"Yes," said Harry. "I left three stones there… and charmed them so that I can find the spot again."

"Oh. Good," Draco grudgingly allowed. "Er… how do we know what species it is?"

"Only oak leaves were on the ground around it. And it had the general shape of an oak," said Luna.

"It also thrums like an oak," said Trudi. "What?"

"Thrums?" asked Harry.

Trudi turned red and mumbled something about Professor Sprout.

"So it's an oak," Draco said. "So now what? We go and cut some mistletoe with a golden sickle…?"

"A golden sickle?" Harry said. "Galleons are gold, sickles are meant to be silver."

Draco raised a pale eyebrow. "What a way to prove you're not a peasant. A sickle is also a sort of curved knife you use in harvesting things. Golden sickles were used by the druids way back when. They called them the sun's halo. Well, what else would you use to cut the moon's fruit? Where were you in Potions?"

Harry shrugged. "Busy trying to make sure you didn't slip something into my cauldron and make it blow up."

Draco actually laughed. "Ah, happy times…"

Harry shook his head. He managed not to laugh, but couldn't stop the smile.

ooOOoo

Blind Draco took some getting used to. Harry felt terribly guilty about it, but part of him was enjoying this new, sightless Draco Malfoy. He'd never been someone to joke with before. Someone to prank, yes, and someone who'd prank back just as hard and twice as viciously, but laugh with?

Never.

So maybe it was this relaxed attitude that made him agree to Colin's request that evening in Gryffindor Tower after he'd talked with Hermione and told her about mistletoe and golden sickles. She had been excited, equally delighted at the way this might fit in with Helga Hufflepuff's mythical golden thingummybob as she was with the potential in the Mendeleev gloves.

Harry was relaxing in the inner glow of having done Something Right for a Change when Colin approached him about taking some photos. Harry agreed – Colin had some good arguments about horses and photos, and was experimenting with Muggle-style black and white photography. He'd already tried it out on some of the magical animals, but they blurred the film. A black horse was something Colin didn't want to pass up. They decided on Thursday.

By Thursday Hermione had dragged Draco (and Trudi and Harry, who wanted to be there if arbitration or physical restraints ended up being necessary) off to the library a few times and had several promising lines of research going, helped immensely by Draco's gloves. They'd tried asking Professor Lupin about it again, but he'd been tired after the extra Potions classes he was filling in for and told them to leave well enough alone. Padfoot, looking equally tired after another night's fruitless search for an answer, looked up at Harry sympathetically. Harry patted his godfather on the way out and decided angrily that if Lupin didn't want to be bothered it meant not bothering him with details about the tree they'd found, either.

Huh.

He wished he could talk to Sirius, but there never seemed to be the time. Dumbledore had the Animagus almost constantly scouting the rim of the barrier in search of intrusions (and potential exits), and as the barrier – now accepted by the majority of Hogwarts as the physical manifestation of Voldemort's wards isolating Hogwarts from the world – ran through the Forbidden Forest as well as through the rather less threatening moorland and hills on the other side of the castle, it meant that Sirius needed all his attention for his work.

Harry didn't want to bother him with something that might not turn out to be important. If it was important, well, he and Hermione and Ron would deal with it like usual.

Harry and Draco were much more confident with the horse. Harry had even tried riding it a few times, but felt like a sack of potatoes if the horse tried anything faster than a walk. Draco seemed to be managing better – Luna had led him around at a trot until he told her to slow down because he was getting sea-sick. Madam Hooch had finally agreed to let them work with Simon without supervision, providing there were two or more at any one time in case of accidents.

Harry hadn't considered Colin in terms of causing an accident. This was a free double-period for himself and Colin, and since Draco was blind and his classes were restricted (and he was bored enough to wander around the grounds trusting in his gloves) Harry and Colin had flown their brooms (low to keep from being spotted by the Death Eaters the teachers worried might hex the brooms out of the sky) to the paddock where they found the Slytherin already sitting on the fence while Simon grazed nearby. With the smaller and more modern camera, Colin took a few pictures of the two students and the horse, Simon snorting suspiciously at the camera. Harry and Draco decided on the spot to try Simon without Luna's supervision just to prove (to each other) that they could. Colin said it would probably be an excellent photo op. They saddled and bridled the horse and led it down to the meadow near the castle where Luna had given them their handful of riding lessons.

Harry watched Draco carefully ride Simon in a circle around a small rock Harry charmed to beep as a beacon for Draco to get a fix on, and wondered for the umpteenth time how Simon had got through the wards while Colin chirped away happily next to him. He'd thought Colin was just wanting to tag along in his usual hero-worshipful way and take a couple of photos if the moment was right, all of which seemed perfectly harmless, until he saw Colin lifting a second camera as Draco and Simon came towards them – the larger camera with the incredibly incandescent flash – and saw how this accident was going to –

"That looks good…"

"Colin, no!!!"

_Pooff!_

When the smoke cleared the horse was already disappearing around the side of the castle. Simon had moved so fast Harry thought he had Disapparated. Draco's robes flowed out behind him as the blond leaned forward with his arms wrapped around the black neck.

Harry leaped on his broom and sped after them.

He had almost caught up when Simon veered off to the right and – Harry groaned – up the stairs and into the Entrance Hall.

There were rules against flying in the castle. Harry conveniently forgot all of them.

Draco had both hands wrapped in the mane and his expression, from the brief glimpses Harry could see, was rigid with terror.

There were screams as a group of second-year Hufflepuffs came up out of the stairs leading into the Dungeons. Remus must have finished class early, Harry hoped; he didn't dare consider what would happen in two minutes when the classes finished and students would be everywhere.

Simon, who had bounded over the stone floor away from the dark, looming doors of the Great Hall and toward the stairwell down to the Dungeons, shied away from the screaming students, swinging towards a corridor.

"Oh, no…" breathed Harry, and urged his broom between Simon and the long corridor leading down to the main classrooms. Simon snorted and half-reared, eyes rolling and hooves sliding in front of a trail of sparks on the stone, and – to Harry's horror – charged up the nearest staircase.

"Simon, whoa!" The horse didn't slow, but kept determinedly leaping up the stairs, steel shoes skidding and ringing out on the steps. It sounded like thunder. "Hold on, Draco!"

"What do you think I'm doing, you moron!" Draco snapped back as loudly as he could with his teeth gritted together.

Simon was rapidly reaching the top of the staircase, which lazily began its movement from one landing to another. There was nowhere for Simon to go. He would stop now…

… surely he would stop now…

"SIMON! STOP!!!" Harry pulled out his wand but even if he had known a spell to say, he wasn't sure he could have said it.

The horse reached the top stair, staggering as one hoof skidded before regaining his balance in the next instant.

He snorted, flicking his tail, and Harry saw all the muscles along the back, ribs, and hindquarters bunch up.

Three floors up, Simon leaped into space.

ooOOoo


	13. chapter 13

Disclaimer: Hogwarts and its Hoggy, warty denizens still belong to JKR and The Man.

ooOOoo

Chapter 13: Flitwick to the Rescue

Harry saw it all in the slow motion of shock. Simon seemed to hang arched in mid-air, neck stretched long and low, forelegs tucked neatly under him, and his hindlegs trailing along with the fluttering tail. Draco was lying flat along the horse's back with his knuckles clenched white in the mane which flickered around his blond head like black fire. Like surf in a seashell, Harry heard the screams of students and staff, and the slow grinding of the stairs.

And then the front legs unfolded and reached forward and the back legs came up and under the horse's belly, and Simon touched down on the stairs which were swinging across from his right.

Harry hadn't even seen those stairs moving.

Simon collected himself again and, without breaking stride, leaped up off the second staircase.

There were more screams

He landed on a balcony and cantered off down a corridor.

After the moment if took for Harry to realise Draco and the horse weren't splattered all over the Entrance Hall, he turned his Firebolt after Simon and shot off down the corridor.

He turned a corner just in time to see Simon screech to a halt, his hooves sparking on the stone floor, and barrel through an open door.

Predictably, there were screams.

Fair enough. Harry was having one of those days, too.

There was a muffled thump and some equally muffled swearing that sounded like Draco. Well, Draco was _definitely _having one of those days, although Harry couldn't quite place 'muffled' in context.

It became a bit more obvious when he leaped off his broom and ran into the classroom.

It was Professor Flitwick's Charms class: the diminutive professor had been teaching a group of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors one of the levitating charms – thus the big pile of pillows in the corner, and thus the muffled thump.

That had been Draco. His feet were sticking out of the pile, which had collapsed on him, and he didn't seem in a rush to get out of it.

Simon (it was hard not to notice the horse; he was a definite feature of the classroom) was standing by the window, and Harry spared a breath to thank whatever power had told the horse not to jump out of it. A horse startled enough to tackle moving staircases wouldn't hesitate to leap out a third-story window, surely? Simon's ribs were heaving and he shifted nervously, whickering when he saw Harry. He sounded almost humanly relieved to see him.

"Mr Potter… what… what under the sky have you been getting up to?" Flitwick sputtered as he climbed onto his desk to take a better look at this classroom invader. "You've scared these poor students out of a week's worth of lessons, I swear!"

Harry looked around – the students were cowering under the desks. "Um," he said, "I think it's safe to come out. Just don't do anything to scare the horse. Malfoy – are you all right?"

"Define 'all right'."

"Four limbs, circulatory system functional and, in your case, a minimum of brain power."

"Oh, that's nice. Thank you _very_ much," Draco said, but he didn't sound like he was hurt. "Where's Simon? And where am I?"

"You're in my Third Year Charms class," Professor Flitwick said in his high, fluting voice. He squeaked and shrank back as the horse turned to look at him. "Is that the dangerous animal Professor Dumbledore and Hagrid warned everyone about?"

Simon whinnied softly, then sighed, a long, shuddering sigh of relief, and dropped his head to gently nuzzle the shoulder of the shortest of the Hogwarts staff.

Flitwick lowered his wand, gingerly rested a hand on the long nose, and said, "He… seems quite nice for a dangerous beast…"

Harry raised his eyebrows. Flitwick's wand was still clenched in one hand, but Simon seemed unperturbed. Maybe it was because Flitwick was so tiny – the huge Hagrid unnerved the horse, so it would make sense if Simon didn't see Flitwick as a threat. But if Harry could have translated the horse's expression, he would have sworn on his parents' graves Simon was looking at Professor Flitwick and trying to say, Get me the hell out of this mess. Harry hadn't even seen him use that one with Luna, and that little whinny was new.

"He is, Professor," Draco said. He'd picked his way out of the pillows and was trying to comb his hair back into place with his fingers. "I have no idea why he decided to run in here, though."

"Colin took a photo."

"He's camera-shy?" Draco's brow wrinkled.

"Maybe, but I expect it was the flash that frightened him like that."

Draco's frown of confusion turned murderous. "That's right… I've seen him taking photos with a Muggle camera that needs a great deal of light… So that idiotic waste of skin panicked Simon, did he? And how in Merlin's name did that result in me being here? I'm a bit confused about how I got here, but I do remember that it was very fast and at one point we were travelling uphill."

Harry decided telling Draco about Simon leaping from staircase to staircase three stories up was not going to help keep things calm. "This is the classroom on the third floor."

"I didn't know horses could climb stairs… you'd think with the hooves and four legs and all, they'd be a bit wary of tackling them."

"Yeah. You'd think that. I guess Simon was too upset to be thinking about what horses are meant to do. He certainly managed the stairs well. No trouble there."

"Edifying as this discussion is, it doesn't solve the problem of a horse in my classroom," Professor Flitwick interrupted brusquely. It was the first time Harry had heard him seriously annoyed, but then it was the first time he'd seriously disrupted Charms.

"Sorry, Professor. It was an accident."

Draco carefully picked his way through the collapsed pile of pillows to where Simon was standing. "Yes, sorry. If it's any consolation, I have absolutely no intention of ever in this or any other lifetime repeating that ride."

Flitwick climbed off his desk. "Class dismissed – class _very quietly_ and _without fuss_… dismissed." The reins had fallen over the horse's head along with Draco, and Flitwick picked the thin leather straps up in one hand, twirling his wand thoughtfully with the other. As soon as the students had tiptoed out, he said, "I suppose we should get your new pet outside… we have a few minutes before classes end… Hmm…" He touched his wand to his throat and said, _"Sonorus."_ Then, in a voice which echoed from the corridor outside, he said, "All students to stay in their classes an extra five minutes. Those who are between classes are to remain silent while a nervous animal is removed from the castle. Any students who deliberately provoke the animal will find themselves instantly in possession of three detentions with Mr Filch. That is all." He removed the charm and said in a more normal voice, "Let's get your horse outside, shall we? Mr Potter, please guide Mr Malfoy. Should we get Hagrid in to lead the horse out?" He moved around to the side of his desk, then froze as the horse followed him. "Oh dear…"

But Simon had stopped, too. The horse dipped his head down again and blew into Flitwick's face.

"Oh dear, oh my… is he hungry?"

"No, that's how horses say hello." Or so Mr Python had written.

"I see. Well, hello, there." Rather bravely, Flitwick patted the horse's cheek. When he stepped back again experimentally, Simon followed. Flitwick walked slowly out the door and into the corridor. Simon followed, just as slowly, each hoof falling carefully to keep to the slow pace of the tiny person leading him.

Scarcely believing this new, exceptionally meek Simon, Harry followed. "Are you okay, Malfoy?" he whispered.

"Yeah," said Draco, who had his bearings now with the gloves. "Door… three metres in front of me due north… Simon… heading through the door – hey, Potter, are you letting him get away?"

"Of course not. Professor Flitwick's leading him."

Draco's aghast expression summed up Harry's feelings on the matter. The Slytherin opened his mouth to say something, apparently thought better of it, and closed it again. Harry took one hand and put it on his shoulder.

"No offence – those gloves are pretty nifty, but we might need to run…"

Draco, who had stiffened at Harry's presumption, nodded. "Agreed."

They followed the horse, who filled the corridor and sent the paintings whispering to each other (they must have taken Flitwick's warning to the students for themselves as well) to the top of the stairs. The horse peered at one portrait, where a young woman in yellow robes was whispering behind her hand to an elderly witch holding a stoat. The stoat wriggled free and ran off into another painting as the horse snorted at it, and the young woman giggled as the old witch shook her head.

Flitwick muttered something Harry didn't catch, and one of the staircases swung to the corridor to meet them. There was a brief line of green light where the two met. "There," Professor Flitwick said. "That will stop it moving any time soon. Come along, now."

But Simon, too, didn't seem to be about to move any time soon. He planted his four hooves firmly at the top of the stairs, and when Flitwick tugged on the reins he tugged back, lifting Flitwick into the air.

Gasps echoed up the stairwell.

Dragging Draco behind him, Harry got to Simon's front end just in time for the horse to gently lower his head and put Flitwick back down on the top step. Flitwick looked somewhat paler from his non-Leviosa'd levitation. Looking down, Harry saw dozens of upraised faces staring up at them. It seemed a lot of students had found excuses to be between classes. Funny how so many of those excuses involved the Entrance Hall.

Simon lowered his head, eyeing the stairs, and blew a rippling snort of deepest distrust.

"I see. So you can gallop up them, jumping from one moving staircase to another –"

_"What!?!"_

"Uh – I'll tell you later –"

"Damn right you will!"

Harry went back to talking to the horse. "…But you can't walk back down stairs which are fixed in place?"

Simon spared Harry a glare which said _You can't trust these stairs at anything slower than flat-out_, and snorted again, backing up down the corridor. When Flitwick gave the reins a gentle tug he stopped but pawed at the floor, sending up sparks on the stone and leaving long gouges Filch would froth at the mouth over later.

"Now what do we do?" Harry sighed.

"You call in a Charms Professor, of course," Flitwick chuckled. He waved his wand.

_"Equus leviosa!"_

ooOOoo

Later Harry would wonder why Simon took this so calmly. There he was, suspended high above the crowd, slowly being lowered to the floor so far below with his ears and bright, dark eyes moving to catch all the sounds and sights of the castle, and he seemed to be doing nothing more or less than admiring the view.

With his broom in one hand and Draco's hand on his opposite shoulder, Harry followed Flitwick down the stairs. When Simon's hooves lightly touched down and the horse dropped his head to lip Flitwick's wispy hair, the professor giggled and said, "It's not edible, you know!" and patted Simon's nose. Then he picked up the dangling reins and handed them ceremoniously to Harry. "Make sure he gets back safely," he ordered. "I don't think he needs to be stressed any more today. Give him some apples or whatever it is that they eat. Dear me – I must get ready for my next class…" With a final pat, he turned and started back up the stairs.

The students were crowding the Entrance Hall, but a wide space opened up for Harry, Draco and Simon. "Well," muttered Harry, "let's do like the man said…"

Luckily Simon didn't balk at the wide stone steps leading out of the castle. Colin was standing at the base of them. The boy's face was ashen as he clutched his cameras to his chest like talismans against evil and tried to stutter out an apology. By the way Draco's face closed over with malice at the sound of the boy's voice, Harry decided it best to ignore Creevey for now. And have words with him later.

It was a huge sense of relief – and the knowledge that he'd just escaped something very nasty combined with a determination to make sure something very nasty happened to one Colin Creevey – that Harry led Simon and Draco back outside.

ooOOoo


	14. chapter 14

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

ooOOoo

Chapter 14: Malfoy Muttering

Draco took the story of his ride a lot better than Harry had hoped. Mind you, Harry thought, Draco didn't have his wand any more. So no-one was turned into a toad. Draco did go a little pale the moment it sunk in just how Simon had leaped from stair to stair like he thought he was Pegasus.

"But he figured out the stairs…" Draco muttered at last. "Is that normal behaviour for a horse?"

Harry, who was putting the rug on Simon and trying to stop the horse stealing all the apples out of the bag of brushes at the same time, sighed and gave up pushing Simon's nose out of the bag with his foot. He pulled the leadrope and tied Simon to the fence on a short enough rope to stop the horse from reaching the bag.

"What, can you tell me, is normal about this horse?"

Draco laughed softly in the gathering dusk. "You tell me. Simon's the first one I've met. Maybe all horses can gallop up staircases and predict the movement of magical architecture."

"Yeah, why not?" Harry grinned as he slipped behind the horse to do up the straps around the back legs. There was a crunching sound from the other end. Harry did up the second clip and straightened, leaning on the horse's backside. Simon's nose was in the bag as he chomped on one of the apples. The rope trailed along the ground. "Hey… did you undo the leadrope?"

Draco frowned. "No."

"Greedy-guts. Simon – not you, Malfoy." Harry sighed again and retied the horse using the special quick-release knot Luna had taught him. Maybe the knot had slipped. Oh well, Simon had only eaten one of the apples… Maybe –

Simon lipped at the end of the rope and, taking it carefully in his long, yellowing incisors, tugged.

The rope came free and the horse dropped his head to snuffle in the bag.

Harry laughed as he pulled the bag away and then had to shove Simon's head back as the horse tried to butt him out of the way. "Hey – cut it out, greedy!"

"What? What did he do?" Draco demanded. He sounded imperious, but Harry had grown used to him now and knew when he was being bossy and when, like now, he was simply impatient or nervous at not being totally informed about what was going on around him. Maybe Harry would write a Malfoy Mutterer book.

"Simon can undo the knot."

"Huh. So horses aren't too stupid after all."

"Oh, come on. You never thought he was!" Harry laughed.

Draco shrugged. "Muggles… Muggle animals… they're all meant to be inferior."

Harry sobered. "And do you really believe that?"

Draco's face was as closed off as Harry had seen it in days. "Does it matter what I think?"

"Depends what you want to do with what you think," Harry said eventually. He tugged on the rug, pulling it towards the tail just enough to make sure that the hair underneath was lying flat and wouldn't irritate Simon. "The last time someone made a comment about your life ambitions, Ron got stuck in a bubble of silence."

Draco smirked reminiscently. "Ah, Trudi. She's got some surprises up her sleeves."

"I'll say." Harry grinned. "She's a neat kid."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Really? She's a Slytherin. You're not meant to say things like that."

Harry rolled his eyes, then remembered that Draco couldn't see. "I've had people telling me all my life what I should and shouldn't do. Anyway, are you allowed to like non-Slytherins?"

"Anyone in particular I'm not meant to like?"

"A Ravenclaw whose father owns a paper that has spoken out against Voldemort, maybe?"

"I like Luna if that's what you're getting at, yes."

Harry tensed. He wasn't sure if this was a good topic to get into with Malfoy. Sure, he was blind and that gave Harry a huge advantage in a fight, but it wasn't one he could use. Because he wouldn't use it. But there were things which needed to be settled between the two of them – things above and beyond Voldemort. "You 'like' Luna? Or you _'like'_ Luna?"

"I like her. Not romantically, though, so you can calm down, Potter," Draco drawled with more than a touch of acid. "She's always going on about her blasted uncle. I'd feel like she was always expecting me to live up to his example."

That was a bit rich after Draco's continuous invocation of his father. Come to think of it, when was the last time he'd heard Draco threaten anyone with _My father_… "Oh."

Draco continued, oblivious. "She's someone I like to spend time with, but not someone who would make me a good wife. Or I a good husband for her, for that matter."

Harry was astonished. "I never said you had to marry her…"

Draco sneered. "Always thinking short term. How typically Gryffindor. No," he added when Harry didn't rise to the bait, "even if I'm blind for the rest of my life I've got to consider what's best for the interests of my family name."

"That's – you, I mean, you really believe that?" Harry was aware that some of the older families had an almost feudal attitude towards their lineages, but this was the first time he'd ever been confronted with it as a stone-cold fact. It was like finding someone who truly believed that Stonehenge was the ultimate modern device for projecting the movement of the stars.

"Some things shouldn't be subject to fashion," Draco replied haughtily as if he'd read Harry's thoughts. "And even if it's not something you can understand, it's something I base my life around." When the horse nudged at his hip he turned away to pat Simon's nose, as if reluctant to let Harry see his expression when he didn't have that ability himself.

"So… you'll devote your life to promoting your family line?" Harry asked. "It's – well, it's not something I'd ever considered." He thought for a minute. "But then you don't have my family – the living members, anyway. The Dursleys are living examples of the reason wizards hate Muggles. Maybe if my parents had lived – well, Dad, anyway – I'd understand."

Draco shrugged as if not caring what Harry understood or didn't understand, but Harry read it for what it was. Draco had made himself vulnerable and Harry hadn't attacked him for it.

_Thank you, Robert Python._ Harry hadn't considered that studying body language would give him such an advantage with his fellow humans. It seemed that there was some cross-over between horses and humans after all… just like Mr Python had said in _The Horse Mutterer_.

"That's really something, thinking long-term like that. I've not thought beyond the next school dance – or beyond hoping we never have one – let alone into marriage…"

Draco smirked in a superior way. Harry grinned to himself, relieved that Draco wasn't going to explode in a fit of paranoia. Manipulative Slytherins were nothing compared to a Gryffindor who'd read _The Horse Mutterer_.

It was interesting what he learned about the Wizarding world from the Slytherin. Certainly different from what he learned in Gryffindor – much less Politically Correct for one thing, which had irritated Harry at first, but not after he'd read in the Horse Mutterer book that it wasn't important to believe what others believed, simply respect the fact that they did so. Harry drew the line at respecting the Death Eaters' philosophy of 'kill everyone different from us,' but, ironically enough, that Death Eater philosophy was in direct contravention of the respect advocated by Robert Python. You could respect the fact of something existing but you didn't need to agree with it, or put up with it for that matter. That was something else Mr Python had said: You respected a horse's fear or anger, but you didn't have to put up with it or make yourself a target for it. But if you didn't _respect_ it you could easily underestimate the force of its power and find yourself in a very nasty situation indeed. Harry was learning to respect Draco's nerves, for example, and found that if he didn't make Draco feel vulnerable things went a lot smoother. Luna had said much the same thing about Simon: if he was comfortable and trusted you he wouldn't –

That was the key. Trust.

Draco could trust Harry. Well, while he was blind and not part of Voldemort's schemes, anyway.

But how far could Harry trust Draco?

About as far as he could throw Simon.

"So how far do you think long-term?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"Several generations. You?"

Harry blinked. Draco had said that as if he was perfectly serious and couldn't imagine it being otherwise.

"I don't, really. I can't see beyond Voldemort."

Draco's face darkened. "Yes. I can understand that."

Harry, forgetting everything about trust and calm relationships, stiffened. "Why? Do you know something I don't?"

Draco laughed, but it was bitter laughter. "Quite a bit, no doubt. But… I expect you don't need me to tell you anything about the D– about You-Know-Who. So tell me, Potter, because you've met him, what do you think of him?"

"The only human feature he's got left to him is that he's a raving psychopath."

Draco didn't get angry. Harry had been expecting him to. Instead, he nodded. "I gathered that much from Father. And Professor Snape."

"Did you know about Snape?"

"That he was a spy? No. Not until… after. Father sent me a letter. It wasn't detailed, but…" Draco sighed shakily and ran his fingers through his hair. Simon, who had been dozing, woke up and blew softly in Draco's face. Draco leaned forward and rested his forehead against the horse's cheek, the words spilling out of him low and rapidly. "Before I found out Snape was a spy I thought there was something wrong with me. I didn't understand what my father was on about – well, yes I _understood_ it; but I couldn't quite see the logic behind it. It seemed a bit, I don't know… like a way of creating solidarity and mustering power through fear. It didn't have any proper methodology behind it beyond 'They're Them and We're Us,' which seemed to me to be just a way for the Dark Lord to bring people under his control.

"I wonder if he even believes what he says… I think Father does, but I don't understand why. I asked him once, and he said that if I didn't understand it was because I was a fool. But Snape didn't understand, and he wasn't a fool. Or maybe he _did_ understand and he understood too well and saw that there was something fundamentally wrong with the Dark Lord's philosophies or methods. Both, probably." Draco ran a hand down the long nose of the horse. "He'd kill Simon, you know," he said conversationally, chilling Harry with a matter-of-factness that went beyond argument. "Father would. Because he's a Muggle animal. A dumb Muggle animal and it doesn't matter if it feels pain or happiness, only that it isn't a useful magical animal.

"Being blind has its good sides, you know," he continued after a weighted pause. "I don't have to be a Death Eater now. The Dark Lord won't want someone like me – I'm a liability to him. If Father had other children he'd disown me in favour of the next one. Oh, he'll still want to tell me how to live my life – both of them will – but at least now I've got some sort of freedom. No Dark Mark. No grovelling at the feet of a madman. No –" His head jerked up, his face pale with flushed spots high on his cheeks, frightened and – wand or no wand – dangerous. "Potter," he hissed, "you will never tell anyone what I have just said."

Harry shook his head. "No. I give you my word… unless you give me permission to do otherwise." He felt a tingle of magic: he'd just given his word as a wizard. Whatever that might lead to. "But I'm glad you won't. I – I have dreams sometimes. He's in a bad mood and he takes it out on people. I don't care because they're Death Eaters and probably were involved in the death of my parents, but still… Even if it wasn't their fault that something went wrong, he takes it out on them. Cruciatus isn't the half of it."

Draco nodded absently. "Sometimes last summer Father would come home… he wouldn't talk about what was wrong."

Harry thought back about what he'd said about Death Eaters virtually deserving what they got, and was glad Draco didn't take exception over his father. Then again, Draco knew how Harry felt about Lucius Malfoy. He probably knew it wasn't worth getting into a fight over.

"Who would have thought I'd be grateful to an acromantula?" Draco said, scratching Simon behind the ear. The horse leaned into his hand then decided Draco could do better, and butted his head up and down the boy's chest, knocking Draco back against the fence.

It broke a nasty tension Harry hadn't been aware of until it snapped.

"Simon!" Draco laughed. "Cut it out, stupid horse."

Simon finished with the itch behind his ear by working it out on Draco's shoulder and shook himself all over like a dog, his canvas cover making a muffled rattle.

"Do you think you can find the apple in the bag?" Harry asked.

"Should do – apples are one of the few Muggle crossovers which are based in magic," Draco said confidently. "Make sure Mr Itchy here doesn't knock me over, will you?"

"Sure." Harry grabbed the leadrope. "I think you've given Malfoy enough trouble today," he scolded gently as Simon tried to push past Draco to get into the bag. When Draco had taken off his gloves after finding the apple (horse spit was extra sticky after apples had been eaten) Harry slipped off the headcollar and took out the pocket knife Sirius had given him for his last birthday and cut the apple into rough quarters. Draco fed Simon two quarters, and Harry fed the remaining two to the greedy horse, who left sugar-sticky slobber on their hands in his search for more.

Outside the paddock, Harry and Draco wiped their hands clean on the grass then remembered about the tap Dumbledore had magic'd on the other side of the fence from the trough and used that to better effect.

"What did you mean by Muggle crossovers?" Harry asked as Draco refastened his Mendeleev gloves.

"Oh, only that there are some objects traditionally seen as 'Muggle' which can take on magical aspects if they're in the right environment. Apples are classical examples. Edge-magic, it's called."

"Anything else?"

"Animals, like ravens – owls, of course – toads and cats. Granger's cat is half-Kneazle, I always thought. But a plain Muggle cat can be used for magic. Bats, too."

"What about horses?"

"I don't know."

"Hermione said something the other day about horses – well, she started to say something, then we were talking about something else."

"Hmm. I don't know. I'll ask Madam Pince to help me find some books. Might as well do something useful instead of sit in the middle of a paddock all day. Especially as it's meant to rain tomorrow."

"Colin can help."

Draco's mouth thinned with malice. "That little b–"

"– boy can do something useful to make up for what he did today. It might be useful for you to have someone to fetch and carry for you for a few days."

"Huh. Weeks, at least."

"We'll see if he can fit you in around his other detentions," Harry grinned.

ooOOoo

The next day Harry thought it politic to apologise to Professor Flitwick. Of course, this gave him a good opportunity to sit down and talk with the tiny professor about some of the myths and legends of Hogwarts. But when he asked about a legend of a golden sickle, Flitwick threw up his hands.

"Ah," he fluted. "A myth among myths. Like the Sword of Godric Gryffindor and the Hourglass of Rowena Ravenclaw, not something we lesser mortals expect to see." His eyes twinkled.

Harry, who had used the Sword of Gryffindor to kill a basilisk, wasn't quite so dismissive. "Do you know anything about its properties?"

"Professor Sprout would be the one to ask. But I seem to recall the myth said something about harvesting mistletoe."

Harry's senses sharpened. He stilled his face, not wanting to give away his excitement.

"Why do you want to know, young Mr Potter?"

"Hermione's doing a project on the history of Hogwarts. She's interested in the Founders. The myths they left behind, anyway." It wasn't quite a lie. Hermione was very interested in them, particularly anything connected with mistletoe. She and Draco (and Trudi and Draco's gloves) had researched barrier spells and confirmed that Luna's hypothesis had some solid factual basis. Murgatroyd the Elder had written three books on the properties of mistletoe, and Hermione was currently wading through them.

Just another excuse for Harry to be out of the Tower and talking to Flitwick.

Flitwick beamed. "Excellent. I'm glad she's found something positive to go on with in these troubled times. Truly an excellent girl, that Miss Granger."

Harry shrugged and grinned. He couldn't argue that.

"Let me see… Oh yes. 'Fruit of the Moon, Cut by the Sun's Halo.' Or something like that. I believe the good Helga Hufflepuff was a keen advocate of some of the ancient Celtic uses of mistletoe. It was used in protective magic, you see. And it's hypothesised to have the ability to disrupt spells if collected correctly. It protects trees it grows on from spells used against them. Plant magic. Not human. Or often used by humans. Unfortunately no-one has ever been able to work out how to utilise it. Murgatroyd the Elder has written an excellent series on it, but all purely hypothetical, alas. And subsequently disproved by Murgatroyd the Younger." He sighed. "Possibly for the good. All the charms it could counteract if its power was understood and harnessed might even have the ability to loosen the magic which is the mortar of Hogwarts. Some say that this is why Helga Hufflepuff, in her wisdom, destroyed the Golden Sickle before her death so that no-one could harvest mistletoe with it."

"Oh." It sounded like Flitwick wouldn't want Harry to find the Sickle even if he knew it existed. Harry could understand that. What professor would want something found which could destroy Hogwarts itself?

Harry couldn't ask for any help; not without arousing suspicion. And having some serious restrictions put on him.

He knew that he would never use it to harm Hogwarts, but what about other people? What if he found it and then lost it to, say Voldemort?

That was a cheerful thought.

Maybe some things shouldn't be found.

That was an even less cheerful thought. He'd see what options he could find that didn't involve looking for an artefact with the potential to pull the castle down around his ears.

"I don't suppose Slytherin left anything?"

Flitwick leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers thoughtfully. "A quill, I believe." His eyes twinkled again. "As Gryffindor had a sword, Slytherin had to go one better. The pen is, after all, mightier than the sword."

Harry chuckled as he left.

That sounded like Slytherins through the ages, all right. Subtle one-upmanship.

ooOOoo


	15. chapter 15

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Blast.

ooOOoo

Chapter 15: Old Magic, New Scars

Cross from a fruitless Saturday afternoon in the library with Hermione, Harry headed out of the castle. Things would have gone much better, he expected, if they'd had Draco and his gloves. Draco (and his gloves) were meant to have met them there. But Draco (and his gloves) did not.

Harry decided to go and search out Draco. And his bloody gloves.

Draco and his gloves were out at the paddock. So were Trudi and Luna and, strangely, Ginny Weasley. "What's going on?" Harry murmured to Trudi. Draco, gloves peeking out the top of one of his pockets, had his bare hands spread on the left side of Simon's neck. Luna was holding the headcollar, a hand on each side of the horse's nose. Ginny had her wand out.

Trudi held up one finger to her mouth. "Weasley's using Old Magic," she whispered. She seemed to be getting over her shyness with Harry, treating him with a mixture of suspicion (which was turning into the slightly condescending 'go on, prove it' attitude she must have picked up from Malfoy) and guarded pleasure to see him. She'd even cautiously asked his opinion on a few things and, as Harry had given plain, honest answers, patiently explaining any details that were beyond her first-year schooling, she was becoming more relaxed.

All things considered, dealing with Slytherins was remarkably like dealing with Simon.

And Simon, who'd been so skittish and mistrustful in those first few days, had calmed down now to an amazing degree. Well, apart from the gallop through Hogwarts, of course. But he'd been provoked. It was almost as if the horse was two different animals: one, the angry, frightened stallion who'd nearly killed Draco in the pen behind the barn (and _had_ killed a vrikolaki), and the other this old nag who slept twenty-three hours of the day. Harry hadn't known it was possible for any animal other than Crookshanks to snooze as much as this horse did. It was as if something deep inside him had switched itself off and now Simon was just cruising through the days like he was on equine holiday.

Maybe he was. Maybe he was just a fast learner for what was dangerous and what wasn't. After removing the flash from his camera, Colin had been allowed to take some more photos and Simon had stood for them with nothing more than his standard "What the hell do you think you're doing now?" glare of distrust. Whatever it was, Harry found it much easier to deal with a placid pet than a raging maniac who wanted nothing more than to wipe out the rest of creation with his teeth and hooves.

He already had Voldemort for that, although admittedly without the hooves. Teeth was probably an option. One never knew with Dark Lords.

Right now Simon didn't look happy or particularly placid, but at least he was standing still. The swish of his tail suggested his patience was running thin, though. Given the right provocation that raging stallion would wake up one day, Harry didn't doubt it.

"Found it," muttered Draco. His pale face was flushed and although there was a late spring chill in the air he was sweating. Simon tried to shake his head out of Luna's grip. "Hold him still," Draco snapped.

Luna nodded, not taking offence, although Ginny frowned.

"Are you ready, Weasley?" Draco said.

"For something I don't understand? I guess."

Draco spared a brief second for a grin. "Good as it gets. Okay… here it comes… get it _now!"  
_  
Something sickly yellow bloomed between his spread fingers. It seemed to be seeping up from under the horse's skin. It writhed angrily. Luna took a tighter hold on Simon's headcollar. "Steady," she whispered.

Harry moved in closer and rested a hand on Simon's back in an effort to calm the horse, who was raising a back leg like he wanted to kick something. The hoof stamped on the ground again; Simon was angry but not yet at the point where he'd take it out on someone.

Harry hoped.

"Get it, get it, get it…" Draco was muttering, sweat pouring down his face.

Ginny pointed her wand. Her face froze in indecision.

"Just say something!" Draco ordered.

Ginny glared at him then flicked her wand. "Get out," she hissed.

Harry understood her as if she were speaking Parseltongue: it was words but not in English. Or Latin. It was the pure language of magic.

The oily yellow wrongness under Draco's hands writhed and screamed silently as the spell hit it. It tried to burrow back under the horse's skin but Draco's fingers snared it as Ginny said, more strongly, "Get out!" in a harsh voice which raised all the hairs down Harry's neck.

The light imploded.

"It's gone." Draco rested his forehead against Simon's neck. "Well done, Weasley."

"Yeah. Thanks," Ginny croaked. She rubbed at her throat and rested a hand on Draco's shoulder as Simon shook his head and pushed Luna and Draco back. Luna was grinning and rubbing Simon's nose. The horse shook his head again, experimentally, then heaved a huge sigh and scratched his ears on Luna's shoulder.

"One down, three to go," she said.

Draco and Ginny groaned.

Harry gave Simon a last pat. "What's going on?"

"Old curses," Ginny said, and coughed. It seemed to clear her throat, and she went on in a more normal voice, "This horse seems to have got caught in the crossfire of some nasty spells when the Death Eaters broke through earlier this month. Malfoy's found at least four spells that are dug deep into its body. We've just destroyed the most complete one – any idea what it was?" she asked Luna and Draco.

Luna shook her head, still stroking Simon's nose, but Draco said, "It was a sort of revolting yellow, didn't you say? It sounds like one of the metamorphic curse family. They're used to incapacitate someone by turning them into a pile of protoplasm until the spell is reversed. But they have to be fine-tuned; you have to know a lot about the target, their blood-lines and probably what they had for lunch… so they're not used often. I'm surprised one was used at all. I'm _not_ surprised it didn't work on Simon since he's a horse, but it must have still been causing him some pain, stuck in his throat like that. Poor old boy," he added, ruffling the mane fondly.

Harry was surprised – it was the first time he'd seen Draco express such genuine affection for something. Possessiveness didn't count. Then something else jogged at his memory and Harry frowned, remembering. "Hmm. I think I accidentally elbowed him there the other day when we were getting you back after the tree beat you up. No wonder he gave me a nip. And the others?"

"The usual. Miscasts, deflections, ricochets… what you'd expect to see in someone involved in a battle. I'm surprised by the amount, though. Luna and I managed to lift most of them, but the last four needed special magic. Two are still buried in internal organs and one is sitting in his spine. It hasn't been activated, thank God. Those three are all splintered off spells on the Ministry's not-to-do list and Hogwarts doesn't have much information on them. Certainly not on the effects on a horse."

"Special magic?" asked Harry. "Trudi" – he nodded towards the girl, who blushed and pretended to be a fence post – "said you were using Old Magic."

"Stone deep magic," Luna said, nodding.

"Me, apparently," Ginny said, shrugging bemusedly. "I hadn't heard anything about it until Luna talked to me last night. She thought I should help out."

Draco opened his mouth to say something then apparently thought better of what he wanted to say. "Seventh child of a seventh child," Draco supplied with careful politeness instead. "I knew you had a big family, Weasley, but I didn't realise how big. I would have thought someone would have mentioned it to you before this."

Ginny shrugged again. She'd dropped her hand off Draco's shoulder as soon as she was sure Simon wouldn't knock him over. Maybe it had something to do with the filthy look Trudi had given her. Probably it was because Draco was still Malfoy, and this was perhaps the first time they'd talked without anyone sneering or getting angry.

Draco had looked exhausted, but was recovering quickly. "Ready for the next one?"

"I think I've got the hang of it now, yes."

"Good. I don't want my horse crippled."

Ginny's mouth tightened. "Do you think I'd –"

Draco waved a hand airily. "Of course not. I'm just letting you know what's at risk."

"I know the risks, thank you."

"Good. Let's get on with it."

Harry moved to Simon's other side while Luna took up her death-grip on Simon's headcollar again. Draco found the shard of spell again quickly – Harry might have thought it was thanks to the gloves except that Draco wasn't wearing them. This was raw magic. This spell, when it rose from a point which, in a human, would have been the small of the back, gleamed like an emerald. It might have been pretty against the black hide, but the ugly snarl of determination Draco wore told him that in nature it was foul. Simon snorted and sidled away from Ginny when she raised her wand.

This time when she spoke, her hoarse voice did more than raise the hairs on Harry's neck; there was a sharp crack. One of the nearby lichen-clad rocks poking out of the hillside cracked, shedding a slab of grey stone.

The spell shattered, sending out malicious little sparks which tried to tangle in everyone's hair, but Ginny circled her wand over her head and snarled something in this ur-language that evaporated the sparks before they could dig down into anyone's skin. Harry had a couple of little red spots on his cheek, and Draco was brushing at his wrist where a spark had landed and stung him, but otherwise they were fine. Simon was sweating a bit, as were Draco and Ginny.

ooOOoo

They took a break before tackling the last spell. Everyone, including Simon, looked relieved. The third spell had been particularly nasty – tentacles of black energy burrowing into the chests of the young witches and wizards as it sought a new home outside of Simon's heart. Simon had groaned an almost human sound of pain, but not moved from Luna's tight embrace of his head. Ginny's voice had risen into a shriek as inhuman as Simon's groan had been human and the black tentacles had turned into a swarm of buzzing insects that evaporated in the sunlight.

Harry rubbed at his chest. Merlin – it felt as if someone had tried to suck all joy out of the world. "What was it, Dementor magic? Was… was _that_ hurting Simon?"

"Not Dementor magic… Well, it's related, I guess. It was sleeping in Simon but I guess we activated it again… Glad it wasn't the real spell. It's hard to counter that." Draco was just as pale as Ginny, whose freckles were standing out stark as flecks of old blood on snow. "Something that leaves a fragment that strong must have been cast by the Dark Lord himself." Draco shivered. He must have been tired to have allowed himself to show that much. Harry noticed Ginny noticing but when she raised a questioning eyebrow at him he avoided her gaze.

"What about the last one? Should we take precautions?"

"Our precaution is Ginny Weasley, who should have been registered as a sorceress at birth," Draco snarled. "These things aren't logical, especially when they've been filtered through a horse with its own brand of edge-magic."

The last spell-fragment was lodged deep in Simon's body, flickering along nerves and playing peek-a-boo with Draco when he tried to find it. He'd tried again with the gloves, but found they weren't any more use and, rather than dirty them with drying horse sweat, he'd gone back to using his bare hands. Ginny and Draco were currently both exhausted and snappish with it. Harry had the twin jobs of calming Simon and stopping World War III breaking out between Draco and Ginny.

Luna was the calmest of them.

But even she must have known things were only going to deteriorate when Hermione and Neville came walking up the hill. Or maybe the sharper look to her normally unfocussed expression was from the argument she'd had the other night with Hermione. Harry wasn't sure what it was about, only that Ginny Weasley and bloodlines were involved and, well, Hermione didn't like people telling her that she couldn't do certain things because she was Muggle-born.

Luna had been scornful in that absent-minded way she had, as if Hermione's arguments weren't important enough for her to counter.

Maybe after that Hermione hadn't been the best person for Harry to ask for help with his Charms essay, especially as he'd run out on her earlier while she was wading through Murgatroyd the Elder to talk to Flitwick. She'd snapped at him to go bother someone with a better pedigree. And just earlier this afternoon their research had had that stiff politeness to it Harry normally associated with his dealings with Draco.

Now, by the resigned look in her eyes, Harry guessed what she was here for even before she opened her mouth.

"It's okay," he said, going over to meet her and Neville by the gate. No point in inviting trouble into the paddock.

Hermione looked fleetingly cross at her apology being headed off, then one corner of her mouth quirked up. "Silly of me thinking a sorceress could be anything other than a seventh child of a seventh child… but it was just the way " – she leaned her head meaningfully towards Luna – "it was explained to me. But how do you know I'm not expecting an apology from _you_ for leaving me alone doing research?"

Harry waggled his fingers. "Magic."

"Ooo. Scary."

Neville, who'd not been raised by Muggles, looked perplexed.

"Hi, Nev," said Harry. "What are you doing out this way?"

"Just curious. There's nothing much to do today… strangely enough there aren't any Hogsmeade trips planned. You'd think there was trouble with Death Eaters the way things are." Even Neville was developing sarcasm these days. "Thought I'd come up here to Squirrel Hill with Hermione to see what was going on."

"Squirrel Hill? I didn't know it had a name." Harry didn't miss the glance Neville threw at Ginny, and the narrower stare he levelled at Draco. Then Neville's suspicious look turned to one of mild alarm. "Is that thing going to stand on Ginny?"

Simon was shifting uneasily. Ginny stepped back, while Luna tried to soothe the horse. Draco, without his gloves, seemed unsure of what to do. Harry frowned. "Luna, is he…?"

The previously calm Simon, who had stood as steadily as anyone could hope for throughout the spell liftings, was growing rockier by the second.

Luna panted as she tried to keep the horse in one place. Simon tossed his head and snorted. "Ouch… Steady, Simon… Steady there… I don't think he likes Hermione."

"Rubbish," snorted Draco. "He's seen her before. I bet it's Longbottom. I know I heard his voice… Simon's a clever horse. Maybe he's a psychic horse and knows Longbottom's come to blow him up."

Luna settled Simon at last, but Simon twitched his ears, bounced a little, and blew anxiously. Harry didn't want to believe Draco's words had anything in them other than their usual nastiness, but by the way Simon was eyeing Neville he couldn't help thinking there was some truth in them.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Ginny, pushing her hair, which was lank with drying sweat, out of her face. Her voice was still hoarse. "What's your problem with him, anyway?"

"His utter lack of charisma," Draco sneered. "It's so bad he's got charisn'tma."

"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry said.

"Why? Oh, because Harry Potter, the wizarding world's Messiah, says so."

Harry didn't miss the way Trudi took up a stand near Draco. Between her wand, Draco's mouth, and Simon's teeth things could get ugly. "No. Because Simon's twitchy and I've never known to you volunteer for pain. Oh well. It's your enterprise… I'll just step back."

Draco seemed to realise Simon was standing right next to him. "How is he, Luna?"

Luna raised her pale eyebrows at Harry. "He's in his jagermeister mood. Something's been hurting him and now he's ready to hunt out the source."

"Oh." Draco shot what would have been a filthy look at Neville had he been able to see him, but shut up. To everyone's relief. Between him and Ginny and Simon, the three looked completely wrung-out and ready to attack rather than seek a peaceful solution. Jagermeister mood, Luna had said. Looking at the faint gleam of malevolence deep in Simon's dark eyes, Harry realised she was completely right. He'd been wondering about the placid horse turning into the raging stallion and now he saw how close to the surface that wild animal was. Right now Draco might get more than a nip for bad behaviour. Luckily Draco agreed. "Right you are, chief.

"Well," Draco continued as politely as he could muster to Ginny, "ready for the last one?"

"Reddy Teddy."

"Fine. Let's go. But by the way, Longbottom, broadcast news: Simon is a horse, not a 'thing.' Go join the Death Eaters if you want to start calling my horse a 'thing'."

Wisely, Neville made no reply. Ginny gave him a quick smile, and he blushed pink. Luckily for him she couldn't have noticed: all her attention was back on Draco and Simon.

This time the spell seemed to be sucked out from all through Simon's body. Gradually it formed under Draco's fingers, becoming an almost solid shape of energy, a spinning rhombus gently turning on one axis then another as Draco tried to grasp the slippery light. Something deep in its depths tried to snare the eye and drag attention down, down into its curdling dimensions. Harry, who was standing on the opposite side of Simon to Draco, stood up on tiptoes to see over the dip in the horse's back as Draco, who was standing just aft of the shoulder, biting his pale lip as he concentrated, hissed in pain, "Hurry, Weasley."

"It's not all out yet," she replied. She was hissing, too, the words of a spell Harry wondered if she truly understood. It certainly didn't sound like anything he'd heard on the curriculum. Then the spinning magic, which had been mirroring the greens and greys of the hillside, took on a darker, angrier tint. The swirling bewitchment in its core snarled in on itself as if enraged at being denied prey. Simon lowered his head and his back stiffened with pain but he didn't move. Harry stroked his palms along the horse's shoulder as the hide, which had been prickly with dried sweat, became slick again. It trembled.

Draco yelped. "Careful, Weasley…"

"Sorry… don't know why that happened…"

Harry saw a crackle of magic arc from Ginny's fingers to halo Draco's head, lifting his hair and sparking in his eyes. "It's Simon you're meant to be working on, not me!"

"He won't stand still much longer," Luna said calmly. Harry glanced at her. She sounded cooler than she looked; her pale, almost translucent eyebrows were drawn together and her normal dreaminess had evaporated: Harry had never seen her so focussed as now, holding Simon's head tight in her arms, her white-knuckled fingers grasping the cheek pieces of the headcollar.

The long muscles along Simon's back were rigid. Harry had the unpleasant sense he was standing next to a Muggle bomb and the last few seconds were ticking down on the clock. Five… four… three… two…

"Got it." Ginny snarled something unhuman and there were three sharp cracks. Something stung Harry's cheek. With the third crack, the spell was gone.

The taut muscles along Simon's back quivered once and then softened. The horse let out a huge, shuddering sigh. Harry patted him on the shoulder. "Well done," he said, not sure if he was saying it to Simon, Draco, Ginny, Luna or himself. All of them, he guessed. Something tickled his cheek. He brushed it with his hand. His fingers came away red.

"I'll get that," said Luna. She took her wand out from behind her ear and flicked it in front of Harry's face before he could object. "It must have been a bit of the stone that cracked when Ginny pulled the magic out of it."

Harry looked around. Yes. Two more boulders were broken. The first was cut cleanly through like the earlier one, but the second was shattered. Trudi was standing next to Draco with a handkerchief against his arm, whispering to him. Apparently Harry wasn't the only one to have been hit by a piece of rock. Luna was checking Simon with her wand. Swish and flick, swish and flick… two chips were taken out of his side and a back leg. Luckily Simon hadn't kicked out when he was stung. Then Luna murmured a soft spell and the sharp pieces of stone from the shattered boulder sifted down into the grass as a soft powder and an unpleasant mineral smell.

Ginny, bending over with her hands braced on her knees, said, "There's still that charm to –"

"That stays," Luna said firmly.

"What charm?" said Harry, growing annoyed by how they kept bypassing him with decisions for Simon.

"There's a charm in his chest," Draco said. "I tried to pull it out but Simon bit me. Luna reckons it's not harmful, but…"

"It's only harmful when people try to pull it out," Luna said primly, carding her fingers through Simon's forelock to straighten it. "Then they get bitten."

Ginny shook her head. "Malfoy was the one who got bitten. I was the one who took the hint and left it alone."

"I wish he'd let me have a better look at it," Draco muttered.

"If wishes were horses there would be more Simons," Luna said, the normal dreamy expression back on her face as if it had never left.

Draco's face held a mixture of bewilderment, amusement and annoyance. "What?"

"I'm going to walk him around for a bit," said Luna happily.

"You do that."

Simon had other priorities: first he shook himself all over like a dog then, like an extremely cautious dog, he lifted one back foot to scratch his neck where the yellow curse had been. He did this carefully – Harry couldn't blame him. That iron-shod foot would brain Simon if he kicked himself in the head with it. That done, he was content for Luna to lead him off around the perimeter of the paddock. Draco made as if to follow, but then gripped Trudi's shoulder. As she whispered a question, he shook his head. She led him back to the fenceline where Draco leaned against the rails.

"Ginny? You okay?"

She rubbed her throat. "Yeah," she husked. "Come on."

Harry paused a moment, staring at Luna and Simon. Luna was talking to the horse in a low, urgent whisper. She seemed to be trying to tell him something. Or asking.

Was Simon standing on her foot again?

No. Luna wasn't as agitated as someone with a horse on their foot would be. Simon took the opportunity to put his head down and eat some of the hay Hagrid had been leaving for him. Luna shook her head and tugged the leadrope until Simon followed. Her shoulders drooped as if she were disappointed. But with what? Ginny and Draco had performed a miracle, getting those hexes removed.

Just outside the gate Hermione had conjured several Chesterfield sofas, which were as comfortable as they looked as Harry found out when he sank into one with a sigh of relief. Ginny took a seat next to Neville. Trudi led Draco to another, glaring at Hermione as if she would object to a Slytherin using something she'd made.

Hermione was getting used to Trudi too, and ignored the girl. "Neville knows something about mistletoe," she said without preamble.

Even Draco looked interested. "Do you know if it grows around here?"

Neville shook his head. "It's not meant to. It prefers warmer climates. And the fruiting season is finished, anyway. It's the berries which are most useful."

"Any in storage?" Draco asked.

"It wouldn't be much use. Hermione told me what you were working on… Don't worry, I gave her my word I wouldn't pass it on," he added hastily before Draco's angry expression could manifest in words. "But I think you might be looking for a special variety. Not the one Muggles grow."

"I thought that would have been obvious."

"Not when wizards use the Muggle variety in potions."

"So it does have edge-magic."

"Yes," said Hermione. "Like horses," she added with a smile. "I looked that up after I heard about Simon being so relaxed at being levitated."

"Do you think a wizard owned him?" asked Trudi, after an anxious glance at Draco. Draco looked unhappy at the idea. Probably because a wizard would have more luck getting him back. Despite his assertion to consider the future for several generations, sometimes Harry wondered just how far Draco did think ahead. Did Draco really think he'd be allowed to keep Simon? Even if the real owner didn't step forward there was a good chance he'd have to fight Luna for him. Maybe even Harry, although Harry was more pragmatic about the likelihood of having a pet horse. He didn't _like_ the idea of giving up Simon, but he had to admit to the fact that it _was_ going to happen. But Draco was oddly attached to the horse. Harry doubted Draco had ever experienced the emotion of love – or, at least, not the love Harry had for his friends and godfather, but Draco's possessiveness seemed to be along those same lines.

"Maybe," Draco was saying. "There's that charm in his chest. We don't know where that came from, but it feels old. Older than the hexes we took out, anyway. But not necessarily. Borderline creatures and plants can react in surprising ways, and according to Geerhard Strom in _Tails of the Wild and Wyrd _they've been known to spontaneously generate their own charms and spells. Which explains cats."

"And horses," added Harry with a grin.

"And toads," said Neville. "Trevor's taken to hopping through closed doors and bringing me things. Maybe he wants to be a magpie."

"Did he bring you my pewter hairpin?" Ginny asked.

"Um. Is that yours? Sorry. You aren't missing an enamel morning-glory brooch, are you?"

"Yes, but it's terribly ugly and I didn't mind losing it."

"Didn't Ron give you that brooch?" asked Hermione with a smile.

"Don't tell him what I said. That goes double for you, Malfoy," she added without rancour.

Draco threw up his hands. "I'm not arguing with a sorceress!"

"Really? So there are side benefits to growing up with hand-me-downs from your brothers and cousins…"

ooOOoo

Neville told them what he knew about mistletoe, which wasn't much that Hermione hadn't already found in Murgatroyd the Elder's book. But he did say he'd been keeping an eye on a couple of oaks around the grounds which held magical mistletoe. He couldn't remember if they were fruiting or not – he doubted they would be in May, but it was worth checking and promised to do so. Ginny said she'd help. Neville blushed and stammered that that would be, um, nice. Draco even offered to help with his gloves, but Neville hurriedly said that he'd be fine. Draco smirked but didn't press. Harry guessed even Draco couldn't have missed Neville's wanting to go for a walk with Ginny without a chaperone. Hermione said that she needed some help with her reading, anyway, and it cut down on wasted time having Draco help. She'd tried using the gloves herself, but Draco had the knack with them that she lacked.

Draco had a few ideas he wanted to look at too, and promised to meet up with Hermione in the library after dinner. And after he'd taken something to counter a massive headache. He was curious about something to do with metallurgy, Harry understood, but Harry wasn't sure how it was going to help. Unless…

"Any thoughts on the Golden Sickle?" he asked. "Have you heard of any spells to locate it, or if we could make our own?"

"I thought about making another one," said Draco, quite seriously, "but you need Celtic or pre-Celtic gold. And all the gold has been mined out of Britain… either by Muggles, wizards, or goblins. I thought there might be an old burial site nearby – Muggles often buried their leaders with gold, but if there is the gloves can't locate it. I thought about melting Galleons but they've got spells on them to stop tampering and any British gold is probably diluted by resmelting with other sources anyway. If anyone has a couple of pounds of verified gold sourced from the Isles, I'd be pleased to hear about it. All mine is in my vault, I'm afraid. It's a bit hard to get to at the moment."

ooOOoo


	16. chapter 16

Disclaimer: Potterverse stuff not mine. JKR can even have the story line if she wants it, but I doubt she'll ever be that hard up. Oh, and I should probably give thanks to Asterix for the golden sickle idea. Or Getafix, anyway.

ooOOoo

Chapter 16: The Potions Book

Last night's research had gone very well. Neville and Ginny had come back from their walk flushed with exercise and the brisk cold wind (at least, that was what they told Ron) and found Harry, Ron, Luna, Hermione and Trudi in the library. Draco was, by the unspoken but unanimous decision by all non-combatants, at the opposite end of the long table from Ron, especially after the Asian Wild Ass Incident when Draco had started sniggering and, when Luna asked what the joke was, he'd happily informed the rest of the table in general and Hermione in particular that _Equus hemionus_ was a species of monogamous donkey.

"…Which is lucky for you, eh, Weasley?"

Right now, assured by demonstration that even if his blindness didn't stop Ron (whose ears were still pink) from taking a swing at him, Harry would, he was yawning every few minutes and looked like he wanted nothing better than to curl up on a shelf for a nap. But he had found some interesting books on metallurgical applications in wizardry and kept his finger brushing over the pages.

Harry, the quietly simmering Ron and Luna looked for historical references to Helga Hufflepuff's life and habits. Hermione thought she'd found a spell to harvest mistletoe for disruptive magic. It was in a slim potions book written two hundred and ten years ago and last published sixty years ago that Draco had found when he finally lost his temper and snapped: "Show me they key to breaking the barrier!", and noted through with the thin, spidery writing she was showing to Harry.

"It's really familiar," she said.

Harry studied it. The ink was fading. It hadn't been good quality to start with, and could have been anything from ten to sixty years old. "Not another Tom Riddle book?"

"Merlin, what a thought! Don't tell Ginny…"

"Don't tell Ginny what?" A shock of red hair leaned over Harry's shoulder. "No. that's not Tom's writing. It's Professor Snape's. Well, a lot like it, anyway. Although I'm more used to seeing it in red, with nasty comments about my handwriting. Hypocrite. Maybe it was from when he was a student?"

They peered closer.

"Why would he write about mistletoe? _And_ write in a library book?" Hermione wondered. Of the two, evidently defacing library property was the greater astonishment. "Oh…" she breathed, having skimmed through the writing faster than the other two, "he's written about harvesting it. He thinks the white sheet is necessary, but has to be linen, not cotton."

"What's the difference?" asked Ginny.

"Linen is made from flax," said Harry, who'd had to wash so many sheets and iron so many more shirts for Aunt Petunia that he was something of an expert. "And it wrinkles easily. Other than that, I dunno. What else does he say?"

Hermione turned the page and let out a short, ironic laugh. "Here's a mistletoe-based potion to dissolve the boundaries of a spell that's been set up to isolate a place by shifting it slightly in time using – get this – three oak trees as anchors for the spell."

There was a stunned silence.

Draco, who'd been too far away to hear the whispers, broke it. "What's so interesting?"

Hermione shook her head helplessly as Harry said, "Snape wrote in a library book about a potion which might be what we need to break the barrier."

Draco's pointy nose wrinkled. "Snape _wrote_ in a _library book?"_

"About a potion that…"

"Yes, yes. Wow. But… that's kind of suspicious, don't you think?"

"I don't know," Harry whispered. Trudi was standing at a shelf just out of earshot, diligent as a Hufflepuff on Draco's behalf as she slogged through a mountain of books looking for references to golden sickles. "He was a Death Eater. He might have been the one who devised the spell Voldemort … oh, look, he's not going to come crawling out of the woodwork … that Voldemort Voldemort Voldemort used to cut us off from everywhere else. And if he did, then wouldn't it have been prudent to have devised a counter to that spell?"

"I guess," said Draco sullenly. Harry regretted being childish over saying Voldemort's name… and for pointing out that Snape had been a Death Eater. Draco didn't need his nose rubbed in either issue.

Hermione was still flicking through the pages, most of which had the margins filled with the ghostly writing. "He says if the spell has been cast by a master wizard you need the most powerful mistletoe to counter it, and that can only be harvested with the greatest of care."

"Well, we already knew _that_," said Neville, who looked a little shaken at having his personal nemesis come back to haunt him in this way.

Luna, from where she was reading _Fables of the Founders_, said, "Anything about finding a certain artefact?"

"No… no… no… no…" Hermione was flicking through the pages. "No… euch, I didn't know you could use that for _that_… no… no… no… why are these pages stuck together… open up, book… No… n- Merlin!"

That, combined with the way her eyebrows drew together, Harry knew, meant 'Bingo.'

"Apparently Hufflepuff hid it. Or so Phantom Snape says. It's real. The Golden Sickle – he actually states so right here…" She drew her finger down the page. "But 'you can't move the truth through time'… what on Earth does that mean? And why did he draw a little lightning bolt next to 'time'?"

They all, even Draco, stared at Harry, who brushed his hair down over his scar. It was reflex these days.

"It means we have to stop looking in space and start looking in time," said Luna.

ooOOoo

Draco, who still looked a little peaky, as Molly Weasley might say, was reading aloud to Harry and Luna from one of the books he'd found while Harry practised riding in broad circles around the meadow and tried not to think of Snape's cryptic messages left in an old, obscure book. The day was gorgeous after an unpromisingly cloudy start, and Harry, Draco and Luna had silently agreed that a Sunday morning like this should be spent outside in the sun. A riding lesson was an excellent excuse.

Luna stood in the middle of the circle, with a long thin rope between herself and Simon. Harry was finding this riding business much easier after a few lessons from Luna, and had tried a canter earlier. With Simon's big stride he'd felt like he was riding a camel rather than a horse, but it was still exhilarating. Not half as exciting as being thrown through the air, though: Simon was in an extremely good mood today and expressed himself by bucking Harry off over his head the first time Harry tried to trot the horse.

Luna decided to ride Simon for a bit after that, and sat out the exuberant bucks and leaps peppering the circles she rode as Simon tried to prove that horses and kangaroos have a closer common ancestor than current evolutionary theory would suggest. Rather her than me, Harry had thought. But Simon had calmed down – eventually – and grudgingly accepted that a rider's idea of fun wasn't necessarily a horse's. Luckily the only souvenir of Harry's flying lesson sans broomstick was a green stain on his backside from the thick (and soft) clump of grass Simon had aimed him at. The horse had remarkable aim when he was throwing people around. Pillows and thick grass. Most kind of him.

Right now Harry was concentrating on finding his centre of balance – Luna told him it was the width of two fingers below his belly-button and once he had it he'd find it easier to stay on when Simon decided to do gymnastics again (Harry didn't like the 'again') – and only half-listening to what Draco was saying. Information drifted into his mind in disembodied sentences.

"… and Mackelbeth the Third had two ponies he used to pull his chariot, and … the second time he tried it there was … but when the silver was tried it gave much superior … Weyland Smith was the one who shod the River King's warhorse, and the River King's enemies tried to undermine him by bribing Weyland Smith, but the Smith was … That blue isn't your colour, Potter…"

That was weird.

Harry reined in Simon. "That can't have been in _The Annals of the Forest Empire_."

Draco, sitting on the log with the heavy book on his lap as he ran his gloved hands over the pages and filtered the information through his fingertips, was looking in his direction.

No.

Draco was looking _at_ him.

Harry was wearing an old blue sweater, one of Molly Weasley's gifts.

"Malfoy? You can see me?"

"I can see blue. And black – large black, which was moving before but now it's stopped. It's Simon. I know you're on Simon and I can hear your voice coming from over there. Luna… you're wearing dark green, I think… Or it could be that you're standing behind a bush."

"I'm wearing green, Draco," Luna said softly. "My green riding coat."

"Just so long as you're not wearing that ridiculous necklace…"

"The butterbeer cork one? Oh, I stopped wearing that last year. I don't know why people don't understand modern art."

Draco put the book down carefully on the log and stood up. He put out his hands then shook his head and tucked them into his robes instead.

Slowly, steadily, surely, he walked over to where Simon was standing. Three pairs of eyes watched his progress. When Draco was standing directly in front of the motionless horse, he lifted one hand to stroke Simon's nose.

"You can see," said Harry.

Draco nodded. His face was a mixture of joy and barely restrained terror. Harry instantly understood the joy but it took him a moment longer to realise why Draco was frightened: now that he wasn't blind, Lucius would expect him to be a Death Eater.

And Draco didn't want to be one.

If he didn't want to be one, then, by Merlin and the four Founders, Harry would make sure that he didn't need to become one.

"I've been getting shadows in the darkness since yesterday, when Weasley and I fixed Simon. She – I think some of her magic knocked out the acromantula toxin residue… maybe…" Draco fell silent and scowled at his toes, possibly wondering when he'd started wearing such scuffed boots, but probably not if all he could see were blurs of colour.

Harry stared at him. "Do… do you want us to tell anyone?" he asked softly.

Luna was frowning, but stayed silent when Harry shook his head warningly at her.

"No… not yet." Draco said eventually. "I have things I need to think about first." By the extra pale tint to his face those things were weighty and not sweet.

ooOOoo

He didn't tell anyone that evening. Even when he met up with the others working on 'The Extrapolation Project,' as Hermione had labelled it, he made a show of using his gloves. It was as if he was desperate to hide his returning sight. If he hadn't had a quieter, tenser air to him Harry might have thought his vision had gone again. But he didn't ask. It wasn't his business.

_His_ business was sorting out Voldemort. And stopping Hermione from doing something stupid – now that was a switch. "What do you mean, send yourself through time?" he said.

Hermione closed _Temporal Dynamics for Dunderheads_. "Because I'm the best choice, of course."

Harry and Ron exchanged looks. They'd argue this one out with Hermione later.

"How can you be sure the person who's going isn't just going to commit suicide?" Ron asked. "I mean, if this sort of thing was allowed to be used don't you think Bill would be using it all the time to find things for Gringotts?" He was being very careful not to pick a fight with Draco, although Harry could tell it was giving him a bile attack having Draco in on their plans. Luckily Draco was behaving himself around Ron. For now.

But they still sat as far apart from each other as they could without moving to different tables.

"I'm trusting to the underlying temporal laws of the universe to make sure I don't go anywhere I shouldn't. Do you think Time Turners can take you to just any old time? They can't. The universe has an in-built clause that refuses to let you interfere with past events unless it is already pre-determined that your interference is part of the unfolding of history. If you try otherwise then nasty things can happen, but I've allowed for Ascott's Universal Law of Temporal Interrelations to stop the spell if it's not meant to be. As to committing suicide using the spell… I don't know. But I doubt the spell would be lethal – none of the spells within it are dangerous in the physical sense. Apart from the temporal locator spell to draw you in to the time and place of the artefact you're searching for, it's like the spells used in Time Turners, which, thanks to Bilgeworthy's Universal Temporal Constant, are more benign than popularly supposed – in fact, if anyone has any Timesplitz bug powder I'd like to hear it."

After the time it took for those not doing Arithmancy to catch up with Hermione's logic, Draco said:

"There's some in the Potions storeroom. The last time I got detention for – um – I can't remember but it must have been something good, because Professor Snape was the one who gave me the detention... oh yes… Filch caught me trying to test out a spell on Mrs Norris."

"What was the spell?" Ron asked, leaning forward.

"Nothing nasty. Only one to make a cat laugh."

It made Ron laugh, anyway. "Did it work?"

"She had the giggles for three days. Sort of a 'snh-snh-snh!' sound."

"At the beginning of the year? Oh! I thought she had a cold," said Hermione.

"No, but I nearly got one after cleaning out that storeroom. It's freezing in there and I had Filch standing over me going on about his poor precious little darling…"

His impression of the caretaker was cruel but spot on.

"Third shelf up, second aisle in, on the left."

Hermione nodded. "Now I just have to sneak in…"

Draco frowned. "I've heard the wards are pretty fierce."

Hermione, Harry and Ron exchanged looks. "I'll figure something out," she said with a hint of a smile. And dived into an explanation of her plan.

ooOOoo


	17. chapter 17

Not mine. Don't sue. Pretty please (which always looks SO good on legal documents).

ooOOoo

Chapter 17: Protection

Harry had intended to get in some time alone with the horse. He needed some space away from other people; space in which to think about Hermione's plan, and decide if he was either some sort of compulsive rescuer or just someone with a martyr complex. Using an Extrapolation of the charms used in Time Turners to send herself back in time to the days of the Founders and ask Helga Hufflepuff if she could use her sickle was, well, Harry thought it was appalling. In fact it was almost as bad as one of his plans.

Musing on his lack of options and trying to think of a good argument to convince Hermione not to go, he was surprised to see Professor Lupin standing outside the castle doors, apparently enjoying the cool misty air.

"Hello, Harry," said Remus, turning and smiling as Harry came down the steps. Harry thought he'd been silent, but even in the human part of the moon Remus had superb hearing.

"Professor Lupin. I'm surprised to see you up so early."

"Likewise."

"I couldn't sleep."

"Things on your mind?"

Harry paused, wishing he could talk to Remus about the Extrapolation. He might know of a spell to cast on Harry that would let him speak Old English. He might say that the plan was suitable, because of problems X, Y and Z, which generations of wiser wizards had tried and failed to overcome. He might know all the different dimensions the spell would twist Hermione's intestines through when the Extrapolation misfired. "Yeah. But it's just… stuff."

"Early morning walks are just the thing for stuff on the mind," Remus said, his golden brown eyes smiling.

"You sound like Professor Dumbledore," Harry said with a grin.

"I'm all out of sherbet lemons, I'm afraid. Care to take a walk with me? I was hoping to meet your new friend Simon. Now that I'm not a wolf I have high hopes of not having my head stamped into the ground," he added lightly.

"Don't take it personally," Harry said with a shrug. "Things he doesn't understand seem to have that effect on him. It's almost human."

Lupin sighed. "Yes, that's what I'm worried about." They set off down along the lawn towards the rear of the castle. Mist swirled around them, muffling what little early-morning birdsong there was and gifting anonymity. On the plus side, it meant no-one could see Harry – sort of like a giant, nebulous Invisibility Cloak. On the minus side, it meant Harry couldn't see anyone he wouldn't want to bump into. A very democratic Invisibility Cloak.

The dew soaked into their boots from the tall grass. Remus dried them out again with a quick spell. "Useful for morning walks," he said with a small smile.

"I bet." Harry wriggled his dry toes. Much better. "Uh – I think I'd better warn you about your wand – Simon doesn't like them. Luna thinks he was attacked by some wizards in the Forest that night. In fact," he added, "it might be a good thing you coming out to see him. Draco found some old hex-scars on him and although he and Ginny lifted them, it might give us some idea of where Simon's from and what he went through before he found me and Draco. That's if you can read what's left of them. There's also a charm embedded in his chest. But he won't let us muck about with that. We've been wondering if he used to belong to a wizard."

"Let's have a look, shall we?"

They were at the fence. "Simon!" Harry called softly, not wanting to disturb the peace of the morning.

There was the muted thumpetty-thump of hooves as the horse ambled down the hillside. Harry only realised the direction by where Remus was looking, and watched as the horse gradually became solid through the mist. Silver droplets hung from Simon's mane and the whiskers around his muzzle, and when the horse shook its head they shivered away into the moist half-light. The horse stopped when it saw Remus and tossed its head, snorting uneasily. Pretending nothing was wrong, Harry unlatched the gate and stepped into the paddock.

Simon walked down to meet him, dark eyes still on Remus, and subtly positioned himself between the two wizards.

"Protective sort, isn't he?" Remus said in his mild way.

"Not half!" Grinning, Harry patted the horse's neck, ruffling the mane to shake off more of the dew, and picked up the leadrope Luna had left by the gate, clipping it onto the headcollar Hooch had insisted they leave on the horse. "It stopped Draco from being killed by a vrikolaki, so… well, I guess there's a down-side after all," he laughed.

Remus looked amused but didn't smile. "How about introducing us?"

"Sure." Harry tugged on the leadrope, but the horse planted his hooves and didn't budge. "Simon… come on…" He looked apologetically at Remus. "Luna thinks he mightn't like men much – apparently a lot of Muggle animal doctors are men, and that gives horses something to base a grudge on." Harry didn't bother pulling on the rope – the last time he'd tried that Simon had demonstrated how horses can pull back a lot harder and sent Harry flying backwards. "He doesn't like Hagrid much – actually, I think Hagrid makes him nervous. He's getting better with Hagrid, though. And he doesn't seem to mind Professor Dumbledore. He's best buddies with Professor Flitwick, or he would be if the Professor came out and visited him."

"Yes. I heard about the incident with Mr Malfoy. As Colin Creevey is still alive I imagine Draco isn't too upset. Hmm. Well, in his own time, then." Remus simply leaned on the fence, looking away into the mist, looking as relaxed as Harry had ever seen him. Harry held on to the end of the leadrope and joined him.

After a few minutes of ignoring the horse, Harry felt the tell-tale warmth behind him that said the horse had come closer. Warm air ruffled his hair as the horse checked he wasn't upset or hurt. "So… how are classes?"

"Oh, same old, same old," Remus replied. "I had a couple of second year Ravenclaws asking odd questions about Invisibility Potions, and caught them trying to break into Snape's stores. Again." He smiled. "This time they were only turned into newts. Last time it was beetles. It took me ages to get them out of the stone jars they were trapped in. You'd think they'd learn."

"Yes." Harry was almost in a cold sweat, thinking of Hermione breaking in for boomslang skin in second year. If Snape had caught her in a stone jar would he have let her out again? And now she was planning on breaking in again tomorrow night for powdered Timesplitz bugs. "They're heavily warded, then?"

"More so now than they used to be, I believe. It was Barty Crouch and a few others Snape never caught that convinced the headmaster to allow Severus to indulge his creativity." He smiled. "I think the only caveats were that the punishments shouldn't be fatal or irreversible." Remus was very carefully not noticing that a horse was gingerly sniffing his elbow.

"But you can get past the wards all right? I mean, you're not a newt."

"Well, when Albus asked me to sub for Severus he gave me the passwords and keyed them to my voice. Those wards are almost unbreakable, now."

"Sounds like Dark Magic."

"Just between you and me, Harry, it is. You might have noticed things are a little tense…"

"Really? You think Voldemort might have returned, then?"

"It's entirely possible, but probably just that crazy old Hogwarts Headmaster stirring things up again… Well, Albus seemed to have enough trust in Severus to let him use a few minor Dark spells around the place…" His face expressed his misgivings, but he kept his voice uninflected as he turned the palm of his hand up for the horse to brush its muzzle over as it tested him with smell and whiskers. "That's how serious it is. Albus has – had very little desire to set Severus Snape and the Dark Arts in any sort of close relationship ever again."

"Was he worried a little power might send Snape off to join Voldemort again? Or was he just wanting to stop Snape badgering him about the DADA position?"

Remus sighed. "That's _Professor _Snape. And I don't know. And the whole issue is moot now, anyway." He looked sad, then smiled as Simon lifted his head and sniffed at his face. "Hey… I didn't know horses had whiskers… and yours tickle, my friend." He stroked the long nose.

"I thought you hated him. I know he hated…" Harry looked away. "Sorry – that was rude."

Remus' hand stilled on the horse's nose, then slid down to cup the chin. Somewhere in the lightening distance a blackbird sang its sweet song. Simon's ears swivelled towards it. "It was a bit, yes. But I didn't hate him."

"But he…"

"Hated me? Oh yes. Very much." Simon nudged his shoulder, and Remus went back to stroking the soft skin along the side of the horse's jaw. "For a short time in our sixth year I thought things would be better if I tried to make friends with him. That ended up making things worse. After the Shrieking Shack, when James rescued him and he found out I was a werewolf, Severus thought I'd been trying to gain his confidence just to make it easier to trap and kill him."

"Bit paranoid, wasn't he?"

"Harry, people who are paranoid only think other people are out to get them. In Severus' case he really _did_ have people out to get him. Sirius, in this case. And James most days, and Peter whenever Peter thought he could get away with it."

"But not you?"

Remus lowered his head until he was nose to nose with Simon. "And me. I wanted to fit in." He sighed and straightened. "You know the worst of it, Harry? When I was trying to get to know him better, I found he wasn't such a bad person after all. Just scared as hell."

Harry frowned. "Scared of what?"

"I don't know. Bullies beating him up at school, maybe…" Remus frowned uneasily and looked away into the hills as if an answer was there. "His Housemates that year were a pretty scary lot, too. After the Shrieking Shack he started hanging around with Wilkes and Rosier… you know about them?"

"Death Eaters who died, yeah."

"Yes. But before that he had nothing to do with them. I was appalled to find out he'd become a Death Eater. But then I was even more distressed to think that maybe I'd had a hand in making him one. I can't hate someone like that, Harry, but then again I can't blame him for hating me."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. Even now, he couldn't forgive Snape for treating him like he had. Picking on Harry because he'd disliked Harry's father was, well, it was incredibly petty. And it seemed a bit far-fetched that Snape would have chosen Rampant Evil just because he'd been pissed off with a few school mates. Harry opened his mouth to say so, then paused. "I think Simon is getting used to you," he said instead.

Remus managed a small smile. "He is, isn't he? I haven't been stamped on once."

"Give him time. He stood on my foot again yesterday." After some swearing and shoving, Simon had moved. It was entirely possible the horse hadn't known what he had done, too. He'd seemed quite surprised by Harry's agitation. Luckily Harry had taken to wearing boots on Madam Hooch's instructions, otherwise he'd have had worse than the mild bruise. "You seem to have a knack for this sort of thing – you were doing exactly what the horse mutterer Robert Python said to do in his book."

"Really? I must read it. I came top in my class for Care of Magical Creatures. Now that's ironic."

"It is, rather. How are you getting along for Wolfsbane?"

"Oh, Severus left in a good supply of the ingredients. One advantage of being a pessimist is that when the worst happens you're prepared for it."

"I wonder if Hermione could make it? She was the one who found the books on horses for me."

"Miss Granger? Find books? The world is coming to an end."

"You like her."

"Of course. She's how I wish I could have been at her age."

A sudden memory of the Slytherins ranged along the top of the stairs from the Entrance Hall slipped into his mind. "Do you think anyone will join Voldemort because of me?"

"I don't know. Do you go around making people's lives hell because they look funny or are in another House or don't have any friends who can back them up?"

"Dad wasn't like that. Was he?"

There was a pause Harry didn't like. Then: "No. I'm just a little bitter. I hate making mistakes I can't heal."

Harry shrugged. "Don't we all. So can I fix my mistakes?"

"Harry, I don't know if you've made mistakes. Maybe you did, but I don't think it's to the degree where someone would suddenly think 'Sod it, You-Know-Who's the only way out.' Even if you were just like your father, which you're not – you've got too much of Lily in you – then you've got Hermione Granger. And she's one of the best consciences I've ever met."

"Don't you mean '_got_ one of the best consciences'?"

"No," Remus chuckled, "I mean she _is_. She's the sort of person I should have been, but was too much of a coward to be. If anything, I think you may help stop people from joining You-Know-Who. Take young Mr Malfoy – you seem to have been a positive influence on him –"

Harry, who had been about to protest Lupin's assertion of being a coward, burst out laughing. "You don't know him very well! No, it was going blind that did it. I don't think he'd make any allegiances based on my opinion. If anything, I think he's looking for a third option."

"Well, I wish him well in his search. Maybe if there had been a third option, people like Severus wouldn't have needed to make such a terrible choice."

Harry thought of Millicent and the two young Slytherin girls. They didn't trust Dumbledore, that was for certain. Plainly none of the Slytherins did. But in the way the world was divided they had to side with him or support Voldemort. The Ministry wasn't really an option; it was as divided down that line as the rest of Wizarding Great Britain.

The thought of Daisy and Trudi hidden behind white masks made him shiver. And Millicent… Harry still didn't like her, but he'd bumped into her a few more times lately as she quietly checked up on Draco, and was developing a reluctant respect for her pragmatic, possessive affection for her Housemates. What if one day he had to kill a Death Eater and then take the mask off and find someone he'd had classes with? Crabbe or Goyle – well, it would be nasty, but Harry could cope.

Terrible as it was, Harry had to admit to himself he didn't care enough about either of them as people to flinch away from the thought of their death at his hands. But Millicent had, in the last week or so, become a real person. And Draco…

Thanks to that odd bit of magic Ginny had performed in the middle of healing Simon, Draco was getting his sight back now. He had options galore. Harry didn't know if Malfoy would keep hanging around with him and Luna – it seemed to be only the horse that kept them civil to each other. Draco was civil, yes, but not open, and despite what he'd told Harry the day Simon took him careering through the castle, Harry suspected his real allegiances were a mystery. Harry fully expected Draco would simply take the expedient way out and pick whichever side seemed most likely to win, providing, of course, the Malfoy name remained paramount. Did Draco understand love and friendship, or did he only understand alliances and territory? Harry doubted Draco understood guilt as being anything other than, 'oh, hell, I've been caught.'

A world-view like Draco's was almost as alien as Simon's. He slumped on the fence. "You're right. There's a lot of people like him – well, not exactly, but we're in a war, aren't we? And in a war you _have_ to choose sides. What if both sides are wrong?"

"Then you do the best that you can. And if you get the chance to make up for your mistakes, you seize that chance and hold on to it as hard as you can." He patted Simon on the neck. "Harry, have you considered this horse may not be safe?"

"Sorry?" Harry was confused by the abrupt change of topic. "How do you mean?"

"I mean he's already killed a vrikolaki. From what I've heard he barely stopped short of killing Draco. And didn't he nearly kill you when you found the dead vrikolaki?"

"He stopped as soon as he saw who I was. He was defending himself and Draco. I mean, look at him now." The long black eyelashes glittering with diamond-dust from the mist were lowered. "He's almost asleep."

"The point is, Harry, that this is an animal with the instinct to react violently when frightened. What would happen if you surprised him – would he kick out? He's very powerful – he could crush your chest."

"All horses are like that. The thing is that you don't give them a reason to kick. Besides, they'd rather run away. You saw that last week when he ran into Flitwick's class."

"But if he can't run, what then? There are so many reasons for him to be frightened, and despite what you might have been told, most horses aren't as likely to react like this one."

"I think you're being overprotective."

Simon snorted, woken by the sharpness of Harry's voice. He shook his head free of Remus' hand. Remus let his hand fall.

"Harry… what's going on?"

"I've got a horse. I'm making friends outside my House. One of them might even be Draco Malfoy, but I'm still careful about that. I've got a new hobby_._"_ And Hermione is pursuing an interesting line of research that you told her not to concern herself with, so I can hardly ask for your advice now that you want to play Uncle Remus._ "Oh, and this Dark wizard is trying to knock me off because there's some prophecy going around."

Remus' brows drew together. "I'm sorry I haven't been around as much as you need, Harry."

"You've been busy. I can understand that. You've got your own classes and now you're subbing for some of Snape's. But I don't need someone getting all protective on me just over a _horse._"

Remus let the missing _'Professor'_ slide for once.

Simon moved away to the end of the rope and began to graze. The noise of his strong teeth cropping at the grass was loud in the small misty world.

Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his hair: short of putting treacle through it, it wasn't as if he could make it any messier. "So how's it going, teaching Potions? Seems okay from the classes I've had with you. Better than when Professor Sprout filled in. She just made us research ingredients and we didn't brew anything. Hermione was disappointed, but then again no-one blew anything up. So that probably counted as a good day."

Remus managed a faint smile. "I don't mind it too much. Luckily I've got the rest of the year's lesson plans all ready for me, and everything is stocked. Professor Snape was quite thorough like that."

"I guess…"

"What?" Remus prompted when the silence dragged out.

"Maybe he knew he was going to die."

Remus shifted his weight on the fence from one elbow to the other, carefully not looking at Harry. "Harry… He didn't know he was going to die. But he knew he was in a dangerous position, spying for us. He was being practical, not precognitive."

Harry nodded. It wasn't important. He didn't want to think about Snape. Snape, who left cryptic notes and a lightning bolt the exact match of Harry's scar in a library book. Snape, who'd hated him as much as he'd been hated in return. Snape, who was dead. Snape, whose written echo Harry was trusting to help find a way to escape this slow strangulation of Hogwarts by Voldemort.

He didn't want to think about Voldemort. "Do you want to look at the charm in his chest?"

"Sure."

Simon was calmer now and allowed the werewolf to run his hands over his shoulders and neck, feeling out where the curses had been.

"I can feel resonances of a sort," Remus said at last. "But they're fading fast. Miss Weasley did an excellent job of removing them, and I'd be curious to find out how young Mr Malfoy located and held them. I suspect it's his magic finding a way through the limitations currently imposed on it."

Harry wondered if Draco's new-found ability to find spells by touch would disappear as he got his sight back. He wouldn't ask Remus that, though, not until Draco had decided what he wanted other people to know.

Remus spread his hand over Simon's chest and took out his wand. "Ah. Yes. I believe I've found the charm. Hmm… I wonder if I can – aargh!"

"Simon! No!"

Simon had his ears flat back in fury. His powerful jaws were locked around Remus' shoulder and the long, yellow teeth were sunk deep into Remus' robes. His velvety black muzzle crinkled almost like a snarling dog's as he ground his teeth together.

"Ahh…! Harry…" Remus tried to punch the horse, but Simon shook his head and Remus hissed in pain.

"Oh, shit… Put your wand away. Simon. Let him go. Now. Bad horse." Harry had no idea what would make a horse let go of its prey – horses weren't even meant to _have_ prey – but he tugged on the leadrope sharply and spoke strongly, carefully not shouting in case Simon got even more upset and bit down harder. "Simon! Let him go."

With a twist of his head that made Lupin groan, Simon let go. Remus stumbled back.

"Harry, get out of the paddock." Remus was reaching for his wand again. And Simon's eyes were trained on that hand as it stole towards the pocket where Remus had his wand. Simon's black eyes glittered with all the cold malice of a snake about to strike.

"Professor, you need to get out of the paddock now. Simon won't hurt me."

"I won't tell you again! Harry! Ge-" He darted back as Simon twisted his head and tried to rear. When Remus tried to grab Harry, Simon struck out with his front hooves, lunging forward and putting himself between Harry and Lupin.

"You're just making him worse," Harry panted, hauling on the leadrope, trying desperately to keep his voice calm. "He thinks he's defending me from you. Oh, and he deliberately didn't hit you just then, but the next time he uses his hooves like that he might do it seriously."

Remus opened his mouth, but thought better of it and slipped through the gate. Simon stamped his feet angrily, twitching his tail and making sure that at every moment he was standing between Harry and the gate. "I appreciate the thought, but you're not helping the cause any," Harry muttered. "I'm going to lead him around a bit to calm him down," he said more loudly to Lupin. "It's – don't you dare!"

Remus, pale-faced with pain, had drawn his wand and was pointing it at Simon. Harry whipped out his own wand just in time.

_"Protego!"_

Remus' spell bounced and spun off into the mist.

_"Expelliarmus!"_

Remus' wand spun away after the spell.

"Don't you ever try to put a spell on this horse in anger," Harry said, feeling as if part of him was speaking from a distance. _That_ part of him sounded calm instead of raging.

Remus looked almost as furious as Harry felt. "I am your professor, Harry, and I tell you to get away from that dangerous animal!"

"With all due respect, sir, I think the reason Simon is so dangerous is because people like to provoke him. I'm sorry he hurt you but you can't blame a horse like you'd blame a human. You can only make sure that the situation never arises again and learn what you did wrong. And I won't let you harm him."

"I wasn't going to harm him. Harry…"

"You don't know that. I'm going to walk him for a bit, sir. I'll see you in Hall later."

"Harry…"

"I believe your wand went over behind those bushes."

Lupin didn't call again, to Harry's relief.

He walked Simon up the hill to the rocky top, where moorland began. They stood together, horse and boy, watching as the sun rose in a cauldron of fire and burned away the mist and the long shadows of the castle took shape out of the darkness. Something in Harry burned away, too, as he leaned against Simon's shoulder with his arm slung over the high withers, feeling the simple honesty of a horse solid against the complexity of the role he'd been jettisoned into when the Darkest wizard of the age marked him with a curse that had no defence other than love, leaving him tired and wishing there was someone he could rely on – someone older than himself – who would make everything alright and take this weight from him.

He'd felt this often enough, even before he found out about Hogwarts. That was a simple one, a need for his parents and he knew it and accepted it as something he couldn't change. In third year and after, he'd latched onto Remus and Sirius as a nebulous source of substitute parenthood, but he'd recognised recently that it was unfair to everyone; not just because Remus and Sirius were so preoccupied with matters above and beyond Harry (and as it was the defence of Hogwarts Harry didn't resent this), but mainly because Harry was simply unable to accept and trust adult authority. Hermione had told him this and he'd seen the truth of it. It was something he understood and only partially regretted. But the other, darker shadows he could sense feathering at the edges of his own mind never took shape and, like every other day of his life he still couldn't fully make out their nature.

Then Simon shifted, the sun reflecting blue and gold in the tiniest rainbows off individual hairs in his forelock, sighed, and checked Harry's hands in case apples had magically appeared, and the shadows fled as Harry smiled.

ooOOoo

Warned, Hermione found another source for the Timesplitz bug powder. She (or rather, Draco's Mendeleev gloves) found an old, broken Time Turner, and emptied its glass bulbs of the powder and mixed it in with the other dried ingredients she'd tracked down. This was only the second dry potion she'd ever tried, and if Harry hadn't known her so well he wouldn't have known she was nervous.

"That should do it," she said as she sprinkled it around the circle. "The spell will put you back in time and then bring you back here in five days." She gave Harry a worried look, counterbalancing Ron's sullen one and Draco's folded-arm stance of polite scepticism. None of them, particularly Harry, were pleased with his decision to go.

"Look, Potter… you're the one who survived You-Know-Who. We might need you at some future date just in case you've got some edge on him," was Draco's argument, accompanied by a still slightly fuzzy-around-the-edges glare. Harry was pleased that Draco cared enough to argue for his safety. "Besides, they're my gloves and I know how to use them the best."

Ron nodded enthusiastically. "Good idea. Let's send Malfoy."

Luna, who'd been polishing her wand on her sleeve and picking away at specks only she could see, tucked it away behind her ear and sighed, echoing Hermione. "The spell fixed on Harry. There's nothing we can do to counter it unless you've got an unending source of Timesplitz bug powder to experiment with."

The room fell silent at sense from Luna.

But she was right. Harry knew that. What he didn't know was why this spell, taken in the main from Snape's mysterious writings and fine-tuned by Hermione (who admitted that she didn't fully understand what Snape had written), had chosen him as the mobile locus. But when Hermione had uttered the spell, fully intending to be the one going (as she had studied Old English and would be able to talk to the Founders), it had zoomed around the room like a little yellow comet, spitting orange sparks, and smacked Harry in the back of the head. It still sent out the occasional spark.

Harry sneezed. A green spark shot out his nose and he stomped on it before it could set the rug on fire. They were in a corridor outside what seemed to be a small, locked store-room in the North Tower, somewhere near Trelawney's quarters, he guessed, and even she would be alerted to strange goings-on when the tower caught fire. Not to mention people who might come wandering this way and interrupt. Although the gloves had chosen this spot as the best fixed locus for the spell none of them, not even Luna, were quite ready to put blind faith in accessories. They'd warded the corridor with the most subtle spells Hermione and Draco knew to deflect the curious and idle from any business they might think they had along this corridor. But it didn't mean Harry had to trust those spells, either. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and shifted from one foot to the other.

"Let's get on with it. The moon won't wait. We all know this is the best option for breaking the Blockade."

Hermione grumbled and Ron sighed loudly, but they were both wise enough to Harry's moods to know when his temper was running short. Besides, Harry was right. All the research they'd done, running Hermione's research skills and the Mendeleev gloves to their limits, had come up with nothing that gave even the remotest hint of promise. It wasn't just Harry's temper that was running short: all the professors in the castle seemed to be edgier this week. No owls had got through the Blockade since the third morning after the Death Eater attack. The rumour that the kitchens were running short of food was being sternly suppressed by the short-tempered teachers with such ferocity that one Ravenclaw had suggested that they were channelling the spirit of Snape. She'd been given a week's detention with Filch when she was overheard by the normally sanguine Professor Sprout. Given the sudden increase in porridge for breakfast Harry didn't think it was merely a rumour, although he was smart enough to keep that opinion to himself.

After all the preparation, the worry, and the sleepless nights when Harry and Ron had gone down to the common room to find Hermione up already, going over and over her notes, it all boiled down to a simple little key spell and a powder potion.

The potion Hermione had prepared from Snape's notes was a surprisingly dark blue, and it glittered in a circle around Harry's feet as he clutched his wand in his hands, which were wearing the Mendeleev gloves. A small pack was on his back, complete with five days of basic food, a book translating Old English to Modern, and some money – just in case. Harry wasn't going to get any more ready, only more anxious. And he already felt ill at the idea of being catapulted through time. He didn't want to get to the time of the Founders just to throw up at Helga Hufflepuff's feet.

Harry nodded. "Let's do it." If only his voice had come out a bit stronger. Even Draco looked concerned when he heard it.

Hermione sighed. "Chronos, hear my call. Send this worthy traveller to the source of his wanderings."

If there was more to the spell, Harry didn't hear it. A wall of blue light erupted around him and his world imploded.

For an eternity that lasted a millisecond, he felt himself impossibly small. Then, in the next eternity, he was vast and extended across galaxies.

Then he was Harry-sized again, and astonished that he remembered what shape and size he was meant to be, and the blue of infinity shrank within itself and he fell.

He fell on something soft and not soft; something that cursed angrily in a winded voice.

"Get off me, damn you!"

Harry (it took him a second to remember that Harry was his name) blinked as his vision came back from the blue of infinity and the black of the abyss, to see the black of the abyss reflected in two angry eyes in front of him.

"Get off me, Potter," snarled the owner of the eyes, "before I rip out your liver and feed it to you."

Oh, great.

He had landed on Snape.

ooOOoo


	18. chapter 18

Not mine. Don't sue. Pretty please (which always looks SO good on legal documents).

ooOOoo

Chapter 18: Harry Lovegood

He had landed on Snape.

It took him a second to remember that Snape was dead. And in that second he was rolled over and off his landing place and his head hit the wall. There was a flash of light as black as it was bright, and when it cleared from his vision there was a wand pointed between his eyes.

"Think it's so funny now, Potter?"

Harry blinked, his head swimming. There was something wrong here. First, Snape was dead. Second, this wasn't Snape. Or at least it wasn't a Snape he'd ever met. This Snape had the same lank, greasy hair curtaining his face, but the face was unlined, without the deep grooves bitterness should have carved there. The nose looked even more like a cruel joke of nature against the slimmer face. Were those a couple of pimples on his cheek? And the eyes: instead of being dead black tunnels to a terrible dimension and no less frightening thanks to the amount of angry malice there, now there was something that sparked. Snape was dead. Was Harry dead, then? No: Hermione (who was Hermione? Oh, yes… one of Harry's best friends) had cast a spell to send Harry back through time. Some distance, but unfortunately not far enough for him to meet the Founders. Harry blinked and moistened dry lips with his tongue. "Why do you keep calling me 'Potter'?"

This, apparently, was not a normal reaction. Snape reared back, eyes narrowing. Instead of taking advantage of his opponent's surprise and grabbing his wand, Harry sat up instead, clutching at the stones when the floor swung like a hammock. "And where the hell am I?"

Snape levelled his wand again, this time with a more suspicious look. "You… Damn. _Lumos._" The tip of his wand glowed, illuminating the darkness and Harry saw he was in a dusty corridor. Only a few paintings hung on the walls, and they showed deserted landscapes as if the inhabitants had gone off to more interesting parts of the castle. "You…" He stopped, baffled. "Your eyes are green. And… and your nose is different." He paused, peering closer at Harry's forehead. "That's a hell of a curse-scar you've got there… You're not Potter."

"My name's Harry," said Harry, thinking like lightning despite what felt like it could be a concussion, and grateful for the first time he could remember for his scar. Damn Snape – even in the past he managed to give Harry grief. "Harry Lovegood."

"Lovegood?" said Snape, his voice high and cracking with disbelief.

"Lovegood," Harry replied firmly, wondering if Luna's special brand of weirdness had rubbed off on him. "Not Potter. Who are you?"

He was given a look far older than the face in front of him should have been able to convey. "My name's Snape."

Harry rubbed the back of his head. "Ouch." His fingers came away sticky and smelling of copper. That was generally considered a bad sign. When he tried to stand up he staggered and would have fallen as his sight greyed out and a high static buzz filled his hearing, but the arm he flung out for support was caught around his bicep and held firmly. "Thanks," Harry breathed, hoping Snape wouldn't be sadistic enough to let him fall. It was a slim hope, and for a moment Harry felt the hand gripping his arm falter, as if Snape was weighing up whether to let go, but then the hand steadied. Harry put his head down and waited for the stars to fade and his vision to return. What a time to develop empathy with Draco, he thought as he straightened.

"You've hit your head. You should go to the hospital wing."

"No!" Harry winced, both at the loudness of his voice and the fact that he'd given away how desperate his position was. He couldn't go wandering through Hogwarts like this, not with so many people who might see him and remember him and need their memories wiped. "No."

Going to the time of the Founders was one thing. No-one from that time would be able to give details of his life to Voldemort. But if the pimples and the Slytherin badge on Snape's slightly threadbare robes were any indication, this was the time of his parents.

That could be very, very bad.

There was a deep well of pain in Harry that drew him towards any chance of seeing his parents again. But unfortunately Harry's heart had to take second place to his common sense. And common sense told him that the fewer people he involved, the better.

At some stage he should talk to Dumbledore, but Harry, his head swimming, couldn't decide if it was a good thing to do or not. All he knew was that Snape was here and that meant only one person to Obliviate.

(He didn't let his mind dwell on the facts that he neither knew how to Obliviate someone, and the person he needed to Obliviate was still Severus Snape, even if that Snape was young enough to have spots.)

In the meantime, he needed a good story.

"What are you doing here?"

Uh-oh, that was the question he wasn't wanting to answer. He decided to stall. "What year is this?"

His vision cleared enough to see Snape's expression: Snape thought he was insane.

"How hard did you hit your head?"

Harry managed what he hoped was a passable glower. "Not hard enough to forget it was _you_ who hit it."

Snape looked less than impressed by the glower. "Huh. It's seventy-six. Nineteen seventy-six, if you need more accuracy." Snape's eyes glittered. "So who should I take you to see?"

"I can't see anyone. It's bad enough I've seen you."

"Oh? And why is that?" That glitter deepened as the malice grew.

Harry decided to do what worked best in times of stress involving Snape: lie through his teeth. "Because if it's nineteen seventy-six, then I'm in another dimension. I know a Snape, a Severus Snape, and he looks like you, but he's a bit older than me." That was an understatement. "I'm a Hogwarts student and I know the castle. Is Dumbledore headmaster?" He knew he was rambling, but couldn't stop himself.

"Do you want to see him?"

"No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know."

"Well, that was decisive."

"I need to go somewhere safe. To recover. My head…" It was hurting, but not like it did from Voldemort. "Get me somewhere I can recover."

"Why should I?"

"Because it's after hours and you're not a prefect to be wandering around. So if you try to get me in trouble I'll reciprocate. And because from the little I know of you, you like a good mystery. And I've got that in spades."

"How do you know I won't just bash you over the head with the shovel I'll use to bury you in the forest?"

Harry grinned. "That was almost funny. Considering it feels like you've _already_ bashed me over the head."

"If it's that bad, you need to get to the Infirmary."

"I'm not going to the Infirmary."

"Huh."

There was a long, thoughtful pause as Snape weighed up his options. Harry could see his suspicion warring over his desire not to get involved and his curiosity.

He saw the moment when curiosity won out.

Snape glared at him with slightly less malice than he usually manifested. "What House are you in?"

Harry blessed Hermione's thoughtfulness in making him remove his Gryffindor insignia. "Ravenclaw," he said firmly, going for broke.

"Uh." Snape didn't look convinced. But that didn't matter in the next second, as something caught up with Harry and sucked every bit of strength in his body out and left him staggering with exhaustion. His vision greyed around the edges and when it cleared again he was leaning up against the wall with Snape's hand on his arm again.

"You're grey," Snape said matter-of-factly. "You need to see Pomfrey."

"I need _not_ to see Pomfrey," Harry snapped. "She'll ask too many questions."

"She doesn't always ask questions," Snape said after a small pause.

"Maybe not your Pomfrey, but she always asks _me_ questions when I end up in hospital, and anyway, I'm not meant to be here. I don't want anyone else to know."

"They'll find out."

"Maybe not until – I don't know…"

"Then where shall I take you?" Snape huffed, exasperated. He tried to stalk around Harry, but the intimidating pose was lost as he grimaced and hobbled. "Ouch. Damn it. You've twisted my knee."

"So go and see Pomfrey," Harry grinned humourlessly. "Or will she ask you too many questions?"

Snape glared. Before he could say anything, a shuffling from down the darkened corridor caught their attention. The pair froze.

"Not just mice, is it, my precious?"

"Do you have a Filch where you come from?" Snape whispered.

"And a Mrs Norris," Harry whispered back.

"Well, it's either Filch or Gollum coming this way, and I'd put Galleons on the former."

Harry wondered if Hogwarts had ever had a second caretaker called Gollum, but now wasn't the time to ask. Snape pulled him backwards towards the little door that, in Harry's time, had been locked.

It still was. But Snape pressed his palm to the lock without a keyhole and the door opened silently on oiled hinges. He pushed Harry through and silently closed the door behind them. Harry slid down the wall his groping hand found as his legs gave way.

_"Lumos."_ The tip of Snape's wand glowed, illuminating a small room with not much more than a chair, a pile of blankets in a corner, and an old wooden box. Then Snape twitched his wand and said a sound-blocking spell, and there was a thin ripple around the walls and door and over the window like they were inside a soap bubble, and Harry realised if he screamed now no-one would hear him. He almost panicked: he'd been meant to go back to the time of the Founders. Well, unless Snape had wandered a lot as a student – and with Filch in tow – this wasn't it. Something had gone wrong with the spell. Majorly. And now he was in a locked room with a junior version of Snape, who was eyeing him as if he found him just as loathsome now as he would in the future.

Future. Damn. Harry absolutely couldn't tell him he was from the future. There would be far too many questions and he didn't trust Snape not to try and trick the answers out of him. Could he brew Veritaserum yet?

And on top of it all, Harry's vision was greying out again. His head lolled back against the wall and he winced as pain pulsed in the back of his skull again. Snape must have cracked him pretty hard against the wall. Maybe he had concussion. But he was too hungry for concussion. Harry suddenly realised he was ravenous.

"My pack…"

His pack was passed to him. Harry fumbled with the clasp and reached inside for an apple, a flask of pumpkin juice, anything with sugar… and found –

"Euch!" He found a mess of mangled… he didn't know what to call it. It looked like food wasn't capable of being transported through time. He picked up the flask and undid the top and took a cautious sniff. Hmm. It smelt like plant juice, but plant juice a long way away from being anything palatable. A long way _before_. Where the apple had been packed was a branch.

Double damn it. It looked like he'd been lucky to survive the spell. Experimentally, he reached out with the gloves, which felt oddly brittle as they stretched over the backs of his hands. "Why am I here?" he muttered, knowing it was a silly, esoteric question to which the gloves wouldn't be able to show him an answer.

But the gloves twitched and swung his hands round towards Snape, who flinched. And when Snape moved sideways the gloves followed. Snape moved again, and this time the gloves did not follow: they shuddered and the yellowing leather curled up like dry leaves, crackling away from Harry's hand, and fell to the floor.

"Oh, shit," said Harry as his heart sank. He'd been depending on those gloves. But it looked like they didn't travel through time any better than food did.

"What was that?" Snape asked suspiciously, his wand pointing at the remains of the gloves.

"Mendeleev gloves," Harry said glumly. "They were meant to help me find what I've come here for. Damn. Draco's going to kill me."

"You can make Mendeleev gloves?"

"No. They belonged to a… a friend of mine, who got them from one of the professors at my Hogwarts. The professor made them."

Snape sat back on his heels. "I've been trying to make some," he said, almost conversationally, while steadily keeping his wand trained on Harry. "What do you know about them?"

"Well, they're classified as Dark Arts, but I'm not quite sure why as they've been absolutely brilliant. And they're really difficult to make. And I'm about to pass out if I don't get some food, so could you put your wand down for a bit, please? I don't think I could attack you even if I wanted to."

"True. You look like shit."

But there was a rummaging out of sight as Snape searched for something in the shadows. And then a faint, rustling slicing followed by a crisp sound.

"Here."

It was a slice of apple, peeled and cored. Harry took it gratefully and chewed with relief. It was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. "'S it a magic apple?" he said, realising this was the perfect moment for Snape to have poisoned him a la Sleeping Beauty.

Snape snorted, amused. "It's a Pippin. Out of season, but otherwise unmagical. Here." He was using a small knife to cut slices for Harry. Harry wondered what other uses the knife had had, like blood sacrifices or chopping up belladonna, but the apple was too good. Snape, still sitting on his heels in the opposite corner, cut himself a slice and ate it neatly, so the blade was probably safe. Harry finished off most of the rest of the apple with Snape having the occasional piece. When they'd wiped their fingers on their cloaks, Snape asked, "Still hungry?"

"Yes. No." He yawned and winced.

"Here." Snape was crouching next to him now. Harry jerked away, then told himself to relax. "I've done this before."

"On people?"

Snape's grin was a rictus of what humour should be. "On myself. Best test subject there is." He tapped Harry's head with his wand. "How's that?"

The pain was gone, leaving Harry feeling light with relief. He yawned and this time it felt good and a warm wave of relief from the end of pain rolled through him. "'S a'right."

"Are you sure? How many fingers am I holding up?"

But Harry was too exhausted for counting games. He slid down the rest of the way and decided that stone floors were completely underrated as mattresses. This one was fine. And he…

He dimly registered through his sleep that he was moved a little as something was tucked around him.

When he woke there was sunlight cutting a narrow beam through the tall, thin arrow-port in the wall. He was lying on a folded blanket with his head on a cushion and his cloak tucked around him. He was alone.

There was a note next to the cushion: _Back during breakfast_, it read in Snape's angular handwriting.

Harry tried to judge the time of day. The sunlight was pale and almost horizontal, so it had to be very early. He yawned and snuggled back down again, drawing his cloak up around his chin. He was probably in a great deal of trouble but right now he couldn't be bothered worrying about it.

He dozed.

ooOOoo

He was still dozing when Snape came back with toast and a bottle of pumpkin juice. He also had some more apples, to Harry's relief. He was especially relieved to see Snape, who might have decided to get rid of any potential hazard (i.e. Harry) by walling it up in a deserted part of the castle. It was a strange thing to be relieved to see Snape: Harry could count on the fingers of one foot all the times that had happened.

Happily unaware of Harry's distrustful musings, Snape squatted down on the floor and spread out the napkin. "People get curious if I start stealing off with food, so I could only bring the basics."

It sounded like an apology. Harry was also intrigued by the suggestion Snape had been questioned for taking food before.

"It's brilliant," Harry said, tucking in ravenously.

He was halfway through when he realised Snape was staring at him.

"What?"

"You look a lot like someone who's a student here."

"Potter, didn't you say? But you said the nose is different. And the eye colour."

"The scar's a big hint, too. It's not something you can fake."

Harry suddenly lost what appetite he'd had. "No. It's not."

Snape seemed to take that as the hint it was meant, and changed the topic. "So what are you doing here?"

"I can't tell you. But I can promise you that what I'm looking for won't be used against you or Hogwarts."

"So how are you meant to find it?"

"Well, I was going to use my Mendeleev gloves, but there was a slight problem with disintegration."

"That's always an issue with research."

Harry looked up and smiled. It was weird hearing jokes from Snape – well, unless they were directed against someone, of course. He yawned. "What's the matter with me? I just can't seem to stop falling asleep."

"I noticed. I was wondering if you'd gone into a coma last night. But you seemed all right every time I scanned you."

Harry noticed that Snape looked pretty tired, too. Like he hadn't slept much the previous night. "Thanks for sitting up with me."

Snape shrugged as if embarrassed. It was hard to tell, because he shifted his head so that his greasy hair fell forward to cover his expression. "Bodies are hard to cover up. Even around here."

"I'm sure you could arrange something with some passing monster in the Forest," Harry said comfortably, yawning.

Snape glared at him, then smiled hesitantly as he realised Harry was joking. "I'll see you again at lunch," he said. And was gone. Harry wished he'd thought to ask him where the nearest showers were – Snape's hair had been wet at the ends, suggesting he'd found time for a shower before breakfast – and, even more importantly, where the bathroom was.

But Harry was a wizard and he knew a few spells, and Snape would be back at lunchtime to tell him where the bathroom was, and…

…and Harry was asleep in the next minute.

ooOOoo


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: They still aren't mine. Sigh.

Warning: Some stuff gets discussed between Harry and Snape that might be considered a little dark. I don't think Snape had a lot of reason to be a nice person when he was a kid and there must have been something in him that was drawn to the Death Eaters. It's a shame Harry can't change the future, no?

Other warnings: not much happens in this chapter. It's mostly blah blah blah.

ooOOoo

Chapter 19: Thinking inside the Box

The day continued like that: Snape sneaking him food at lunchtime and dinner, and Harry sleeping through the remaining hours. He tended to wake up disoriented at times, wondering why the dormitory was crumbling and bare, and where Ron and Neville and everyone else was. Then he'd find something to eat – one of the apples, or some curling toast, or some cold potato salad – and he'd slip back into sleep again.

There were dreams – some of them a little disturbing, like the one where he was in the trophy room cleaning a trophy which had his name on it. It was for saving one S. Snape from a werewolf attack and, in the way of dreams, Harry saw how while saving Snape he'd managed to kill the werewolf and the werewolf's three friends who'd set Snape up. Harry was rubbing the silver cup, trying to change his name back to his father's as it should be before his father's death meant Harry would never be born, when his hands started fading. He tried to rub faster, but because he was disappearing the rubbing cloth fell to the ground. He woke up and checked his hands, wondering with the befuddlement of sleep if he killed his father by accident would he disappear suddenly, or slowly like in the dream?

Apart from the occasional mini-nightmare it was good to sleep, but something in him was getting bored and impatient. He only had five days. Would he waste them all sleeping like this? When he woke after the short nap he'd taken after Snape had left him to eat dinner while he served a detention (the thought of Snape having a grudgingly-admitted detention made Harry smile; he would have to find out what it was for) the sun must have been setting, because the faint light reflected from the sky through the narrow, east-facing window was pink-tinged and fading fast. Really, Harry thought, it was up to him to do _something_ today. The gloves had pointed at Snape. Snape was the key to finding the sickle. And Snape used this room.

There was a box in the room.

Harry had noticed it last night and again on the rare occasion today his eyes had been open. The box might be important. If nothing else, it was something to investigate to take the edge off his boredom.

He knelt by the box and touched the latch.

"Ouch!" There was a green spark which jumped out and grounded itself on his fingers. Harry shook his hand and sucked at his stinging fingers as he swore softly. A small slip of paper popped into existence over the box and drifted down like an autumn leaf. Harry caught it before it hit the floor.

Snape's writing said: _Leave the box alone. It's none of your business._

Damn and blast.

Oh well, he'd just have to be careful to put everything back where he found it before Snape came back. And he'd said that he probably wouldn't be back until after curfew. The thought of Snape sneaking around after curfew made Harry smile as much as the thought of him in detention had. It was as if Snape was so wise to Harry's misdemeanours because he'd done them all as a student himself.

There was a knotty series of lock charms on the box. As the room went completely dark and he had to make a small fireglobe to float over his project, Harry found himself enjoying the challenge. It wasn't often he was presented with a challenge like this: during the whole Goblet of Fire fiasco he'd been given plenty of challenges, and it wasn't like the other years had been bland and lacking in thorny problems, but this was like a quiet chess game with Ron, something which didn't have some sort of do-or-die mandate to it. Well, if Snape caught him at it there would almost definitely be a "die" component, but Harry told himself that if he hadn't solved the lock before Snape came back he'd try and find some subtle way of asking what was in the box.

He'd –

The box opened with a faint whiff of broken sealing charms. Harry lifted the lid carefully in case something nasty shot out. He wouldn't put it past Snape to be Pandora's heir. When nothing happened, he peered inside, brimming with hope. It had been so well warded the Golden Sickle _must_ be inside. That or the Philosopher's Stone. Or some other relic of immense power and value.

So it was with a massive disappointment and the surety that there must be a false bottom in the box hiding _something_ that Harry saw –

He looked up guiltily as the door opened.

_"What the hell do you think you're doing?"_ Snape screamed. His face was flushed as he drew his wand on Harry, his hand shaking with fury. He kicked the door shut behind him and the soundproofing charm rippled over it. "Who the _f-?"_

Harry didn't bother with magic. He hit out, knocking Snape's wand out of his hand, then lunged forward, barrelling into the other boy and knocking the wind out of him. Snape struggled and tried to bite but Harry snatched his hand back just in time and rolled Snape over before Snape could kick him. Panting as his brief strength threatened to leave him again, he got Snape in a headlock.

"Stop it," he gasped in Snape's ear. A lethal gaze was levelled at him from those black eyes and Snape snarled like a tiger.

Bites and kicks and snarls; Harry was unnerved enough to _never_ let Snape out of this lock. Either Snape was insane, had rabies, or was simply really, _really_ upset. And he didn't know why his opening the box would send Snape into this frothing fit. He sent silent thanks to Dean Thomas, who'd taught him this manoeuvre, and promised himself he'd suggest Remus add martial arts to the DADA curriculum.

"Stop it," he said more strongly. "You… Hey! Listen to me. Listen! Hey… Look, if you bite me I swear I'm going to bite you back," he threatened as Snape snapped at his arm. "Damn it, Severus, you are going to listen to me if I have to have you in a headlock all night!"

Snape stopped wriggling and lay still, his face dark with anger. Harry knew he'd have to talk fast.

"I'm looking for something that belonged to the Founders. The gloves… they were meant to bring me within range of it. They pointed at you and you'd left a note suggesting this box contained something valuable of yours. So I thought maybe what I was looking for was in this box."

"I see," Snape said, sounding much calmer that his expression (which had that old familiar murderous look) suggested. "So you were looking for – what? The Enchanted Pink Floyd Album of Rowena Ravenclaw? Or perhaps Salazar Slytherin's favourite Orwellian Novel of Doom? I'm afraid I've lent out Godric Gryffindor's runic copy of _Lord of the Rings_."

"Um. No." And yes, Harry felt as stupid as Snape suggested he was. A couple of Muggle records and some books were all he'd seen in the box. Oh, and a bottle he'd not had time to identify. Probably, knowing Snape, filled with poison he'd try on Harry as soon as Harry let him out of the headlock. "Um. Ahh… The Golden Sickle of Helga Hufflepuff, actually."

"So not quite what you were expecting?"

"No. Um. If… if I let you go will you hex me?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe I won't let you go, then."

Snape wriggled angrily but Harry was ready for that. He wasn't a wrestler, but he had the advantage of leverage and Snape didn't seem to know how to break the hold. Thank Merlin.

"If you break my neck, Lovegood, I swear I'll show you just how bad poltergeists can get."

"Hey, if I let you go _I'll _be the poltergeist."

"If you let me go and I promise not to chop you into little pieces with the Ginsu slicing charm I learned last summer, will you promise to tell me what's going on?"

Harry considered this.

"I'll tell you as much as I can," he said. "Because I can't tell you everything. But… I think maybe the gloves brought me here not because this is where the Sickle is, but because this is where someone who can help me find it is. You." He was having a terrible impulse to stroke Snape's hair like he would calm an unsettled Simon. Apart from the greasiness, there were two other things which suggested that would be supremely bad idea: firstly, Snape wasn't a horse and wouldn't react well to being patronised. And secondly, Snape would think Harry was making a pass at him and go completely ballistic. Or not go completely ballistic (and Harry didn't want to deal with that, either, let alone think about it).

"You're having me on."

Harry sighed. "Upon my word as a wizard, I will tell you what I know if for no other reason that that you may be the person who can best help me."

A pause.

"All right," Snape said. "Now get off me."

Harry did so, helped along by a vicious shove from Snape. "Hey!"

"Are you coming out in boils? No? Then stop complaining."

Harry rubbed his shoulder and glowered. But he didn't stop Snape from picking up his wand. Snape crawled over to the other wall and sat against it, glowering back at Harry. They sat there, glaring at each other, until Harry decided enough was enough.

"I came here looking for the Golden Sickle of Helga Hufflepuff. I used a dry potion spell and Mendeleev gloves to bring me to this place" – he noticed Snape's thoughtful frown at the mention of a dry potion and the gloves – "and I need the Sickle to prepare a special potion based on mistletoe."

"Celtic?"

"Looks that way. White sheet to catch the fruit of the moon, blah, blah blah. But to get the special mistletoe I need a special tool to harvest it."

Snape nodded, looking interested despite himself. "You're using a linen sheet and spring snow mistletoe, then."

"I haven't heard it referred to as that."

"Are you using it to break an oak-tree grounded spell?"

"Yes," said Harry, and, "How in Merlin's name do you know this?"

Snape smirked. "I was interested in mistletoe's applications within Dark Arts. Or Defence Against," he added with a shrug. "Mistletoe has no particular affinity towards Light or Dark magic. It can be used for or against either."

"Really? Well, I need it because the Hogwarts I come from has been isolated from the rest of the world by some really powerful Dark wizard, and if we don't break the spell, eventually we'll starve."

"Oh. That kind of gives you a bit of motivation, I guess."

"So you'll help me?"

Snape ignored the question in favour of prodding at his knee. "Ouch. You've stuffed my knee again. It's not good to cast the same healing charm so quickly… now I really _will_ have to see that nosy old biddy Pomfrey." He glared at Harry. "I don't see why I should help you. What's in it for me?"

Harry was stumped. "Because… people will die if you don't help me…"

"Maybe you've mistaken me for someone who likes people. But the truth is that if there weren't a few people here I _don't_ hate, and if I didn't suspect that Hogwarts has alarms that would sound against that sort of thing, I'd slip poison into the water of this school and kill everyone within it."

If Harry had been stumped before, there were no words for how he felt now. 'Numb' came close, but didn't properly sum up this horrible sinking feeling he felt in his gut at being faced with such pragmatic hate. "You don't mean that."

Snape shrugged. "Not every day, I admit. But some days I'm tempted to try just to see how many I'd get before they stopped me."

Appalled. Yes. That was the word Harry had been looking for. "Maybe you feel that way now," he said quietly, feeling out this conversation for the hidden land-mines, "but if you did that then one day – some day in the future if it wasn't immediately – you'd regret it. And you'd regret it profoundly and cripplingly."

Snape hung his head, letting his hair cover his expression. "I know," he said softly, almost despairingly, "but some days the future seems like it will never come no matter what I do."

Harry struggled for words. "Sometimes… sometimes when the world is my enemy and everyone thinks I'm there to be their punching-bag, I ask myself why I bother sticking around. Some days it's like the world has its eyes on me – things get written about me in the_ Daily Prophet_ – stupid, false, malicious things – and people believe them so easily that I get nothing but Howlers for breakfast. And maybe I should leave. But I don't. Maybe it's because I'm scared that if I go somewhere else it'll be worse."

"And why is it really?"

"I think… I think it's because the people who raised me hate me so much that everyone else seems mild in comparison. And I've got friends at Hogwarts – two good friends who've risked their lives for me. And I might never be so lucky in my friends again."

Snape said softly, "What if you had no friends?"

Harry looked him in the eyes as best as he could through that greasy curtain of hair. "Then yeah, maybe I'd feel like you do. But I'd keep telling myself that there will come a day when I'll be free. And when that day comes I'm going to fly out of the whole thing like a bird and everyone who's ever been cruel to me or bullied me or just not stuck up for me because it's easier not to can go to Hell because I don't need them half as much as they need me."

"I've got to wait more than a year for that."

"Me, too."

There was silence again, but a more companionable silence. Then Harry said, "So will you help me? For a bunch of people who you don't know, who'll never appreciate what you do, and only deserve your help because it's the right thing to do?"

"I hate the right thing."

Harry smiled to himself, thinking, as if for the first time, about Snape's future role as a spy for the Order. Had he hated it? Harry was struck by a brief memory of Snape's face in the Infirmary when Dumbledore asked him (as Harry guessed later) to go back and infiltrate the Death Eaters. Snape had been almost green with terror at the mere thought.

"What would the Severus Snape from your version of the universe do?"

Harry swallowed. "He… I don't know. I didn't know him very well as he was a few years ahead of me. But we were definitely fighting on the same side." _When we weren't busy fighting each other._ "He… Look, things are different there."

"You talk about him in the past tense."

Hell. Harry hadn't meant that to slip out. "There's a really nasty wizard called Voldemort. He killed my parents. He killed the Severus Snape from my world."

Snape's skinny shoulders had hunched in on him, at the name Voldemort or the mention of his counterpart's death.

"I'm sorry."

"Why?" Snape said quietly. "I never met him. Maybe I should be consoling you."

Harry shrugged lopsidedly. "Like I said, I never really knew him that well. But he must have hated Voldemort as much as I do to go up against him like he did." Yes; how much would you need to hate someone to stay within their claustrophobic, sick little world to spy on them, knowing that if you were found out, the best you could hope for was a quick, clean killing curse? What sort of person could do that? He studied the boy crouching opposite him more closely for a moment until the narrowed glare told him his interest wasn't appreciated.

"I'm not your Snape, you know."

Harry winced. The lies lay bitter on the back of his tongue. He needed to find some point of separation between the living and the dead: he couldn't keep seeing Snape as someone whose death had been so complete no-one had yet found the body. And he couldn't easily deal with someone he'd spent so many years hating. Reciprocally. Taking a small breath, he said, "No. You're younger. Severus."

Severus sniffed, the slight shiftiness around his eyes betraying that he'd been unnerved by Harry's news. "And I've got a pulse. That puts me one up on your version. So…" he sneered. "We're best buddies on a first name basis now, _Harry_?"

Harry couldn't help grinning. "Yeah, why not?" Apart from anything else, it might be fun to practise some of Mr Python's ideas on a human. The book had given good results for Draco – Harry suspected Snape at any age beyond six months would be the acid test for his skills at People Muttering. He just had to be perceptive enough to –

Unfortunately, Severus himself wasn't exactly a sloth at being perceptive.

"Why does the_ Prophet _write articles about you? Are you famous or something?"

Harry grimaced. "Yeah. Once upon a time there was a big, bad wizard, and he went and killed the parents of a baby. When he tried to kill the baby, his curse rebounded on him. So everyone decided the baby must be special instead of the parents who'd died defending him… thus giving him an edge on the Dark Wizard's magic."

"Oh. Right. Voldemort?"

"Sort of a previous incarnation. It gets complicated and I still don't know exactly what's going on."

"Sounds like a normal day at Hogwarts. Sorry about your parents, though."

Harry shrugged, thrilled and chilled at the urge that kept sneaking up on him: he could walk out of this room, into Gryffindor Tower (well – the Pink Lady wouldn't let him in, but he could sit outside and wait) and find his parents. It was the dream he'd always kept closest to his heart. Hope, even trickier than love, made him feel ill. "Thanks."

"Wouldn't have happened to me," Snape continued conversationally. "My parents would have thrown me at the evil wizard as some sort of distraction and then legged it as fast as they could. Wish _they_ were dead."

Harry, frowning, said, "You don't mean that."

"Don't tell me what I mean when it comes to my family, Lovegood. If you knew them you'd probably kill them just to do me a favour."

"You don't do people favours by killing other people."

"Maybe." Snape toed the napkin-wrapped bundle in the corner. He must have dropped it when he flew at Harry. "Dinner. If you still want it. You still look a bit rough."

"I still feel a bit rough," Harry admitted. "But I've only got five days. Well, four now."

"I've got classes tomorrow. I could skip some, but I don't know how to help you. Your gloves made a mistake choosing me."

"I doubt it. Do you have a free period? Or should we wait until after classes?"

"I've got a free period in the afternoon. Straight after lunch. What do you want to do?"

"I'd like to find this Sickle as fast as possible."

Snape laughed shortly. "Is that all? Well, I guess we could start by finding where Helga might have left it. It's said all the Founders had their own secret areas where they could work without being interrupted. Myths."

"Like the Chamber of Secrets?" Harry said. "I found that in my second year."

Snape looked impressed. "I looked for that myself, but didn't have any luck. How'd you find it?"

Harry didn't want to say he was a Parselmouth. "I had luck. Or otherwise. Considering there was a basilisk down there, it's open for debate."

"Well, if one exists maybe the others do, too. Possibly with a triffid instead of a basilisk in Hufflepuff's secret room. Do you think you could recreate the way you found the Chamber?"

Harry shuddered. "Merlin, I hope not."

"Well in that case I guess we'd better see if we can find the books I used in third year. I'll have a look in the library."

"Do you want to do that now? Then I can come too."

"Hmm. No. It's a bit risky. The House Elves know I'm here, but they might get a bit difficult if I start doing extra stuff I shouldn't. I don't want them reporting me. I could put a glamour on you. You'd look completely unremarkable and could come with me to look around the castle. If we're careful."

It sounded risky. But Harry had been cooped up in this room for – well, he didn't know, but it was far too long. "Sounds good. Are you staying here tonight?"

"I thought I should see Pomfrey about my knee."

"What about her questions?"

"I'll tell her I tripped. She already thinks I'm pretty clumsy." Snape gave a triangular, humourless smile. "I trip at least three times a week badly enough to have to see her."

"Doesn't she get suspicious?" Harry sure was. Snape moved with nowhere near the gliding, prowling walk he would have as an adult, but even with his current _I've just grown tall and don't know what to do about it_ gangliness he didn't seem clumsy. But then he was in Slytherin House and felt like he needed to sleep somewhere else for safety, so probably some of the other Slytherins were giving him hell. Oh well – serve him right for the hell he'd give Gryffindors in the future, although it made his favouritism to Slytherin a bit strange. Harry felt a little guilty for thinking something so smug, especially as Sna- Severus had been bringing him food and was right now thinking aloud ways to help Harry. Snape of the future was dead and gone. Right now Harry owed Severus some gratitude.

"I know some healing spells," Harry said. "Do you want me to have a look at your knee? I promise I won't do a Lockhart…" Oops.

Severus' eyes bugged at him. Then he laughed. "Don't tell me you have some puffed-up prat poncing around your school, telling everyone how fantastic he is?"

"Had," Harry corrected. "Memory spell he tried to cast backfired. He's currently St Mungos Patient of the Month."

Severus laughed again, short but without bitterness. "Fan-bloody-tastic! Do you know he tried to give me a make-over?"

Harry nearly swallowed his tongue and clapped his hand over his mouth in case he laughed the castle down around their ears. "What did you do?"

"Hid."

Harry laughed again. "So will you let me fix your knee? Tell me the spell you used, first – then I'll know if I can use one that's different enough not to react with the first one."

Severus agreed grudgingly. And was pleased when Harry knew a healing spell he didn't. After testing his weight on his newly-healed leg, he had Harry teach him the spell. "Brilliant. That makes up for having to – never mind."

Harry had the wisdom not to ask what Severus had had to do to sneak food to him and avoid questions. He knew from experience that it was tricky. "Excellent," Severus said. "Now there's more time for me to get the glamour right." He slumped down opposite Harry again and bit into an apple, picked up a piece of paper and a stub of pencil, and began to sketch.

Harry, intrigued, tried to peer over at the drawing. With only a few strokes of the pencil Snape had already caught the basics of Harry's features. "That's pretty good," he said.

Severus scowled. "I need to get it right and I can't do it if you're leaping around all over the place."

"Huh. As if I am."

"Eat your dinner."

"Yes, Mum."

Severus snorted.

Harry finished the food quickly enough – some cold potatoes and slices of beef tucked into a roll with lettuce and given extra flavour from a jar of relish Severus had sneaked off with, and another flagon of pumpkin juice. He licked his fingers and tried to look at the sketch which, from the vague mutterings and wand-taps of the artist, must be finished.

"Sit still, will you?"

"I'm bored. Can I read one of your books?"

"There's only one. And no, you can't read it."

"Why not?"

"Because I said so."

"Why? Because it's a Muggle book? I have _heard_ of George Orwell, you know. We read _Nineteen Eighty-Four_ in Muggle Studies." And Hermione had sighed and let him read her notes when he got distracted and stopped part-way through. The Pink Floyd record was niggling at his brain, too. He was sure he'd heard the name of the band before, but couldn't quite place it. The glimpse he'd had of the box's contents had been too fleeting for him to make proper sense of them.

"And did you finish it?"

"No. So can I read your copy? If I don't finish it it's not like it'll be a new experience for me or Muggle literature in general."

Severus glared and gestured with his wand. The lid of the box snapped closed and it growled.

"Oh. Well, if you insist."

Severus stood and stared down at him. "I do insist. And I need to get something from the dorm. Here." He dropped a slim volume in front of Harry. "If you need to do some reading take this," he sneered.

Harry blinked at the book.

Draco would find this in the library. It was the potions book Snape had written in.

Harry picked it up. "Thanks," he said.

Severus stared at him for a moment, then whirled and was gone. The door shut softly behind him.

Maybe he hadn't grown into the whole slamming-doors-shut behind him thing yet, Harry thought with a tired yawn.

ooOOoo

A/N: Next chapter: I solemnly swear I am up to no good.


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: check chapter 1 if you've forgotten.

Alas, poor Harry, he thought he knew them well.

ooOOoo

Chapter 20: New Old Faces

Early the next morning, before he left for the dormitory for a shower and a change of clothes, Severus tried the glamour out on Harry. It took two tries, but when Harry felt it settle, crawling over his face like fuzzy velvet with thousands of caterpillar feet before itching like a fury as it sank into his skin, and saw Severus' look of satisfaction, he knew the spell had taken. He didn't really need to see his reflection, but was happily surprised by the face he saw in the mirror. Nothing could disguise the curse-scar of course, but the idea of being able to put on a hat with a big, floppy brim and this charm and be able to wander around Diagon Alley without people staring at him was a pleasing one. "Bloody brilliant, Severus! Can you teach me the spell?"

"Not if you can't draw. But I can give you the sketch and the key phrase and you can activate it when you like." Severus looked guardedly pleased.

"It's brilliant," Harry said with satisfaction. "Thanks."

Severus shrugged and mumbled something about breakfast and disappeared, leaving Harry making faces at himself with his new face in the mirror.

The book was innocent of illicit scribblings. Harry wondered if he was the key to Snape's writing in it. Huh. Time travel. Best not to think too deeply about it – you lost yourself just _thinking_ about the paradoxes. He took a nap after breakfast (re-heated toast would never stack up against fresh, but at least Severus hadn't tried to steal a bowl of porridge) and felt refreshed after it. There was even a mango for dessert. ("One of the house elves slipped it to me on the way out of the Hall. I guess they don't mind you being here.")

He was lying on his back with his legs resting on the wall, staring up at the spiderwebs in the ceiling and wondering why his life always came back to staring up at cobwebs, and doing countdowns to see if something interesting would happen each time he got down to nought (boredom was bad when he was reduced to experimenting with something he'd learned in Divinations) when the door opened. Harry was at sixty-two, so so much for the magic of three-two-one.

"Had a nice rest?"

"I wish to complain to the manager. I haven't had a single game of Quidditch all day."

"So sorry. Take it up with staff member Don'tcare."

Harry grinned, liking this younger Severus despite himself. True, he wasn't nice – he gave strong signals of being a psychopath in training – but when he wanted to be, he could be quite amusing.

Severus sat down cross-legged in front of Harry and looked him over.

"Proud of your work?"

"Maybe a little. I won't really know how good it is until you're in strong light, unfortunately. Brown hair suits you. So do the freckles. Best not to mess with the eye colour, but at least now you don't look like that – Potter."

Harry frowned. He'd never heard the word Severus used to describe his father. It was short and clipped and sounded Anglo-Saxon. "What does that word mean?"

The reply was as pragmatic as the dark eyes casually examining the glamour on Harry. "Part of the female reproductive system. How does the glamour feel?"

"It still itches a bit." Harry didn't appreciate the insult to his father, but it wasn't as if he could protest it without giving himself away. Best to ignore it. For now. "Like I need to shave or something." Harry scratched his cheek. At least he wasn't at the stage where he needed to shave more than once every other week – and according to Hermione's tart assessment it was only because he wanted to feel more grown-up.

Severus yawned, showing crooked teeth. He looked better than he had yesterday, though; Harry knew he'd slept well last night. Severus snored. Luckily after sharing a dormitory with four others Harry was accustomed to sleeping through snores that registered on the Richter scale, and Snape's weren't anywhere near as bad as those of some of his dorm mates. "Why bother when there's a potion? I don't like the idea of sharp things being near my throat."

"Never thought of it like that."

"No, well…"

"You were going to make a comment about me not thinking, weren't you."

"Maybe…"

"It was kind of you not to say it."

Severus smirked. "It was, wasn't it?"

"So are we going to the library or what?"

"After you've eaten all your vegetables."

"Done and done, Mother." Harry picked up the smaller of his two bags; the one he used to carry ordinary school supplies like quills and parchment. "Let's go."

Severus hesitated at the door. "Are you sure about this?"

"It's not like there's a big choice involved," Harry said. He hoped he sounded practical. Inside, his stomach was churning. He might see his mum. He might see his dad. He might tell them not to trust their Secret Keeper. He might see Wormtail and blast him into a thousand pieces.

He might, but he couldn't. And how would he feel then?

The corridor outside Severus' hideaway was just as dusty and unused as in Harry's time except for a thin trail of footsteps that suggested one person and one person only came this way regularly.

He swallowed.

As Severus turned and raised an enquiring eyebrow, Harry nodded. "Let's do this."

Snape inclined his head a fraction, not saying anything, and walked quietly down the corridor.

Harry trailed after him, unconsciously putting his feet in Severus' footsteps in an effort not to disturb the dust and allow others to track them back.

ooOOoo

It was beyond surreal.

He passed people he'd seen as adults. He went to school with their children. He was sure he saw Neville's mum and the urge to run after the pretty, round-faced girl and grab her arm and tell her to be careful gripped him like a fist.

"Are you all right?" Severus whispered out of the corner of his mouth as Harry stopped to get his breath back.

"Yeah. Just… a little surprised, I guess. It's weird seeing people I almost know."

"Just remember that you don't know them."

"Yeah." _But there are so many I wish I _could_ know._

If it was this hard just seeing Neville's mum, the dream of seeing his parents could easily become a nightmare. And Sirius? What could he say to Sirius when he got back to his time if he didn't make some effort to save him from twelve years in Azkaban?

Luckily they made it to the library without any encounters more unsettling than Neville's mum. It was weird they way no-one, even Madam Pince with her hair in its rock-hard bun pitch black instead of iron grey, stopped to ask him who he was and what he thought he was doing wandering around Hogwarts.

A few people did notice him with Severus, but only gave him a vague look as if the sight of someone comfortable in Snape's company made them suspicious. Harry wasn't about to fake a sulky expression; he was grateful Severus was taking the risk of accompanying him like this. Occasionally, like when they were at the top of the stairs where Flitwick had levitated Simon down, it hit him how strange it was that Severus Snape should be helping him, Harry Potter. But nobody stopped them and they slipped into the musty, mote-laden aisles between the bookshelves without incident.

Harry noticed Severus sighed with relief, and realised the Slytherin was just as tense as he was.

"So far, so good," Harry whispered, touching one of the oak shelves to get rid of the bad luck.

Severus smiled with a brief flash of crooked teeth. "Touch wood," he said, tapping the shelf Harry had his hand on.

"Right," said Harry. "How long until everyone starts coming in here after lunch?"

Severus shrugged. "Not long. But it's a nice day. Everybody should be outside watching those who think Galleons can buy them the Knuts they weren't born with…" He paused as Harry groaned at the bad pun. "Outside playing Quidditch. Slytherin's playing Gryffindor on Saturday. Our two Houses aren't the best of friends."

"Really? Lucky I'm in Ravenclaw. What would you have done if I was in Gryffindor?"

"With your resemblance to James Potter I'd have staked you out in the Forest and dribbled blood over you to make the monsters come faster."

A chill went down Harry's spine. "Really?"

"Maybe not. It's a moot point."

"So you really hate the Gryffindors… what did they ever do to you?" Harry couldn't help feeling irritated. Snape's unreasoning bias of the future seemed concrete even now.

"They think they run this place. All the teachers favour them. Headmaster's a Gryff, you know. I guess they feel they need to suck up to him to keep their jobs or something. So they glorify the little Golden Gryffindors and take out their problems on the Slytherins."

"Really?"

Harry must have let his disbelief slip out a little stronger than he'd wanted to. Snape glared at him coldly. "Maybe things are different where you come from. I hope so. But here the Heads of House are usually quite good at looking after their students. Sprout and Flitwick are quite good – fair-handed, anyway. And that old cat McGonagall won't let anyone harm a hair of her Gryffs' collective heads. But she hates Slytherins."

"What about your Head?"

Severus sneered. "He's worse than useless. Lets McGonagall do whatever she likes. If there's a dispute between our Houses you can be sure who the honourable victimised student is, and who's the slimy sneaky creep who hurt them." He led Harry down another aisle, keeping his voice low so that Harry had to listen carefully and stay close. "One day Slytherin will get a proper Head of House who actually cares about his students and sticks up for them. Until then…" His robes, which Harry could see in the brighter light had a few patches carefully sewn into them, lifted over his bony shoulders in a shrug.

"I expect sooner or later Slytherin will," Harry said idly, not wanting to give anything away. Whatever bias Snape thought the other teachers had against Slytherin House would be utterly eclipsed and conquered by the totally one-eyed view he would bring in as Head of House.

Mind you, a small voice reminded him, given the way the Slytherins nearly went into open revolt after Snape died maybe they needed to feel _someone_ was on their side.

Maybe Snape could have been the third option for Millicent and the others.

Bitterness was back on his tongue again, but this time it wasn't from lies: it was from a truth that would never be tested.

It didn't take long for the smell of the books and dim mustiness of old magic permeating the library to relax him. He smiled.

"What?"

"Just thinking of a friend of mine. She spends all her time here. I used to think she was nuts, but now, here, I can understand. It's kind of comforting to be back."

One corner of Severus' mouth turned up. "It is, isn't it. Nice when it's quiet." He looked up at the tall shelves bracketing them and sighed. "I like books. There's a continuity to them. They're the last form of immortality."

"Huh. Maybe Voldemort should write his memoirs instead of running around drinking unicorn blood." Although hadn't that been what his diary was for?

Snape's nose twitched. "Ugh. You mean Voldemort drinks _unicorn blood?_ That's disgusting."

"So how much do you know about Voldemort?"

"I've heard about him, of course. Just a few rumours – he's meant to be someone nice Hogwarts students don't have anything to do with. I was going to find out some more about him because he sounded pretty interesting just on that account, but if he goes around drinking unicorn blood I think all I'll need to find out is where he is so I can stay on another continent. Especially after how your version of him killed your version of me."

Harry decided not to mention it had actually been Lucius Malfoy who'd killed Snape. Things could get out of hand if Malfoy was still at school. A chilling thought… "You wouldn't want to fight against him like the Snape from my world?"

"Sounds like an Auror thing. Wouldn't catch me having anything to do with Aurors. Honestly, give someone a uniform and they're Merlin's gift to wizarding society."

"You don't like Aurors either?"

Severus shrugged and turned down another aisle. They were still speaking in whispers and Harry had to stay close to hear. "What's to like? They run around in their silly robes thinking they're the moral majority with the right to shape the world. All they need are masks and a secret handshake and they'd be one step closer to the cunning and secret society they really think they are."

"Sounds like Death Eaters."

"What are Death Eaters?"

"Voldemort's followers. They wear masks and black robes."

"Any secret handshakes?"

"Don't know. They do have a special tattoo."

"Tasteful?"

"A skull with a snake coming out of its mouth."

"God, how tacky." Severus snorted, amused. "Right. That settles it. As soon as I finish school I'm emigrating to America."

Before that happened Harry was going to need to learn how to Obliviate someone. Specifically Snape. He smiled a little sadly as he wondered how he was meant to do that. He'd have to involve Dumbledore sooner or later, he supposed. In the meantime, maybe he could do a quick bit of research on the side into memory charms.

"Are we near the Charms section?"

"About to be. Location charms. Shame I'm rubbish at Charms, but I can do the basics. My sister's pretty good – she taught me the one you're wearing. I guess we could always owl her at Beauxbatons and ask her if we run out of ideas."

"Your sister?"

Apparently this was too much information. Severus shut his mouth and began to run his fingers along the spines of the books to their right.

"Here we are," he said eventually. "This is on magical applications in metallurgy." He took out a book and blew the dust off it. Harry recognised the cover as that of a book Draco had been reading with the Mendeleev gloves. "Hopefully it'll give us some information about metal tools like sickles. Brilliant… there's a whole section here on gold."

Harry had a look at the shelves, wishing he still had the gloves. "Here's one on mythical objects from the Middle Ages," he murmured. Funny how it hadn't been in the library in his time. He opened it at the index and ran his finger down to H. "Severus… there's a big listing here for Helga Hufflepuff. Apparently she was really into her metalwork. She combined it with horticulture somehow…" The page number in bold print meant there was a picture: he turned to page 122. "Here. Look."

Severus, who was only an inch or so taller, peered over Harry's shoulder. "Hm? Oh! Is that what you're looking for?"

"It must be. It _has_ to be."

The picture was an old woodcut of a sickle with its blade wickedly-curved. Harry had been expecting something more like half a circle, but with the wooden handle it looked more like a question mark minus the dot on the bottom. Old runes were written down the sides of the picture. Harry squinted. "Did you do Ancient Runes?"

"Yes, but it wouldn't help. Those are in Ogham script."

"What's that?"

"Old Celtic Muggle writing system from Ireland. Ancient Irish religious system – well, Celtic. Druidic. Twenty letters…" He ran his finger down the column of symbols. "Each letter relates to a tree. This one –" he tapped an equals sign with a vertical line down the right-hand side "– means 'oak'. There's quite a few of those – and in conjunction with this squiggle for 'moon'. Goes on about mistletoe, I'd guess. But I don't really know how to read it."

"It's Muggle writing?"

"Mm. From the fifth century, I think. Helga Hufflepuff was Muggle-born. And reputedly Irish."

"No way." He'd have to tell Seamus.

"Yes way. The divisions between wizards and Muggles weren't all that clear back then. It wasn't until they started trying to kill us that we thought, hey, let's not stick around for this. The Founders weren't stupid. Especially Slytherin – he wanted a clean cut from the Muggles."

"So no Muggle-borns in his house."

Severus gave him A Look. "Not _that_ clean a cut. He'd have been smart enough to have seen that without Mudbloods we're doomed to die out from inbreeding." He was still looking at the book in Harry's hands, so missed Harry's glare at 'Mudbloods'. "But he wanted a place where we didn't have to worry about persecution and so expected all Muggle-born wizards to give up their families. Preferably Obliviating them of all knowledge that their children were magical."

Harry thought of Hermione's parents and shivered. What would they be forced to think? That Hermione had never existed? Or that she was dead? "That's a bit much."

"Well, given that Muggles of that time were happy enough to throw their family on the fire if they even suspected they could do magic, no. Barbarians."

"You don't like Muggles."

Severus glared at him, exasperated. "Hey, I mightn't have invited you to go into my box, but now that you've seen what's in there do you seriously still think I want Muggles wiped off the face of the planet?"

"Um. Sorry about that."

"So you should be," Severus said without rancour. "Maybe where you come from Muggle Studies is a joke, too; if you want to find out anything good about them you've got to go out and do your own research. Personally, I think they've got a lot to offer, but if I ever said that to anyone around here I'd – well, I guess things can't get _that_ much worse. Maybe I should shout 'Muggles are okay' from the rooftops. Here. Hold these. We can check out as many as we can and go back to my room. Better to study them there in case anyone asks too many questions, like, Who the hell are you?"

"Sounds like a plan. Where to next?"

"Archaeology. This way. It's –" He stopped dead.

Harry banged into him. "What -?"

"Hey, Snivelly. Thought I heard you whispering away to yourself. What are you doing out from under your rock? Good Lord, don't tell me you managed to make your invisible friend visible? Well done with the transfiguration!"

Harry could have guessed from the way Severus' face went cold with hate who the speaker was, even if he didn't recognise the voice.

Because he didn't recognise the voice. It wasn't hoarse, for starters. However, when he peered over Severus' shoulder he recognised the face. But, oh, how different it was in this time.

Sirius Black. His godfather.

_Future_ godfather.

Leaning against the bookshelf like it had no better function in the world than to hold him up. Handsome, young, his face unlined, his voice low but clear. Sirius Black untouched by Azkaban and Dementors and loss.

Harry couldn't help but stare.

"What are you looking at, squit?" Sirius sneered. It was a moment before Harry realised Sirius was talking to him, and went cold.

Harry didn't want a fight, not in the library, not when he was in danger of being found out as an intruder. He certainly didn't want a fight with Sirius. His stomach felt like something was squirming inside and he wished he'd eaten less for lunch. Maybe he was still getting over the time travel… He looked away at the shelves in an effort to avoid looking at Sirius.

"Hey, squit. I'm talking to you."

Severus had his hand sneaking into his robes. If he pulled his wand out in the library there'd be more trouble than they could cope with. But the ugly expression on his face suggested he didn't care. Harry rested his hand on his arm. "He's not important," he muttered, something inside shrivelling up as he said it.

Severus sniffed. "He seems to think he is."

"Come on." Harry dragged Severus away and around several aisles. He checked over his shoulder – Sirius hadn't followed them. Harry felt hot and cold at the same time as he realised he'd just run away from his godfather. "Hey – there's a stroke of luck."

They were in the archaeology section. Severus looked around to check they hadn't been followed and then smiled, looking as happy as he ever did, as he reached up for a heavy tome on divining lost rooms and buildings. He grunted as he took it down; the book must have weighed a stone. The size surprised Harry. Severus must have noticed his expression of disbelief.

"You'd be amazed what people mislay," he murmured with a wry half-smile.

Harry grinned.

"Yeah, like soap," someone interrupted.

Harry turned.

If the shock at seeing Sirius was great, there were no words for this.

James. His father. Standing there with his wand in his hand and an expression of arrogant disbelief on his face.

"Sirius said you had a friend, Snivellus. How much did you have to pay him to be nice to a greasy git like you?"

It was like a physical punch to the gut. Harry's head spun. Sirius had been bad enough but that had been different: Harry had already seen how much he and Snape hated each other.

And now James had his wand out and Severus had his hands full with the book -

_"Protego,"_ Harry whispered quickly, his wand slipping into his own fingers without conscious thought.

And the spell James had flicked down the aisle rebounded on its caster.

James Potter dropped to his knees and began baa'ing like a sheep.

Snape and Harry exchanged a quick glance. For Harry it was all unreal, like he was a player on stage, but the delighted astonishment on Severus' face made him laugh. He stopped laughing when students began crowding around, staring.

"I knew we should have come after curfew," Snape growled.

Harry sighed. It was too late now.

"Make way, make way… James! What happened?"

Oh, Merlin, thought Harry. It's Remus. He's a prefect. Is that good or bad? Sirius appeared at this young version of Moony's shoulder, scowling at Harry with the loathing he'd previously only shown for Snape. Harry quickly tucked his wand back into his pocket before people could jump to the right conclusion. A smaller student was bobbing his head up and down behind Sirius, trying to see what was happening.

Peter Pettigrew.

Harry's vision blurred around the edges. He was sure Severus was whispering something, but it got lost in the high-pitched hum in his ears. Maybe it was lucky Harry'd put his wand away. He was tempted to hex Wormtail through eight dimensions. Behind him Severus carefully replaced the book on the shelf. "Great," he muttered sourly. "Now we can have a party. You hexed James Potter in front of witnesses… there'll be detention for a month. Should've waited until he was away from everyone else."

"But that was a defensive spell," Harry hissed back. "_He_ attacked _us."_

"Like that ever mattered."

James pointed at Harry and baa'ed louder, his face going red with frustration.

Remus frowned. It was the same expression he'd wear in twenty years, leaning on a fence talking with Harry about how he wished he'd had more time for him recently.

"And who are you?" he asked softly.

"I think that's something to be discussed with Professor Dumbledore," Harry said, taking this last way out.

"Really? Is this before or after your detentions for hexing one of your school mates?"

"How do you know I hexed him?" Harry snapped back. "That's kind of jumping to conclusions a bit, isn't it?" He looked at Severus, waiting for him to say something in their defence.

Remus' gaze flickered to Snape and away again, as if he knew he'd jumped to conclusions but couldn't quite see that the conclusions were wrong.

Severus glared back at him from behind his usual curtain of greasy hair, his arms crossed over his chest. It was so close to his adult expression looking at Wormtail was preferable.

Harry's vision narrowed a little more. Any minute now he was going to tell Remus what a complete prat he was. He took a deep breath and tried to remember what Robert Python had said about keeping your temper: _count to ten_. He wondered if counting to a hundred would work. Ten didn't seem to cut it.

"Call Dumbledore. Check the wands," Harry said angrily. "I don't know what spell sheep-boy used, but mine was a shielding spell."

Remus' eyes widened, then he tilted his head sceptically. "That's… It's very tricky to send a spell back on the caster simply by using a shielding spell."

"Yes, it is," said a quiet voice. "But certainly not impossible."

Harry turned to see who was standing behind him, even as his mind registered the voice.

Dumbledore had arrived.

ooOOoo

A/N: Coming up: The origin of Severus Snape, Points Eater.


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: No. I'm telling you. They aren't mine. Hand on heart do I promise ye this.

WARNING: Much blah blah blah. And reckless listening to Muggle music. And chocolate cake. Oh, and I've probably taken liberties with the release date of Animals. I know it was in 1977 but I don't know how early. But it fits in too nicely to leave out.

ooOOoo

Chapter 21: Severus' Hobbies

Some things never change: Dumbledore and sherbet lemons, for example. But Harry didn't want a sherbet lemon. Severus looked at the bag like the headmaster was offering him poison.

The Marauders, as Harry thought of them, took one each with a cultivated easy familiarity Harry could see was designed to discomfit him and Severus. Snape, sitting there with his arms folded and a scowl on his face, looked like he believed that they were going to get off with another sherbet lemon while he had to scrub out cauldrons.

"Now, perhaps you could tell me what happened," Dumbledore said. His blue eyes weren't twinkling for once. Harry wondered if he could see what was going on in front of him and, if so, if he would do anything about it. "Mr Lupin?"

"He he-aa-aa-aa-exed me," said James. The spell hadn't been completely removed. He reddened with fury and Snape smirked.

"I got there and James was down on the ground," said Remus. "I didn't see any spells cast."

"I've already offered to have my wand tested," said Harry quietly. "I think you should test them, sir, and then you'll see that I cast a shielding spell and deflected the spell back on him." He nodded at his father, unable to look at him without something twisting in his gut. "In fact, I think it would be _very informative_ for you to look at my wand."

He met Dumbledore's blue eyes steadily.

After a long moment, Dumbledore held out one gnarled, aged hand and took Harry's wand. He held it in silence. Then he looked at Harry. _Really_ looked: it was the same feeling Harry had when he had his invisibility cloak on; that Dumbledore could see right through his disguise.

Then the headmaster turned his attention back to his wand and waved his own wand over it. "Ah," he said at last. "Protego. Mr Potter, would you allow me to see your wand?"

James, reddening further, said there was probably no need.

"I see," said Dumbledore, looking saddened. "You may go. But not Mr Snape or you, Mr…?"

"Lovegood," Harry supplied. There was a snigger from Peter. Harry very carefully did not set him on fire.

"Mr Lovegood. Yes. My memory should be better than it is, really it should."

"So he's meant to be here?" Remus said. The other three Marauders looked displeased.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Mr Lovegood is here on a research project from a smaller private school. I should have informed you prefects, yes," he continued airily. "I apologise for my neglect." He turned to Harry "I would like to see you in private for a moment, Mr Lovegood."

"Of course."

The Marauders filed out, all but Remus shooting poisonous glares at Harry and Snape, who ignored them. Dumbledore had Severus wait in the office while he took Harry into a room off to the side.

Dumbledore re-seated himself behind a much older, more battered desk than the one in the main office. He was still holding Harry's wand.

"Phoenix tail-feather core. From my very own phoenix." He waved at Fawkes, who regarded Harry sleepily from his perch. "There are only two wands with a core like this, and I'm quite sure you're not Tom Riddle. Now, perhaps you tell me who you are?"

Harry inclined his head politely. "It would be easier to explain if you took the glamour off me," he suggested.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. But he waved his wand at Harry. It took him two attempts – Snape had more ability with Charms than Harry had ever given him credit for or Severus had admitted to.

Harry felt the moment when the charm lifted: it was like bubbles fizzing over his face.

Dumbledore had gone very still.

"I'm from the future," Harry said. "Severus doesn't know that. I told him I came from another dimension."

"And he believed you?"

"I gave a convincing argument, I guess. And I couldn't tell him the truth – he hates my father. And I didn't want to give him information about the future and then have to wipe his memory. Or I didn't. I've told him too much by accident, I think. He thinks it's an alternate future, but I've still said too much."

"Time travel is not something to be undertaken lightly, Mr… Potter."

Harry tilted his head in affirmation of the name. "Harry Potter, yes. As for time travel, it's not something I've done before. Well, only once, and that was with your assistance and it was nothing of this magnitude. And I don't want to tell you anything about my reasons because that will give you information you're not entitled to. All I can tell you is that my reasons are strong ones."

"I should hope they aren't frivolous."

Dumbledore had no twinkle in his blue eyes. He watched Harry as if Harry were the new, dynamic Dark Lord who was rising in the world now. Well, Harry couldn't help that. He supposed after seeing his father and his betrayer, and knowing he couldn't do anything to change the fate of his parents, he might be justified in looking a little grim.

After a long, drawn-out wait and a sigh almost as long, Dumbledore said, "What is it that you want from us, Mr Harry Potter? More specifically, what do you want from me?"

"I want to find an artefact. The spell that was cast was meant to take me to where I could obtain it. Here. Also I have been given indications that Severus Snape is the one who is the key to finding it. I would like you to allow him and me leave to wander around Hogwarts to find it. And…" Harry shifted uncomfortably on his seat, "I may need you to modify Severus' memories when I've gone. Just… let him remember me as someone who looks a little different. I don't want him to forget Harry Lovegood."

"I see."

Harry doubted it. He didn't understand why, but at some deep level it was important to Harry that Severus remember him as Harry instead of some glory-seeking Gryffindor celebrity.

Dumbledore flicked Harry's wand towards one of the small silver devices that seemed to fill his working spaces; this one was moving like many of its fellows but its movement was jerky, one of the spidery arms under the bobbing mini pot-lid pointing towards Harry and then whipping around nearly thirty degrees. It was almost hypnotic.

"How many years in the future?" Dumbledore asked softly.

Harry was still trying to work out the movements of the arms. Every time he thought he had the pattern worked out, it shifted. "Huh? Oh, twenty-one years."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes. It would appear so. Well, Mr Potter – Lovegood, that is; what do you need?"

Harry blinked and looked up from the shiny instrument. "I… I need time. Ironically enough. I need to find what I'm looking for. I only have five days. Four now. I was sick after I got here two nights ago and wasted a day. And I need access to the different parts of Hogwarts when I want."

"No food or shelter?" Dumbledore asked wryly.

Harry shook his head with a small smile. "Severus has been looking after me. I think the house elves have been giving a little extra help, too."

"Ah. Hogwarts remembers its own. I've heard the stones can remember forward in time as well as backward."

"I didn't know they could remember at all," Harry said, surprised. "But, when … someone … died not long ago – well, in my memory, anyway – it seemed like the castle mourned him." But he didn't want to think about that – it was too eerie. Like watching someone walking along the edge of a cliff and knowing that it was going to crumble _right there_ under their feet. He wished he could ask for Dumbledore's help finding the sickle, but he knew that conversation would probably involve the phrase "you aren't allowed to look for the Golden Sickle, Harry". "I'd rather not give away too much – I know it's important not to involve people from the past like this. It's bad enough I've involved Severus."

"So you know a little about his future?"

"I know a lot about his future. And my parents'. And… too many people I've seen here."

They sat in silence for a time, Harry staring down at his knuckles which were going yellow. "Hmm. Well, perhaps a guide in this time would be helpful. I think it may not be tactful to have your father attend to you…?"

Harry's lips thinned against the bile roiling in his stomach. "No. I'd rather not. It's a bit too confusing seeing him like this," he added as tactfully as he could. The new word he'd learned from Severus probably wouldn't be good to say in front of the headmaster. "Does he usually get away with hexing people in the library?" he blurted out, still horrified by the lack of discipline.

Dumbledore smiled fondly. "Oh, I don't think it's quite as bad as you might think. He's part of a high-spirited crowd. But I've put measures in place to curb their enthusiasm for playing tricks on other students."

"Making Remus a prefect, you mean?" Harry shook his head. "Sorry. I'm not here to interfere with history. But…"

"It's hard?" Dumbledore's face softened with compassion.

"Yes. There's so much to change."

Dumbledore hesitated over his reply. "And so much that could be worse for the changing. Don't think that making one thing better will make everything better. It may be quite the opposite."

Harry nodded, privately disagreeing. It sounded like a cowardly argument, but that was hardly something he could say to Albus Dumbledore.

"Very well, Mr Potter. Or Lovegood, should I say? Can you put the glamour back on yourself?"

"No. Severus made it for me."

"I hadn't realised he had that much aptitude for Charms. But then when young Mr Snape wants something he can be very determined. Let's call him in."

Luckily Severus was able to re-establish the charm. His dark eyes were unreadable as he watched Dumbledore.

"Now, Mr Snape. I believe hiding a traveller like Mr Lovegood is against Hogwarts regulations."

"Could you tell me where it says that in the rules, Headmaster?" His tone dripped cold politeness.

Dumbledore shifted in his seat as if his patience with the Slytherin was limited. "Visitors must be registered with administration when they arrive. That's on the first page of the student booklet."

"I apologise, then. It's been a long time since I read the booklet. I suppose you've forgotten that Black burned it along with one of my notebooks on my first day here."

"Ah. Yes." With a wave of his wand, Dumbledore summoned a small paperback book from a shelf behind him. "Here. Allow me to replace it."

Severus inclined his head a fraction. "I shall tell Black I have another copy."

Albus winced. "If you would only be a little nicer, Severus, I'm sure you'd make friends with them. Remus is trying, after all."

Severus' face had gone rigid. "I shall give your idea thought, sir."

"Well. If there's nothing else you wish to discuss…?" He paused. Harry and Severus stared down at the desk. "As you wish. Please remember that should you need any help my office is always open."

Severus nodded, not looking at him. Harry met his eyes and said, "Thank you, sir. Uh, may I have a pass? I'd like some bit of paper to wave under the noses of the people who are, well, nosy."

Dumbledore smiled. "Of course." He pulled a piece of parchment from a pigeonhole behind the desk. "'I, Albus Dumbledore, give Harry Lovegood access to all areas of Hogwarts that Hogwarts students are allowed into, including the Restricted Section of the library.' That includes the Hall for meals," he added, winking one blue eye. "There. I've also added that any students who impede your research will have House points docked, and Severus Snape is assisting you with your work. Do you have a place to stay? I hadn't heard of any extra students in the Slytherin dormitory?"

There was a small snort from Severus that sounded like _who'd notice?_ which Albus tactfully ignored.

Harry managed a small smile. "I'm fine. Thank you, sir."

Dumbledore scribbled something else on the paper. "There – that should keep you safe from Argus." He handed the paper to Harry, who skimmed through it. "You realise I'm entrusting you with a great deal?"

Harry folded the paper and slipped it into a pocket. "I'm someone you can trust with a great deal."

"I certainly hope so. Take good care of him, Mr Snape."

Severus nodded. "Have I not done so this far?"

"It would seem you have." Dumbledore stood and ushered them out of his office.

On the way down the moving staircase, Harry asked Severus, "Well? Back to the library?"

"Why not? Hopefully we can get some work done without those oafs bothering us. Huh. 'Be nicer'." There was a slight flush in his cheeks and a malicious glitter in his eyes. "While I'm at it, why don't I just put back my head and say 'Here's my throat'? Speak of the devils…"

The gargoyle had moved aside to reveal the four Marauders.

"Snivellus. How much detention did you get today?" James asked.

Severus smiled coldly. "None. Now get out of our way. You're impeding our research."

James shoved him back against the wall. "I'm about to impede your overgrown excuse for a nose with my fist, and – and what are you grinning about?"

Because Severus was smiling. Harry didn't understand either, but kept his hand on his wand.

"Show him the pass, Harry."

"Pass?" said Remus, who was standing back as if unsure how to distance himself from what his friends were doing.

Harry pulled it out of his pocket. When he unfolded it, there was a new line of red ink along the bottom. It read:

_minus 10 Points, Gryffindor _

"Want to make it twenty?" Severus grinned evilly.

James stared at the paper. His mouth firmed into a thin line of displeasure. Harry knew he had a similar expression sometimes – he could only hope he looked less sulky with it.

"What is it?" Pettigrew asked.

"Shut up. Let's go."

Sirius shot them one last death-glare before he followed James, who was stalking off down the corridor, Peter trotting in his wake. Remus opened his mouth to say something and shut it again. He looked a little embarrassed. "Snape…"

"Save it. I think there's someone down that way waiting for you to bully. Wouldn't want your friends to start without you, would you?"

Remus' mouth snapped shut. He glared at them and marched off down the corridor, growling over his shoulder, "Later, Snivellus."

"So that was dear little Remus being 'nice'." Severus sneered as he rubbed his hands together. "That was fun. Come on. Let's see how many people want to impede our research."

"You're enjoying this way too much."

"I am, aren't I? I think I've just found a new hobby."

"Taking points? You could be on to something."

"Bugger the Death Eaters – let's eat some points."

ooOOoo

They took quite a few points that day. Severus wasn't popular and it wasn't just the Gryffindors who liked to harass him. He was having much too much fun doing it, too. Word quickly spread that he and Harry were doing legitimate, Dumbledore-endorsed research, and people were quick to get out of their way rather than be seen 'impeding their research'. Harry and Severus couldn't take points for the dirty looks they got (and Harry was quick to shoot dirty looks back – he'd had enough of people pre-judging him), but both of them could cope with a few scowls. Still, Harry had the suspicion he'd have liked to take more points than he did.

_Oh well, give him time._

Otherwise it was a reasonably impediment-free day. The main trouble was that they still had no idea where they should be looking.

They dragged a small mountain of books back to the little room where Harry settled down for a nap while Severus went to scrounge some food.

ooOOoo

Harry sat up, his ears straining to make sense of the darkness.

"It's me."

"Severus?"

Snape's voice was acid but lacked the familiar malice: "Well, it could be _another_ 'me,' but my ego might have trouble accepting that." There was a muffled grunt as Severus slid down the wall onto the nest of blankets next to Harry. "Hungry?"

"Starving." Harry's mouth was watering just from the question.

Phosphorescence bloomed softly in the crumbling stone room as Snape took the lid off a jar.

"How'd you do that?"

Snape smirked. "Special potion I've been working on." His grin became a little embarrassed. "It was meant to be something for erasing mistakes when you're writing, but it glows in the dark instead. You have to add club moss to it, but if you get it right you can time it. This should last about three hours," he finished proudly.

"Cool. Now, didn't you say something about food?"

"No, but funny you should ask…" He dug around in his battered old satchel. "Sandwiches… some cold chicken… you're not vegetarian, are you? Well, I guess I would have noticed by now. Um… apples and – oh good, they're not squashed – strawberries for dessert if you eat all your vegetables."

"What vegetables?" Harry laughed. No-one other than Severus had ever told him to eat all his vegetables, not even as a joke.

"Roast potatoes – not so hot any more, but you can reheat them if you know a good heating spell – oh, don't try saying 'Thermus' over an egg. It explodes."

"And you know this how?"

"Guess. You know the old saying 'he ended up with egg on his face'?"

"I think I can see where this story is going. How did you get all the food?"

Severus shrugged. "House elves."

"I wouldn't have thought they'd give food to a student at this time of night, especially one who's meant to be in his dormitory."

Severus shrugged his bony shoulders again and peered into his satchel, avoiding Harry's eyes. "I tell them that I'm going to be out of my dorm regardless, so if they trust me not to go into the Forest and sleep there then I, well, I won't."

"And if they stop you sleeping here?"

Dark eyes gleamed. "Then I'll sleep in the Forest."

"What's so bad with the dormitory?" Harry asked, taking a big bite of a ham and chutney sandwich.

Severus appeared even more interested in the bag. "Let's see… Hey, I didn't ask for pickle!" He pulled out a jar. "If you like gherkins it's your lucky day, Lovegood."

Okay, so some questions still weren't going to be answered. "Any chocolate cake?"

Snape looked up and grinned. Even after getting to know him better, it was still a surprising expression to see on him. Triangular and a little wary. "What? Strawberries aren't enough, Mr Fussy?" He pulled out a little cardboard box and tapped it with his wand.

"Oops!" The box had grown to two feet across and Severus had to drop his wand to hold it. "Open the lid."

Harry did. "Merlin – whose birthday is it?" he laughed. The cake was a fantastic example of culinary architecture gone insane in three layers sandwiching cream and cherries with flying buttresses of chocolate, and it smelled as good as it looked.

Severus looked as pleasedly surprised as Harry felt. "A very happy un-birthday to you."

"And you. Does that make you the Mad Hatter and me the March Hare?" replied Harry with a chuckle. A Snape who quoted Muggle literature took some getting used to, too.

"I rather think you're Alice. A butch version. I'll be the Mad Hatter if you like, though. I don't know if you get Disney where you're from, but they made a movie – think wizarding photos grand scale – and the Mad Hatter was particularly trippy. I don't do the giggling, though. Be warned."

"I consider myself dutifully warned. And, yes, I've seen the movie on telly. I sort of identified with the Dormouse in that bit. Kept stuffed away out of sight in case he said something embarrassing… Let's not go there. A very happy un-birthday to you, Severus." Harry picked up one of the glasses of dark maroon liquid which had poured itself from the bottle Severus had taken from the wooden box in the corner. It smelt like berries and mingled extremely well with the warm chocolate aroma of the cake. "Cheers."

"Cheers, Alice. Dormouse. Whatever. Here's to white rabbits."

"To white rabbits."

Two crystal glasses clinked in the quiet night.

Harry sipped and nearly choked. "Severus… isn't this…? This is Ribena!"

"I know. How do _you_ know?"

"That's a Muggle drink! What is this box of yours – some sort of Magical Muggle Tour?"

Severus grinned at him. "I get my sister to send me bottles of concentrate. Don't you like it?"

"I do – I just haven't had it since I left my aunt's home – she's a Muggle. My cousin always hogged the lot. I've never seen it at Hogwarts. Everyone drinks pumpkin juice at my Hogwarts."

"It's the same here. Come down to breakfast with me tomorrow now that you're allowed, and you'll find out. If anyone found out I was bringing Muggle things in they'd… well, treat me pretty much the same, but probably spike my Ribena with just enough poison to put me off my Dangerous Muggle Leanings without killing me too much."

"Argh."

"Exactly. Speaking of dangerous Muggle leanings, do you want to try listening to some of their music?"

Harry sat up. The name 'Pink Floyd' had been nagging at him. "Yeah. What have you got?"

"Latest Pink Floyd album and one of their earlier ones. I bought one called _Wish You Were Here_ last summer and liked it. My sister sent me one called _Animals._ It's good, especially if you like George Orwell."

"That was the book you had in there?" Harry pointed with a piece of chocolate cake at the box. A few crumbs fell. "I don't see why you were so upset over it."

"Um, hello? Illegal Muggle goods? School would tell my parents? Slytherin House would make my life a living hell?"

"Uh. I guess. But I wouldn't have told anyone, even if you hadn't made me promise not to."

"Yes, and I'm a happy smiling trusting person who goes spilling all his secrets to strangers." Severus dragged over the trunk, which growled until he gave it a whack with the flat of his hand. "Hush, you. I guess you pretty much know everything that's in there now," he added to Harry. "No Golden Sickle, I'm afraid."

"We'll check out those tunnels tomorrow," Harry said absently, thinking briefly about the chapter he'd been reading about Helga Hufflepuff. There was a lot concerning Hogwarts there, too. Something about tunnels and badgers. He smoothed the legs of his pyjamas. Merlin knew where Severus had found them – he'd muttered something about house elves. They smelt a little musty and had stripes running down them. They made him look like an escapee from a lunatic asylum. "In the meantime, are you finally going to open up that box of yours?"

Severus shrugged. "It's pretty anti-climactic now that you know it's just where I store all my Muggle contraband."

"Life is full of these disappointments."

"Isn't it, though?" He slid over to the box and opened the lid. "I'll teach you a really cool spell… providing you promise not to tell the Ministry or anyone connected with it where you learned it."

"I promise – providing it isn't harmful."

A snort. "It's not. It's just that it can be seen as misuse of Muggle artefacts."

"Well, let's see it, then."

Severus pulled out one of the records. Harry had a quick look at the picture on the cover – it was a big, solid factory-type building with lots of chimneys. And, for some reason, a flying pig. "Hey – I've seen that place. That's outside London, I think. It's a power plant."

"Really? I wondered where it was. What's a power plant? It looks like it's the complete opposite of anything that's been grown."

"Not that kind of plant. Plant as in… actually I don't know why they call it a plant. And is that a flying pig?"

"Yes. Now…" Severus pulled out the broad black circle from its sleeve and carefully balanced it on one finger. He took out his wand. "Now. Watch. _Discus leviosa. Fusus canto." _He tapped the record gently with his wand and, as it began to spin, took his finger away.

There was the sound of a guitar being strummed gently and a little sadly.

"Brilliant." He'd have to teach it to Mr Weasley.

"Wait until you've heard the record. I hear not that many people get it. But seeing as you're a George Orwell fan…" Severus trailed off, raising his eyebrows.

ooOOoo

Harry wouldn't have got it. But with Severus explaining it to him and the lyric sheet for him to read, he lay back with his chocolate cake and really listened to the music and he got it. He really got it.

He had Severus play it again. Louder. And then he had Severus play one of the songs, _Dogs_, at maximum volume until the stones vibrated. As Filch never came to investigate, Severus must have put a hell of a solid silencing charm on the room.

He'd never heard anything like this music. It was bleak and it was nihilistic and it spoke of the darkness he'd seen in people around him without ever having had it put into word before. _Animals_ spoke to him from a deep, dark level that had nothing to do with fluffy bunnies and everything to do with the monsters that hid in the subconscious mind.

"Let's play it again."

A groan from Severus who had a blanket pulled over his head. "No."

"Please."

"Ngh. All right." A hand stuck out from under the blanket and waved a wand. The music started again.

ooOOoo

It stopped.

"Again?"

"No.

"Please?"

"No."

Silence. Then:

"What does he mean by 'dragged down by the stone'? That can't be a literal going-out-drowning-dogs thing. Muggles have laws against cruelty."

There was a long, drawn-out sigh. Severus' head emerged from under the blanket. Shadowed eyes glared at Harry. "Of course not. It's metaphorical. It means that all the hatred directed towards you through your life from the misuse of power eventually makes you so corrupted and paranoid that there's no-one left you can trust. And sooner or later people will turn on you, and all the 'bad blood' that you generated by treating people like crap turns into a social weight that you can't escape, dragging you down and drowning you. Metaphysically." He disappeared back under the blanket.

"Metaphysically."

"Metaphysically. Now will you let me get some non-metaphysical sleep?"

"Just one more time. I want to sort out this whole 'bad blood' metaphor. I think it's got a lot of relevance for the people where I come from."

"For Merlin's sake, I'm starting to hate Muggle music! And if you play that bloody song _one more time_ I'll give you a non-metaphysical demonstration of bad blood. If I let you read _Animal Farm_ instead, will you let me go to sleep?"

"Maybe." Harry grinned to himself. Snape had given him enough grief over the years that he felt it was justifiable to give him some annoyance that was legitimate. Plus it was fun.

The book nearly hit him in the head. "Now shut up. That's the last time I let you eat chocolate this late."

"Sorry, Mum."

"Shut up."

ooOOoo


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: They aren't mine. Well, apart from Trudi, who's going to a good home at the end of the story.

Warning: Rich food and snark.

ooOOoo

Chapter 22: Breakfast of Death Eater Champions

The sun woke Harry the next morning. It must be almost summer here – the days were long enough for it. He yawned, considering the benefits of sleeping in. He hadn't stayed up too late over _Animal Farm_ as he'd been tired and the print was small and hard to read in the dim light of Severus' light-emitting potion, and now it was lying next to his pillow with a scrap of paper in it as a bookmark. Not that a bookmark was really justified at page three. He reached over and shook Severus' shoulder.

The response wasn't printable.

"Oh, come on," Harry said. Maybe a long stick to poke the other boy with would have been a better idea. "I'm hungry. Any idea what time it is?"

Severus sat up like a vampire rising from its coffin and shook his hair out of his face.

"Doesn't it bug you having it hanging over your face like that?" Harry yawned. He backtracked over what he'd just said and winced. Maybe it was because he'd just woken up that rudeness came so easily. "Sorry. That's a bit personal."

"Yes," sneered Severus, hunching his shoulders and following the sneer up with one of his patent-pending glares. The glare would get nastier with age, or maybe it was only that it was too early in the morning for the full version. "But to save on your asking stupid questions like that in front of normal – that is to say, everyday – people, I'll say that I'm used to my hair. And if you're going to ask me why I don't wash it, I might as well ask you why you've never managed the fine art of running a comb through your excuse for a mop."

Harry, torn between embarrassment and annoyance (Snape was good at turning an argument back on someone), was diverted. "I always thought my hair stayed messy because I was a wizard."

"Well done."

"Is yours the same?"

Severus' expression of brooding annoyance changed to puzzlement. "Didn't you know that hair tends to stick to its own rules? It's an established magical fact. Muggle hair products don't have much effect. I bet you've tried cutting your hair…?"

"Well, my aunt got really fed up one day and hacked it all off. It grew back overnight."

"See? But why'd she do that? I mean, it's not as if your hair being messy is any fault of yours."

"She didn't allow magic in the house."

Severus' sleepy stare was astonished. "She… that's right, you said she was a Muggle. Are you a Mudblood or something?"

Harry sat up and glared. "No, I'm not. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't say things like that. I thought you didn't hate Muggles? Or was that a big pile of Slytherin 'we're not so bad after all' propaganda?"

Severus rubbed his face and yawned. "Sorry. I usually only usually say that when I'm trying to get rid of someone annoying. And although it's the current philosophy within Slytherin, if you check the records carefully you find that the founding ethos was to recruit students who wanted to make something of themselves. It's not my fault everyone prefers to think Salazar's ideas were to promote bigotry rather than the total separation between Muggle and Wizarding worlds for the safety of both," he added calmly.

"Well, my mother was Muggle-born. And one of my best friends is, too. She's a nice person – I mean, seriously good – and it really hurts her when people say things like that."

"I promise not to say that to her. Oh, all right. I'm sorry. I won't go around calling people Mudbloods around you and you won't go on about me being ugly." He yawned again as he sat up and reached for his robe, which he pulled on over his grey nightshirt, ignoring Harry's embarrassed flush.

"I didn't mean to say you were –"

"No. You didn't. People never do." But Severus didn't seem too upset. Oddly composed, in fact. But something in him had closed off, leaving a chill in the air that was more sinister than that from the cool morning. Harry, not sure what this meant, decided these were waters too deep for him to paddle in. What would Robert Python do?

He'd change the topic.

"I was thinking about tunnels. Hufflepuff had a lot to do with badgers. And gardening."

"Yes. Sprout's a fairly typical Hufflepuff Head of House. Well, I don't know her feeling on badgers, but she has quite the green thumb."

"So I thought we should explore some of the tunnels around here."

Severus cocked an eyebrow. "What tunnels?"

Harry realised Severus wouldn't know about them; Harry had only found out about them thanks to the Marauders' Map. Had his father and the other Marauders made the map yet? Harry felt his gut clench at the thought. Suddenly breakfast didn't seem so important anymore. "Hogwarts has tunnels – some secret passageways. I thought you'd know – you must have known the one to the kitchens if you could get food so easily."

Severus scratched his nose. "I don't use it much. But, yes. I've suspected there must be something odd around. People tend to turn up in odd places, I've noticed. And…" He trailed off.

"What?"

Severus shrugged. "One of those cretins from yesterday. Lupin. Who needs his prefect badge heated red-hot and shoved up his –"

"– yes, yes. What about him?" Harry was getting a bad feeling.

"He disappears every so often. I think maybe he's got an illness. I'm sure I've seen him sneaking out into the grounds. I thought maybe he'd found a tunnel and there was something in there that makes him better. A philosopher's stone, perhaps."

"Mm," Harry said non-committally. "Well, he's hardly about to help us, is he. Although he didn't seem as bad as the others."

Severus snorted. "Don't fall for that one. He's been pretending to be nice to me lately. That's partly why I haven't been out hunting down what he's really up to. I'm that sure they're setting a trap for me."

"You don't think that's a bit paranoid, do you?" Harry asked with a frown, thinking of Remus in the future, face lined and hair greying, leaning on a fence telling him about how he'd once tried to be friendlier to Severus Snape. It was hard lining that image up against the conflicted prefect he'd met yesterday.

"Get dressed," Snape said shortly, not looking at Harry. It wasn't hard to tell he was angry by the way his lips thinned. Give him a few years and that look would presage points falling from Gryffindor like autumn leaves. "Dumbledore sent me a key to one of the old bathrooms – we can use that for showers and what-not."

Harry picked up his bundle of clothes and followed him out in silence. The set of Snape's thin shoulders made him wonder what Robert Python would say about this one.

Strangely, it was Hermione's voice he imagined saying, 'You're on thin ice, Harry. Are you really his friend? Would a friend tell him as many lies as you have? Especially the biggest lie – that when he grows up you and he are going to absolutely _loathe _each other? And more importantly, why would he think that someone who's here for five days and needs a lot of help really wants _him_ for a friend?'

He hated it when Hermione spoke sense. Especially when it was Imaginary Hermione. In any aspect she had the terrible effect of making him think about things he didn't want to think about.

ooOOoo

They went down to the Great Hall for breakfast. In retrospect it was an act of bravado, but Harry was in a mood for an argument. And he wasn't able to pick one with Severus because, aside from needing Severus' willing help, he suspected Imaginary Hermione was right and now he was feeling guilty over lying to Severus. They sat at the end of the Slytherin table, where the other members of Severus' House gave them cursory sideways examinations and then ignored them. That was fine by Harry. It was strange seeing some of them and hearing their names as they talked quietly among themselves. Just two along from them on the other side of Severus to Harry was a boy with light brown spiky hair. He looked like a sixth year, and Harry was pretty sure he'd heard someone address him as Wilkes. Between Wilkes and Severus was another boy with a prefect's badge. The prefect was extremely handsome and only saved from being blandly beautiful by having a clever, slightly foxy face. He nodded with cool politeness as Harry and Severus sat down.

"Snape."

"Rosier."

And that seemed to be it for conversation between Severus and the other Slytherins. Wilkes was talking quietly with Rosier and a doughy-looking boy across the table, and a small knot of first year girls just along the table from Harry were yawning over a Charms textbook. Harry wondered with a pang how Trudi and Daisy were getting on. Hopefully Millicent was looking after them. Would Trudi still talk to him after Draco got his sight back? Or would she go back to being the mistrusting girl she'd been before she'd started talking to him?

One of the girls said, "It doesn't make sense."

Harry leaned over. "Oh. That's because you're using a cheering charm. It doesn't react very well when you combine it with a levitation charm. Have you thought about using a hex like the hilarity hex instead?"

The girls looked at him as if he'd grown another head.

"Sorry. Forget it," Harry sighed, and went back to buttering his toast. He missed Trudi. Amongst everyone else.

"Hilarity hex wouldn't work," Severus supplied as he ladled half a pot of raspberry jam on his toast. "Leviosa reacts badly with all mind-altering spells. I'd use a – hang on, what the hell are you lot trying to achieve, anyway?"

One of the girls blinked at him. But apparently the others were used to Severus being abrupt and swearing at table. "Benny Frock from Ravenclaw said that the reason I couldn't levitate my newt was because it was so depressed looking at my ugly face that there was no way it'd get into the air," said a second girl. She had a rather squashed face but pretty dark eyes. She'd never be beautiful, but Harry wouldn't have called her ugly.

"Charming. So you're going to levitate the newt or the Ravenclaw?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you should use a potion." With a quick glance at the head table to see no teachers were watching, he reached into a pocket. There was a muffled clink. "Here. Soak a little bit of this into one of his shoes." He smirked as the girl took the vial and tucked it away into a fold of her robes. "It'll give him a lift, all right. And he won't look so pretty himself for about a fortnight – well, it depends on how hard he hits the ceiling."

The girl grinned at him. "Brilliant. Thanks, Snape. Who were you going to use it on?"

Severus nodded towards an even younger version of Sirius Black sitting right at the end of the table with a group of fourth years. One of the fourth years looked a lot like Igor Karkaroff, but Harry expected his imagination was running away on him with that one – wouldn't Karkaroff have gone to Durmstrang? "His older brother."

"Karkaroff's? Oh – Regulus'. Fair enough. His brother's a pig. Thanks. I'll let you know how it works on Frock-face."

"Are you selling drugs again, Severus?" said a musical voice from down the opposite end of the table. "Honestly, if you're that poor maybe we can have a raffle to raise funds for you. Drugs are bad. So bad." She giggled like someone who didn't think drugs were bad at all.

Harry looked away from his covert examination of Regulus Black, Sirius' younger brother who had – correction, _would_ – join the Death Eaters and then be killed by Voldemort when he got cold feet, to see who the girl was and nearly choked on his toast. Bellatrix LeStrange. Or Black, as she must be at this time. He knew she was Sirius' cousin, anyway. In Dumbledore's Pensieve she's been beautiful, but that was a shadow compared to the real life version. In real life she was gorgeous.

Severus didn't seem impressed by her loveliness. He scowled at her. "Not that it's any of your business, but no. Some of us don't have to resort to cheap tricks to improve our minds."

"How about resorting to personal care products?" a languid boy with his arm around Bellatrix said, to general laughter. He toasted the doughy boy with a goblet of pumpkin juice.

Severus' upper lip curled. For a second Harry was reminded of Simon about to take a bite out of someone. "How about resorting to growing a mind in the first place, LeStrange? And don't look to Avery for help – he's already far too busy trying to use his new-and-improved guinea-pig brain. Someone give him the manual, for pity's sake."

Merlin, thought Harry. I'm surrounded by Death Eaters. Or future Death Eaters.

As Avery (as Harry guessed the doughy boy was) frowned, trying to work out the insult, LeStrange's languid manner vanished. He leaned forward and Harry had a glimpse of someone who'd fit under a black, hooded robe and a white mask with ease. "Where have you been, Snape? Hiding out with your little friend there? So… how good a _friend_ is he?" He licked his upper lip suggestively.

Harry flushed at the insinuation. Before he could reply (or hex) LeStrange, Severus, long dark eyelashes fluttering at LeStrange, purred, "What? Are you _jealous,_ loverboy?"

Several people guffawed.

LeStrange snarled and smacked the goblet down on the table. Before he could say what he was planning to, he was interrupted by Rosier, his handsome face screwed up with disgust.

"I say, now that's the sort of image we _don't _need while we're eating. Cut it out. Snape, where've you been sneaking off to, anyway? A few nights here and there aren't too bad, old boy, but now you're upping it to weeks. Someone's going to notice. And don't give me that 'yeah, right' snort. As soon as you've finished helping this Lovegood chappie here I think it's time you spent more time where you belong."

"What, where it's considered good manners to suffocate someone while they're asleep?" Severus bristled.

"Hey, that was an accident," LeStrange said, putting a hand on his heart. Bellatrix giggled. Harry's knife clinked on the plate and he realised he'd been buttering his toast so hard he'd made a hole in it. He stuffed it into his mouth and chewed ferociously.

"Your birth was an accident. My waking up not being able to breathe wasn't."

"It's not going to happen again," Rosier said evenly. "Not to anyone in this House."

Severus sniffed. "Like to know who's going to stop it."

"He's got a point," a lovely blonde girl further down the table said, yawning behind an elegantly manicured hand before giving the rest of the table a haughty look. She was easily as beautiful as Bellatrix, but in a pale way instead of dark. Other than that they could have been sisters. In fact, according to Sirius, they were. Harry found himself hard pressed not to stare at Draco's mum.

"I'm going to stop it. This bickering is useless, especially now that… Anyway." Rosier looked down at his scrambled eggs.

A look of suspicion briefly flickered across Severus' face and then vanished behind his normal sullen glower. It seemed that his tenure in Slytherin House was early practise for being a spy. Harry wondered if he suspected anything yet; from what he'd said about the Death Eaters yesterday, he doubted it. But Severus being Snape, he probably knew _something_ was going on. And doubtless wanted to find out what it was.

Narcissa narrowed her pale eyes at Rosier, who didn't meet them. The resemblance between her and Draco in one of his moods made Harry realise that however much Draco resembled his father there was a lot of his mother in him as well. And, whatever Rosier thought about his influence within Slytherin House, it seemed to be Narcissa who was the quiet power here. "Enough about that, I think." She leaned back. "Some things aren't meant to be discussed over breakfast."

"Going to throw a soiree for Lucius' new friends?" Bellatrix smirked. Then yelped. If Harry hadn't been watching he wouldn't have seen Narcissa twitch just enough to suggest she'd kicked her sister under the table.

Narcissa shrugged. Elegantly, of course. "Might as well. Honestly. This place has gone to the dogs since Lucius left."

Wilkes sighed. "Come on, 'Ciss. He graduated two – no, sorry, nearly three – years ago now. And you're marrying him just as soon as you graduate. When's that – two months? I'm sure you can survive that long."

Narcissa Black sniffed and tucked a long strand of pale blonde hair back behind her ear. A sliver bracelet with an L twinkling off it coiled around her wrist. "And what about you lot? You're just pulling each other apart. It's disgusting. Talk about divide and conquer."

"So why's Rosier trying to coax back our Resident Disgusting back into the dormitory?" LeStrange sniped.

"Maybe he wants someone with more than half a brain to talk to," said Severus.

"Hey," said Wilkes.

Severus gave a sort of apologetic shrug. "Well, barring perhaps Wilkes. And Nott."

"_Thank_ you." Harry tried not to stare at Nott, who was reading the Daily Prophet and, other than these two words, hadn't participated in any of the conversation so far. Except for the glasses, he looked a lot like a more thoughtful version of his son Theodore.

"Ahem." A beefy seventh year reading the paper over Nott's shoulder coughed meaningfully.

"Oh, and I guess Mulciber can be kind of interesting when he stops yammering on about Quidditch and starts talking about curses."

"Well, thank you Snape. I guess."

Mulciber… Mulciber… Harry remembered at last: Mulciber was adept at using Imperius. Karkaroff had tried to plea-bargain by naming him as a Death Eater, only to be told that Mulciber had already been captured. Out of the corner of his eye Harry noticed Mulciber put down his fork and point out something to Nott, then rub at his left forearm as if something was tickling it.

Harry went cold. These weren't just future Death Eaters – some of them were Death Eaters already.

"You're welcome. But the point is that Narcissa, Nott, Mulciber and Travers are going to be out of this hole in less than two months. Next year Rosier's going to need more than one person who's not a complete pill. That'd be you, Wilkes."

"I was hoping I wasn't a complete pill. Nice to have it confirmed, thank you, Severus."

"Any time. Anyway, my point is that Rosier is playing politics."

There was a snort from Mulciber.

"Something you needed to add, Mulciber?"

The other boy stopped rubbing at his forearm. "No, just that politics is a great deal more interesting in the real world."

"Huh. No, it's dull everywhere."

"You have no interest in politics, Snape," Nott said, rustling his paper as he put it down. The front page photo of a woman holding a kneazle which was raising a litter of crups crumpled. The kneazle spat at LeStrange. Nott was wearing a pair of narrow rectangular glasses. Thanks in part to the glasses, he looked a little like John Lennon, but Harry doubted either of them would appreciate the comparison. "Who knows? Politics may one day have an interest in _you_."

Severus' lip curled. "I certainly hope not."

"Lucius was asking after you," Narcissa said unexpectedly.

Severus arched an eyebrow in astonishment. LeStrange frowned as if he'd just heard bad news. "Tell him I'm fine now that I'm out of the dorm and not having people experiment on me."

Narcissa leaned on her elbows and eyed him from her end of the table. The little silver L swung from her slender wrist and Harry noticed three emeralds embedded in it. "You shouldn't be away from us so much. Lucius worries about you, you know that. He thinks you've got ever so much potential."

Severus reddened. "I'm fine."

Bellatrix leaned over the table. If Harry hadn't already hated her he would have just from meeting her this morning. "Only if 'fine' means taking too much interest in those revolting creatures who think they run the world. So what if Rodolphus practises the occasional hex on you? Hey, if you like Muggles so much there's no reason why we shouldn't treat you like one," Bellatrix grinned. She jumped as if Narcissa had kicked her under the table again.

Severus' lip curled again. "As your dearly beloved and hopefully soon-to-be-dearly-departed hates them so much they must have something going for them. After all, he isn't known for his good taste in choosing…" his gaze raked Bellatrix as his voice dropped into the slow, languid drawl Harry usually only heard when Snape was extremely angry and about to start shouting "… things."

Bellatrix went white and flushed red in the next second. She clutched her butterknife as if she wanted it to be a wand.

Rosier rubbed the bridge of his nose. Harry had seen Snape do that when he was particularly exasperated, but hadn't seen Severus do that yet. "Cut it out, you two. I'd like to have one meal at this table without having it disintegrate into all-out war."

"Hey, he started it…" LeStrange huffed.

"No, Bella started it. And you two clowns kept it going. I don't want to be picking porridge out of my robes during Potions today – not again. And I want to have a nice, civilised breakfast. For once. Please. Give me a nice, civilised breakfast. It can be my Happy Memory for my Patronus. I can scare off Dementors with a ham-and-cheese croissant."

Even Severus smiled at that one and passed Rosier the tray of hot croissants. A temporary truce settled on the table. It mightn't have lasted longer than three minutes, when Bellatrix smiled in a nasty way at Severus and opened her mouth, but she jumped again.

Narcissa, sipping pumpkin juice with a deceptively far-away look on her face, must have kicked her under the table.

Harry found himself warming slightly to Narcissa. Would she become a Death Eater?

He kind of liked Rosier, too, even though there was something hungry about him, but it was odd to see this person and know he'd be killed while being arrested for being a Death Eater. He found himself staring at the other boy until Rosier looked up and raised an eyebrow in silent question.

"Uh… could you pass the croissants, please?" said Harry.

He took one and bit into it. It was too rich – the cheese was camembert, which he didn't like, and only someone actively seeking out a heart attack would add extra butter to a croissant. But it was better than looking at these people and having lists come up in his head. _Dead. Dead. Murderer and dead. Azkaban. Living Death Eater. Tortured people into insanity. Living Death Eater. Azkaban. Azkaban. Murderer. Married to Voldemort's right-hand man. Alive and a Death Eater. Missing. Dead._

He glanced at Severus.__

Death Eater.

Murderer?

Torturer?

Spy.

Dead.

ooOOoo

The Slytherins didn't ask him many questions. Narcissa politely asked him about his school (and Harry had to pretend to be flustered to avoid being caught out in a lie). Bellatrix ignored him which was a relief as he found it hard looking at her without thinking of Neville's mum, sitting nearby at another table, who would be tortured into insanity by Bellatrix and Rodolphus – and another LeStrange whose name Harry couldn't remember. Rosier was polite, as was Wilkes, but it was the sort of politeness like Narcissa's, a politeness born from a need to manipulate rather than a desire to put him at his ease. Other than that he was pretty much left to finish breakfast without being annoyed. The Slytherins warmed to him slightly when the Marauders walked past the table and James and Sirius gave him particularly poisonous looks.

Rosier eyed them back coolly, nodding in a chilly fashion at Remus. "I heard about how you hexed them in the library yesterday," he remarked.

Harry sighed. "I didn't hex anyone. That kid with the messy hair – what's his name? Pepper? Pooper? Potty?" (Severus smirked) "He tried to hex Severus. Severus had his hands full so I threw up a shielding charm. The hex bounced. He started imitating a sheep. We were blamed. The headmaster sorted things out."

Rosier nodded thoughtfully, stroking his upper lip with one long finger. "Shielding charm, eh? Well done, old man. And I bet they didn't get any detention."

"Oh, I wondered who lost Gryffindor twenty points." Narcissa wiped her fingers on a napkin.

Severus sneered. "Huh. Last time I got caught hexing Potter I lost fifty points."

"We know," chorused the table.

Wilkes grinned at him. "Don't fret it. It's not your fault our Head of House is a senile old fart."

Rosier smiled. "One of these days we'll have a real Head of House. Mark my words, changes are coming into our world. Things will be better. People like us won't be penalised for having standards, what?"

"Oh? And what do you know that I don't?" Severus asked.

"Spend more time in the dorm and you might find out," Wilkes replied shortly. "Come on. Don't want to be late."

Narcissa smiled. "I've got History of Magic first thing. Free period, effectively."

"Going to do your nails?" Bellatrix asked, this time sounding friendlier to her older sister.

Narcissa examined them. "Why not? I'm meeting Lucius in Hogsmeade this weekend. He's managed to get a pass from the governors to visit here when he likes – he'll be on the board one day sooner than later, I expect." She slipped around behind them and patted Severus on the shoulder. He looked puzzled. "Write to him if you're that upset, Sev," she whispered. "He asked me to tell you that offer still stands." And she was gone, leaving Severus frowning and the faint, lingering perfume of freesias.

Harry wanted to ask what the offer was, but didn't dare.

ooOOoo

Unlike Narcissa, Severus had a class requiring concentration first thing. Harry considered going up to the library and doing some research there, then decided that maybe he'd be able to work just as well in a classroom. He was still trying to decide when Severus told him what the class was: Potions.

This was one Potions lesson Harry wouldn't miss for the world.

ooOOoo


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: Taoism: Not mine. Zen: Can anything ever really belong to anyone? Firenze: Mars bright in the seventh house tells you a lawsuit is on the ascendancy if you claim they are yours. Yoda: Mine they are not. Elsa on Caffeine: zubzubzubzubnotminezubzubJKRandWarner'szubzubzub. Severus Snape: Write something original and stop tormenting me, you insane, chocolate-crazed Muggle bint.

ooOOoo

Chapter 23: Fun and Games in Potions

The dungeons hadn't changed much. In fact the only change Snape would make would be to make them slightly more cheerful. Harry wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. He wished he had a camera. They went down the stairs accompanied by Rosier and Avery; Harry kept a careful eye on Avery – he didn't trust the pudgy boy, and not only because he reminded him of Dudley. Despite himself he was finding it hard to dislike Rosier. He kept reminding himself that Rosier would one day be the enemy – and there was the possibility that he already was. Did he have the Dark Mark yet? But the uniform was just the same now as in the future, and there was no hope of seeing anyone's forearms. Harry was grateful yet again for the disguise Snape had put on him – he didn't need any trouble because he looked like that complete anti-Slytherin git James Potter.

He was doubly grateful to the strength of the charm when he felt something push into him from behind.

"Oops," said Avery. "My mistake."

"What the hell did you just do?" Harry snapped, aware that the edges of his face were tingling.

"Thought you might have been some Gryff sent in to spy on us," Avery said, smiling. He twirled his wand. "Well, there don't seem to be any charms disguising you."

The next second he was slammed back against the moist stones of the wall. Snape's arm was across his throat.

"Le… le… let me… go…" Avery gasped.

"You stupid piece of slime. Did you think that was funny?" Severus shoved harder. "Well? Did you?"

"Ack!"

"Snape!" "Severus!" Rosier and Harry hissed. They each grabbed a shoulder and pulled Severus off Avery.

"Leave him, Snape. Not here, anyway. Boggle'll be down here in a minute."

Snape growled but pulled back. He fished in a picket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Oh, bugger it," he snapped as he saw the new line of green writing down the bottom of Dumbledore's permission slip. "Avery, you complete and utter wanker. You've just lost us ten points for impeding research."

Rosier joined him in glaring at Avery, who wilted and scurried into the Potions classroom.

Rosier sighed. "Idiot," he muttered to the air in general, and stalked after Avery.

Severus checked the charm on Harry. "It's fine," he whispered.

Harry grinned. "It took Dumbledore two tries to break it. Nice."

Severus smirked back. "Excellent. Come on. Your new friends will be in soon. Then again, maybe we should wait out here and see if they want to impede our research again."

But Harry didn't want another confrontation with his father. "That guy who looks like me and his mates? No, thank you – I'm already creeped out after meeting some of your Housemates. Didn't think much of that LeStrange chap and his girlfriend. The blonde girl seemed nice, though. Who's this Lucius she was talking about? Seemed like a friend of yours."

Severus looked fleetingly worried. "Lucius Malfoy. And he's not really a friend of mine. I don't have friends – it's a knack, I guess. I don't know why he's suddenly taken an interest in me. He never noticed me much when he was at school here – he's four years older. But he likes to keep an eye on things at his old school. He offered to put me up during the holidays. I considered it at Christmas, but my parents let me stay here instead. Thank God."

"I thought you hated it here."

"I do. But it's better than home."

"Really."

"Mm. Home is really boring." He didn't meet Harry's eyes, and pushed past him into the classroom.

ooOOoo

There was the spare stool where it usually stood – at the back of the classroom next to the cupboard storing non-flammable ingredients. Harry dragged it over to the table where Severus was sitting. In this time the Slytherins were all sitting over on the left, just like in Harry's time. He wondered who the other desks were for. He didn't have long to wonder.

The laughter outside along with Snape's scowl gave the Marauders away before they even opened the door. They went silent and glared at Harry as they came in. "Hey, Squit. Snivellus." Sirius Black swept past them.

Rosier yawned, covering his mouth with a languid, long-fingered hand. "That's ten points from Gryffindor for rudeness," he said.

Sirius snorted. "Moony, set him straight."

"Unfortunately he's allowed to do that," Remus said, sighing. He didn't look at Harry or Severus. Harry heard him whisper tiredly, "Remember what Dumbledore said."

Sirius growled like a dog. Harry guessed three of the four were Animagi by now.

"Are you sure you want to be in this class?" Severus whispered. "I mean, do you even _like _Potions?"

"I don't know," Harry said, unable to help adding, "Our Potions master isn't very pleasant and he's got it in for me. Believe it or not, he hated my dad at school and now thinks he can take it out on me."

"What a git."

Harry bit his tongue for half a second. "He has his moments. I think if we had a better teacher it could be a really good subject."

Severus nodded. "I rather like Potions. After DADA it's my favourite subject. But I only really enjoy it when we're allowed to do independent research. We're doing bog-standard stuff today – about as interesting as watching grass grow. I could just about do it in my sleep."

Rosier, whom Harry was liking more after his defence of him and Severus, leaned back from where he was sitting just in front of them. "Don't let him fool you, Lovegood," he said. "Snape _could_ do it in his sleep. Boggle will be in in a minute and I'd better warn you that he doesn't like Severus – even though Boggle's our titular Head of House. Snape's a threat to him because he knows Potions backwards and can explain it better than our so-called teacher with forty-odd years of experience."

"Stop being nice," Severus growled. "It's getting on my nerves."

"I'm not being nice to you, numbskull. I'm being nice to a guest from another school. Just to prove that _some of us_," he added, raising his voice fractionally so that Lupin, who was sitting across the aisle from him, could hear, "have the manners our parents raised us with."

Lupin ignored him. He was looking a little tense. Harry wondered how long it had been since the last full moon. James and Sirius (Peter wasn't in this class, it seemed) leaned back in their chairs. By their expressions they were about to say something and Harry was taking a morbid pleasure in wondering what it would be, when the door opened. It didn't slam back on its hinges like it would when Snape was Potions master, but it did get their attention.

An elderly man in faded green robes and with a mouth like a purse with the string drawn tight stamped down the aisle. He slammed his papers down on the lectern. If Harry had ever thought Snape had a miserable attitude towards teaching, he had a new standard with which to classify miserable attitudes against.

"Page sixty-three," the man barked. He sounded like a seal. He gave Harry one cold look-over with clouded eyes like those of a day-old dead fish and then pretended Harry wasn't there. "Get on with it."

Then he sat down with a large pile of essays, a quill and a bottle of red ink, and proceeded to ignore the students _en masse_.

Harry looked at Severus, who didn't seem to see anything amiss and was pulling out Potions ingredients from the student cupboard. "Want me to help?" Harry asked.

"Students are to work individually," droned the bent head of the Potions master, not bothering to look up.

Severus gave Harry a quick smile and a shrug. "I'm fine," he murmured. "Why not do some reading?"

"… In _silence_," Boggle growled.

ooOOoo

It was a boring lesson. Even by Potions standards. Harry amused himself dividing his time between taking notes from the book on myths and legends and watching Severus. The Slytherin seemed calmer when working over a cauldron, and sure of himself as he wasn't outside this room. He had his potion brewed and the correct colour while some of the other students were still dicing their beetle legs.

Or it was boring for the first two thirds. At that point, Sirius tried to fling a newt spleen in Severus' cauldron, but Severus flicked his wand and it bounced away.

Into Lupin's cauldron.

Which began to foam.

"Snape! You pillock! What did you do to my –?" Lupin spluttered as he peered dubiously into his cauldron.

"Lupin, you great thick idiot, get away from it!" Severus grabbed Remus by the back of his robes and yanked.

Remus went flying backwards and landed on the floor, leaning against Harry's legs, where Harry put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. Remus opened his mouth angrily, then paused.

His cauldron was beginning to rock on its little stubby legs. "What the…"

There was a noise like _fwooom!_ and rainbow sludge shot up towards the ceiling.

"Everybody get out!" Severus shouted, grabbing his wand and flicking it in a complicated pattern at the ceiling. Long viscous strands which had been dribbling back down towards the students' heads froze and hung like multicoloured stalactites. "That won't hold it long," Severus said quietly. But he paused to bottle a sample of his potion and dump it on Professor Boggle's desk. "Professor – that stuff's highly toxic. Black put a newt spleen into an unfinished potion."

Boggle glared at Severus for half a second before his expression froze and he went white. He leaped up and shoved past Severus, knocking him back against a desk.

Moving like lightning, Professor Boggle flew out of the classroom. "Everybody get out!" he shouted at the stunned students, his voice dopplering as he bounced off the doorframe and raced away along the corridor.

There was a mad scramble which left Harry, Severus and Rosier alone in the classroom. The door banged shut.

"I say, Snape – is that stuff really as bad as Boggle thought?"

"Yes," said Severus mildly, rubbing at his shoulder which had been hit by the corner of a desk with one hand while calmly putting out the fires under the cauldrons with his wand in the other. "Harry – get the other fires, will you?"

Harry hurried to help, aware that Severus was keeping a very, very careful eye on the hanging rainbow stalactites. Rosier shifted from foot to foot, clearly wanting to bolt with the others, but he stayed and extinguished the rest of the fires with Harry and Severus.

"There really needs to be a charm that can put all of these out at once," Severus sighed. "Now… _accio _lids." Lids for the cauldrons shot out of a cupboard. Severus ducked just in time and they clattered against the desk behind him. "These cauldrons need to be capped. If any of that stuff gets into them the contents will also turn nasty. Nastier – because it'll turn into an aerosol. And I don't know how well the ventilation is maintained around here. You never know if it'll get into the school system."

"That would be bad?" Harry asked.

Rosier, pale faced, nodded. "That would be extremely bad. Snape, how long is that spell going to hold?"

Severus, putting the last lid on the last cauldron, squinted up at the ceiling. "It's wearing off now. And no, I can't reapply the spell. It destabilises the binding power of the aqueous medium – meaning that it's going to boil and vaporise if I try it again. Let's get out of here."

They scurried for the door. But there was a small problem.

"It's locked," Harry said, yanking at the handle. He took out his wand. _"Alohomora."_

It was still locked.

One of the rainbow strands above them began to grow, oozing down towards the floor. The trio leaned up against the door to get further away from it.

Severus was breathing harder. His normally pale skin was off-white with fear.

"We're trapped."

"A fireball should blast that door right off –"

Severus grabbed Rosier's wand hand. "No! These doors are fire resistant. Throw a fireball at them and it'll bounce back. Want to know why I put out all the fires?"

"Oh. Flammable due to combination of sneezewort and peatpallum. Right. So what do we do, then?"

"Bubblehead charm?" Harry suggested.

"Can you cast one big enough for all of us?" Severus asked. "If any of the fumes touch your skin you can absorb the toxin that way."

The stalactites were growing longer. Harry had a flash-back to Fluffy, dribbling long streams of drool as he prepared to attack.

Harry shut his eyes and tried to remember the spell Trudi had taught him. He whipped his wand around in a circle, compensating for the extra two people.

_Pop._

The Potions classroom grew distorted. The bright stalactites dimmed a little, shading to green and purple and blue. It was like being inside a large, blue, upside-down fishbowl. A thick stream of the gloop slid down the side of the spell. It had landed right over Severus' head. Severus swallowed. "Good job," he croaked.

"Yes. Jolly well done," Rosier added shakily.

"Thanks," said Harry. "Now how long will it take before someone comes to let us out?"

ooOOoo

It didn't take more than a minute before the door creaked open and Remus Lupin poked his head through. He had a handkerchief over his mouth and his wand at the ready. Harry grabbed Severus and Rosier by the elbows and marched them towards the door. As they passed through, he let go of Rosier and poked the bubble with his wand. It popped. The three boys darted through the door before they could have anything drip on them, shoving Remus back into the corridor as they went. On the other side they yanked it shut. Severus leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. "Well, at least we managed to show you a typical Hogwarts class."

Harry grinned. "Yeah. And I thought it might be boring."

Rosier slapped him on the shoulder. "That was a bloody brilliant spell, what? One hundred points to whatever school you're from."

It wasn't very funny, but they'd all just survived something that could have killed them. Laughter came easily at that point.

"Are you three all right?" Lupin asked, a line of concern drawing his brows together. "What happened in there?"

"Well, newt spleen should never be added to a reducing solution. I don't know how or why Black had one, but it must have –"

"I beg your pardon, but I clearly remember you throwing that spleen into my cauldron," Remus said coldly. "Why you insist on shifting the blame is –"

"Sirius threw it into Severus' cauldron. Severus knocked it away." Harry shrugged. "Maybe you should check your vision."

"And if I'd known ahead of schedule that it was going to be a newt spleen he was throwing around like a quaffle I wouldn't have aimed it at your cauldron. Mouth, maybe," Severus sneered. "I suppose I should thank you for opening the door and letting us out, but as I'd just saved your life I don't think I'll bother."

Remus rubbed at his eyes tiredly, looking closer to the age Harry remembered him. "Severus…"

"Don't call me that. You're not my friend. And I expect it was one of _your_ friends who locked the door, thus trying to kill me."

"Snape, then. Thank you for making sure I got out of the way. And I'm sorry someone locked the door – I don't know who. It wouldn't have been Sirius or James, though. They were out just after me. They've gone up to find Dumbledore to sort out the mess."

Rosier checked the door. "I thought for a bit it was deliberate, too, but look, chaps." He nudged Severus aside and opened the door (ignoring their protests). He slammed it back and the lock bounced up and clicked down. "See? This lock snaps shut when you close the door hard enough. I guess it's got a special locking hex on it to be resistant to the unlocking charm."

"It needs to be fixed," Severus said, folding his arms and glaring at the lock like he was practising for the future Neville Longbottom. And it would be fixed, Harry knew. Otherwise, given Snape's dramatic entrances, every Potions lesson he'd ever taken would have ended with someone needing to call for Filch to come and open the door for them.

"Is Professor Boggle still inside?"

They jumped. Harry turned to see Dumbledore, trailed by James and Sirius.

"He's probably still running," Severus said dryly.

"Oh, I'm sure things aren't that bad."

"Newt spleen in an arristo potion that had been brewed for no more than ten minutes, thus reacting with the unchelated hydrophilic pyrognostic compounds which had just been released from the sneezewort by dissolution in the presence of peatpallum in a weakly alkaline solution with a pH of between eight and eight point seven. It became unstable and erupted, plastering the ceiling. The result was a sticky, viscous liquid which refracts white light and separates it out into the visible spectrum and probably a little way into ultra-violet, but I didn't have time to check. I froze it with a modified petrification charm which unfortunately can't be used again. Other cauldrons with the potion at similar stages of brewing were open over low, naked flames. The corrupted arristo potion was at a point where it could splatter and start a chain reaction in the other cauldrons, reaching a critical mass where the aquatic hydrogen-oxygen dipole would begin to exhibit magically-influenced characteristics and loosen the hydrogen bond keeping the aqueous medium liquid. This would catalyse the decay of other hydrogen bonds in the other cauldrons, thus precipitating a mass aerosol formation and spreading the ptarmicoid thaumotoxin through the air. I don't know how good the dungeon filtration system is, but I doubt it would have been adequate for something this large-scale."

There was a stunned silence. Five out of the six listeners had been lost at 'unchelated'.

Dumbledore nodded, the only one whose eyes weren't spinning with the overload of information. "Very grave indeed. Thank you for your quick action." He waved his wand at the door, which sealed itself. "And for raising an interesting question of safety within the Potions classroom. Well. I shall endeavour to uncover Professor Boggle. No doubt he has gone to find Mr Filch."

"With all due regard, sir, I don't think this is something Mr Filch should have to deal with. It requires rather strenuous use of magic to clean up a mess like that. Plus you need a solid personal shielding charm to make sure your body doesn't make contact with any of the ptarmicoid in its thaumotoxic form. And lots of scrubbing."

Dumbledore smiled slightly. "As you would know, I seem to recall from your third year. But in any case Hogwarts wasn't using that tower… I doubt we have another room to take over as a Potions classroom, however. Well. Sirius. That was your newt spleen, wasn't it?"

Sirius shifted uneasily and ran a hand through his shaggy black hair. "Yes, sir. But I didn't mean to –"

"Of course not. And I'm sure you are keen to make amends for your unfortunate mistake. I shall ask Argus to supply you with all the buckets you need. Don't use any more charms on the volatile solution – as Mr Snape explained, he used a variation on a petrification charm, which means that the intermolecular bonds are in a rather fragile state and may be completely broken if subjected to another dose of a holding magic. If you need any further help understanding the dangers of what you will be facing I suggest you ask Mr Snape for advice. Oh, and Severus? One hundred points to Slytherin for averting a disaster."

"Th – thank you, sir." Severus looked a little dazed.

Given the look of murderous rage on Sirius' face and the way his fists were clenching, Harry thought it might be wiser to stick close to Dumbledore until they were among a crowd of witnesses again. "Come on," he said, grabbing a still stunned Severus and dragging him along the corridor.

Rosier winked at Remus and strolled after them. At the top of the stairs out of the dungeon Rosier nodded in that friendly way of his, although Harry didn't like the expression of evaluation that made his handsome features more fox-like. "Nice work, Snape," he said. "You know, talent like that could get you far."

"Yeah," Severus muttered as he and Harry headed towards the library. "Far from here, with any luck."

Harry looked back to see Rosier disappear in the direction of the main doors. Rosier was likeable in his way, but Harry couldn't reconcile himself to Rosier's future. Death Eaters were not meant to be likeable. Best if he remembered that.

He followed Severus, who wasn't one of Nature's likeable people but should still never have been a Death Eater. He stopped in the door of the library. "Oh. Damn."

"What?"

"That book on myths. I left it in the Potions classroom."

Severus winced. "It'll be a ruin by now. Oh well. Wasn't your fault." He sighed. "Shall we tell Madam Pince now or later?"

"How about after I've gone?"

"How about I go with you?"

Harry grinned, then realised Severus was serious. "I…"

Severus shrugged. "Think about it. I know – there's the whole 'universal conservation of mass' issue – but there must be some way around that."

"I'll think about it," Harry said. Imaginary Hermione was silent on this one. She must have known that some lies were too big and too obvious for Harry to need her to explain them to him.

ooOOoo


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: still not mine.

ooOOoo

Chapter 24: Keeping Mum

Harry was drumming his fingers on a desk quietly, trying not to think about what Severus had said as it was distracting him from thinking about tunnels, when a movement next to him made him twitch.

"Sorry. Didn't mind to startle you," said a quiet voice. "Mind if I sit down?"

It was Remus Lupin. The impulse to tell him to go away flitted through Harry's brain. He shook his head and waved a hand at the seat opposite. Severus had gone to hunt down some more archaeology books.

Remus sat down gingerly, obviously unsure about his welcome.

"Did you want something?"

"I… just wanted to apologise for my friends. I know they haven't been particularly nice to you, but they're not usually like that with people."

"No. Just people they don't know. I've met quite a few people like that, but usually they've been supporters of Voldemort."

Lupin winced, as Harry had meant him to. Harry wasn't normally cruel and maybe it was from spending too much time with Severus, but – no. It wasn't because of Severus. It was because Lupin and his friends had hurt him personally – badly – and Harry wanted Remus to have a taste of just how devastated Harry had felt.

"Don't bother apologising for them. It's a hollow and patronising apology at best – and at worst it's pardoning their behaviour."

Remus dipped his head, conceding the point. "Well then… I understand you're here to do research. Is there anything I can help you with?"

About to tell him no, Harry paused. "And can I rely on you to keep my research secret?"

Remus considered for a few seconds. "Providing it doesn't endanger anyone I care for and won't be used against Hogwarts, then yes."

Harry smiled. "That's almost exactly what Severus said. I have your word?" Remus nodded. "All right, then. I need a spell to reveal secret passages."

Remus' eyebrows shot up as if Harry had stumbled on a private joke. Harry didn't doubt he had – so the Marauders' Map was underway, then. "I believe I can offer some assistance with that," Remus said, lips twitching slightly.

"I thought you might. Well? Do I need a charm, a potion, a hex, or what?"

"You need some very special paper."

ooOOoo

Half an hour later (and after having to reassure a nettled Severus, who hadn't taken kindly to having his chair taken by Remus), Harry had the basics of the Marauders' Map magic worked out. "It would take years to map out a castle this size," he said. "All I really need to know is how to get the tunnels sorted out – finding them, accessing them, things like that."

"Hmm. Well, tunnels are tricky blighters. Do you have a familiar with you to send down the tunnel? Something small, like a rat."

Harry hoped his eye wasn't developing a twitch. "No. A friend of mine had one once, but the rat turned rabid. Can we practise on the Hogwarts tunnels?"

"Well, I suppose," Remus allowed. "If Dumbledore lets us."

"We can go and ask him if you like. But can we do that later? I'd like to do a little more research on something else first." He was pretty sure he'd seen something on memory charms in the Restricted Section. And he was hopeful of finding something else on myths about Helga Hufflepuff. He wasn't counting on that book surviving the toxins in the dungeons, especially given the fact that Draco and the Mendeleev gloves hadn't managed to find it in the future.

"Can I help with that?" Remus asked.

Harry glanced at Severus, who'd barely spoken in the past half hour and was studiously ignoring Remus' continued existence in the universe. "Uh – no. I think we've got it covered."

"All right. Well, I'll just show you the tunnel location charms…"

"I'll just go and locate some more books," Severus growled.

"Nice fellow," Remus remarked softly, watching Severus' retreating back.

"Well, at least he hasn't tried to kill anyone lately. I don't know about you, but your friend Sirius didn't seem braindead. I'm not doing the same classes as you, but even I know that you don't just throw bits of newt around – especially when you're using peatpallum. And I'm still curious about that door locking so unexpectedly like that. I haven't told Severus my suspicions, of course. I think if he was given any more excuse he'd simply and quietly make your friend disappear. Can't say as I blame him, actually."

Lupin eyed him carefully. "And did you say you knew many Death Eaters?"

"I've met Voldemort a couple of times. He's the one who gave me this scar when he killed my parents." Harry tapped his forehead. "He doesn't like me much. That's why I'm doing research here – and why if you open your mouth about what we've been discussing I'll have Professor Dumbledore Obliviate you."

"Oh. I'm… sorry about your parents."

"Thanks. But the funny thing is that coming here has kind of helped me get over their deaths."

In retrospect it was bad timing that he said it right as a girl put her books down on the desk. "Hi there," she said brightly as Harry looked up. Her smile was lovely. Harry had seen an older version of it in some of the photos Hagrid had given him. "You must be the student who's come to do research. How's it going? Are you…?" She trailed off.

Harry stopped staring at her smile as it faded, and took another, longer look at her. Red hair, green eyes – he recognised her instantly. As she gave him a puzzled look, he realised he was staring.

Horrified that she would say something and prove to be just as awful as his father, Harry clutched his stomach and prayed not to throw up.

"Um…?" she began. "Are you feeling all right?"

Breathing heavily, feeling like he'd just woken from one nightmare and gone straight into another, Harry stood and pushed past her.

He didn't remember going and finding Severus and dragging him out of the library. The next thing he knew, they were outside walking by the lake. For some reason they were heading along around the side of the castle towards the low, rolling hills behind Hogwarts. Harry stopped, confused, as he realised there was no paddock and no Simon. It hit him like an avalanche: this wasn't his Hogwarts. There was no Simon. No Ron and Hermione. No Luna, no Draco, and certainly nobody who knew who he was and understood what he had to do. Only lies of one magnitude or another.

"What's wrong? You look like someone hexed you. Was it Lupin? Do you want me to go and curse him into protoplasm?"

Severus was there, sitting down on a low, flat rock left behind by a glacier, nervously plucking a strand of grass out of its sheath and chewing on the pale green stem.

Harry sat down next to him and put his head in his hands. "I'm a very long way from home."

"Oh." There was a pause then a tentative hand on his shoulder. Severus seemed as new to this whole having-a-friend business as Harry was to the concept of Severus having a friend. The hand dropped. Harry missed it immediately – he missed Ron and Hermione so much it felt physical. "Um… I was thinking about some location spells. Would you like me to teach them to you? Maybe if you feel like you're doing something constructive you'll feel better."

Harry looked up and forced a smile. "Yeah. That'd take my mind of things." He sighed; "Would it sound crazy if I told you I missed a horse?"

Black eyebrows shot up almost to the greasy hairline. "You have a horse? Wow – you're so lucky!" A light went on in Severus' eyes. "My sister's been wanting one ever since she started walking. She thinks they're better than any wizarding animal in the world. It's a shame you won't meet her. She'd like you."

It was the most Severus had said about his family.

"What's she like?"

Severus gave him a fossilised look. "Why? Are you looking for a girlfriend? Because she's already dating someone."

Harry grinned. "No. I've got one. Sort of. Well, if I can ever get the nerve up to ask her to go out with me. The last girl I had a crush on turned out to be awful. It was as if she was dating me because I had a cool scar on my head or something."

"Ouch. That must have hurt."

"It did a bit. But I'm used to it. This other girl, you know, she doesn't see me as Mr Famous Scar Person. And she's a bit weird but it kind of gives her really amazing ideas, and she's got long blonde hair and gorgeous legs."

"Robes aren't exactly give-aways to what someone's legs look like."

"No, but she was giving me horse riding lessons, and she was wearing really tight trousers and – wow. She looked _hot_ in them."

"What's her name?"

"Luna."

"Nice name." Severus looked more puzzled than pleased by it, though. "And what's the name of your horse?"

"Well, he's not just mine. He's his own horse, really. And it's Luna who knows all about horses – she named him, too. Simon."

"The horse is called _Simon?"_

"Uh-huh. I know it sounds boring, but –"

Severus waved a hand. "No, no! It's a good name. Possibly brilliant. What does Simon look like?"

"Oh, well, I don't know what he looks like compared to other horses, but he's quite tall – his back's eye-level – and pretty fast. Handy on stairs, too, which you wouldn't expect from something with long legs like those. He's an absolutely brilliant horse – but he's got a bit of a temper. He doesn't like people arguing around him and gets involved if you forget that rule. I was out in the Forest with another boy and we were attacked by an acromantula. That was how we found Simon – he must have wandered into the Forest during the battle when the Death Eaters tried to invade the castle, right before they put up the barrier. I guess he had been following us, and when he saw the spider he ran out and trampled it into the ground and carried Draco, who'd been bitten, back to Hogwarts. Another time when a monster – a vrikolaki – came into the barn he was being kept in, he stayed when he could have run away, and killed it and saved the life of Draco again, so that was pretty brave. But he can be a little bit too overzealous. One time Remus – Remus from my world – did something the horse didn't like and Simon attacked him… and then tried to keep me away from Remus for some reason. He's pretty protective, actually," Harry mused. "Not just of me. If there are other students around he'll try and keep himself between anything dangerous and us. Hmm. What else? Luna says that he's a thoroughbred. A Muggle racehorse, although he seems better at something called… what was it? 'Dress old'? 'Dress arm'?"

"Dressage?"

"Yes. He's – wait, you must know quite a bit about horses to know that." Harry eyed Severus, who had his carefully controlled expression on again. Had Draco learned it from him? Maybe it was something that got taught on those long, winter evenings in Slytherin House.

Severus nodded, still keeping his face politely blank. "As I said, my sister has a great interest and has been wanting a horse for ages. But I'm curious about something else – was it Voldemort himself who put the barrier up? You've mentioned him a couple of times, but I notice not around anyone from my House."

"Yes, we're pretty sure it was him. And I'm a little careful about who I talk about him with, yes." Harry decided to skirt around the truth a little. "I mentioned a Remus Lupin from my world… He, like you, um, other you, has been fighting against Voldemort for several years now."

"But in your world I'm dead. You're not going to tell me that your Severus and Lupin were bosom buddies? I think I should be ill if you did."

Harry laughed. "No! You hated each other. But you were able to work together against a common enemy, which is what counted."

"And you're sure your Severus is dead?"

"Yes. Well, no-one ever found a body, but – yes. I'm sorry."

"Hmm." When he noticed Harry eyeing him, Severus shrugged and added, "Well, if there's not a Severus Snape in your world I don't see what would be so wrong with me showing up there."

"It's complicated."

"It always is." But he didn't seem upset. And when Harry looked back after checking to see if anyone was coming up to bother them, there was a small smirk on his face which vanished as soon as Harry saw it.

Strange Snape person.

"So do you like horses too?" Harry asked in an effort to change the topic back from something that could turn nasty. "Most people think they're too dangerous to be useful, and not magical so not interesting."

Severus snorted, apparently distracted from thoughts of returning with Harry. "Huh. Most people are stupid. And horses are, too, magic. Well, sort of."

"A… person I know –" he'd almost said 'friend', but Draco was still too much of an unknown factor to qualify as a friend "– said something about edge magic."

"He's not that stupid either, then. Horses are on the edge of magic. Did he tell you that many domestic animals are? Even chickens? I thought you said there was a barrier around your Hogwarts that put the castle slightly out of temporal synchronisation with the rest of the world? Well, why don't you ride your horse through it?"

"Can I do that?"

"I think you could if you put some special charms on it. Although making them stick is a tricky thing. I'll think about it. Well. Shall I show you those spells?"

"Please."

ooOOoo

They went up to Squirrel Hill and found the small flat area where one day Dumbledore would erect a small barn for a lost horse. It was great to be outside again, thought Harry, feeling the evening sun warm on the back of his neck and the wind run light fingers through his hair. How long was it since he'd played Quidditch, anyway? He was looking forward to it when he finally got back to Hogwarts and… and did whatever needed to be done. He would think of that when he had to. In the meantime, business was the best comfort.

The spells were a little tricky but Severus was a surprisingly good teacher when he chose to be. Not the most patient, but when Harry laughed at some of his worse mistakes (like when he found the bit of wood Severus had put a spell on to mimic a lost portal statue by setting it on fire), Severus didn't start shouting as he would do in twenty years time and instead slowed the lesson down until Harry got the point. By then the sun had gone down and Harry had found all the objects Severus had secreted away around the hillside.

"Well?" Severus panted. He'd just been holding a standing deflection charm for Harry to try and find a wriggling pin behind.

Harry grinned proudly, holding up the pin which he'd _accio_'d out from behind the charm. "Yours, I believe?"

"Thank you." Severus whacked the pin with his wand until it stopped wriggling, then fastened it back into his robes. "Bit chilly out here. Shall we go and try to find something inside? Like food?"

"Sounds like a plan."

"Sounds like a plan that won't happen tonight," said a third, tightly-clipped voice. "Where the hell do you two think you get off, insulting Lily Evans like that?"

Harry groaned. "No-one insulted anyone. Although I think that's about to change. Honestly – can't you lot push off and bug someone else for a change?"

James, Sirius and Peter were standing just down the hill. Remus was either hiding or somewhere else. "Not when you two make such tempting targets," Sirius said, grinning to show all his teeth.

"How was detention?" Severus asked sweetly.

Sirius frowned and shifted his feet for better balance.

Harry, recognising the signs (and recognising that Severus was tired from holding the static charm), didn't wait for the first spell.

_"Expelliarmus,"_ he said matter-of-factly. Three times. "_Accio wands."_ The trio's wands flew into his hand. "Now go away," he said.

Peter was pale, James reddening, and Sirius' frown turned astonished then disbelieving then ferocious in rapid succession as Harry turned away.

"Come on," he said to Severus. "I've had enough of –"

The spell crashed into him from behind. Something crinkled across his face like burning cellophane as Harry pitched forward. He heard Severus snarl out a spell and the whizz-crack-yelp as it found its target. Harry looked up, carefully keeping his face covered with a fold of his robes.

James had managed to borrow a second wand from someone. He was pointing it at Severus who had his wand pointed at James. Both boys were breathing heavily and watching each other like cats.

"Hey – what happened to his hair?" Peter said, shaking his hands which were smoking faintly. He must have been the one Severus hexed. "It looks like yours, James."

James blinked.

Severus twitched his wand and a blue light flickered over James' face like marsh fire. James screamed. And Sirius leaped on Severus.

Harry, still keeping his face covered as best he could, hit Wormtail with a petrification hex that toppled the short round boy over onto his back. James was still howling, batting at the cold flames licking at his face, and Severus was rolling on the ground with Sirius, both of them growling and snarling and (in Severus' case) biting like a pair of animals as they tried to inflict maximum damage with minimum leverage.

Finally Sirius, who was bigger and heavier, managed to pull back his arm. He might have punched Severus into the future had Harry not risked a spell. It worked: Sirius was lifted off the other boy like he had a rocket under his robes and flung twenty feet into a young oak tree.

"You all right?" Harry asked as he pulled Severus up with his wand hand – the other hand was still keeping his face covered.

Severus' eyes shot malicious sparks as he saw James rolling in the heather to try and put out the flames, which were now spreading over his robes, and Sirius hanging upside-down from the tree, cursing fluently. He crossed his arms over his chest and smiled. "Harry," he purred. "You gave me a Catherine wheel and a piñata – and it's not even my birthday. You shouldn't ha–"

"Drop your wands," quavered Pettigrew from behind them. He'd picked up the wand James had dropped.

Harry and Severus turned.

Severus gave him the almost exact version of the coldest glare he'd reserve for Harry in the future. To his morbid pleasure, Harry found he could appreciate it when it was being used against someone he hated.

Wormtail swallowed audibly. The tip of his wand wobbled in figure-eights. "I _said_…"

"Run away," Harry told him from behind his concealing fold of robe. "Run away now, little rat, or I will cut out your heart with a spoon."

Wormtail went white. For a moment he stood there, trembling like a jelly, then he turned and bolted down the hill.

"Nice line," Severus said. "I may use it some time."

"Thanks," said Harry. "Now let's –"

They worked out later from the scorch-mark on the shoulder of Severus' robes that the spell had come from the young oak. They didn't work out how Sirius had had a second wand hidden away – or why he'd chosen to pounce on Severus instead of use it before: all they knew was the terrifying way the world suddenly burst into thunder around them.

"Harry –"

Harry reached out and found he had to concentrate hard to make his arm and hand move as they were meant to. For some reason his body was moving as if it was being controlled only sporadically by his mind. And the world was dissolving around it. He needed something concrete to hang onto – something he could rely on. "Hold on to my hand!"

Severus reached out and clasped his hand.

Now the swaying universe had an anchor. Harry's knuckles tightened on his wand. He didn't know what way was up. He didn't know if it was suddenly day again or the darkest, most primordial night. He didn't know his name and he knew that should bother him. And still the thunder rolled on, blocking out all other sound and thought. But what he knew for fact was that Severus was on his left and his wand was in his right hand. And he was a wizard in search of something in the storm. His wand was trembling; everything was trembling; he shouted the first spell that came to mind.

The thunder snapped inwards, crushing them with sound and buffeting them into darkness.

When it stopped, so did the rest of the world.

ooOOoo


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: Messrs. Potter, Snape and other assorted Hogwarts denizens are the property of JK Rowling and the suits at Warner.

ooOOoo

Chapter 25: Herbert the (Possibly) Flying Squirrel

Darkness. Darkness all around. Harry's head spun and he swallowed, hoping he wouldn't be sick as he tried to remember where he was and – more importantly – who he was meant to be. The air was slightly damp and very cold and there was the sense of great weight pressing in from all sides.

"Harry?"

"Ron?" But the voice was wrong. Slightly husky. "Severus. Are you all right?"

"For now. Harry – what did you _do?"_

Harry froze mid-reach. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I'm sure it was that complete and utter insult to bipeds Black who hexed us with an occlusion spell, but it shouldn't have resulted in us being buried alive."

Oh, so _that_ was what was odd. They were underground. "That was an occlusion spell? I've never come across one before."

"Well, you countered it magnificently. Or at least I presume so, as we're moving at normal speed and our limbs are all bending in the right places. At least, mine are. I can't vouch for yours. I didn't make out what you said when you defended us. If anything, it was a completely new spell. Do you do that often?"

"What, make up new spells?"

"Yes."

They were speaking in whispers.

"Not intentionally. Only when I'm particularly upset. I guess I was a little upset when that spell hit me."

"A little upset? My goodness. You think?"

Sarcasm back up at 100%. Snape was feeling better. "Look, I only remember having the universe ripped apart around me. It was a lot like when I came to this – ah, dimension."

"Oh. _Oh._ Hey – maybe we're in your dimension!"

"I don't think so. It wasn't quite the same."

"Oh."

"Sorry."

"Never mind. So. If we're not in another dimension, where the hell are we?"

"Underground."

"You're a regular genius, you are. _Lumos._" The tip of Severus' wand began glowing, illuminating his sour expression.

The dark had its advantages, it would seem.

"You're the one who's got the interest in DADA. You tell me what happened."

Severus gave him a level stare. "All right. Occlusion hexes have a nasty habit of twisting spells around them. They're designed to promote mental disarray, but they've also been known to trigger previous spell-shadows in a wand. I think you tried to counter something you couldn't understand because it had befuddled you so badly, and threw some sort of synergetic conglomeration from every recent spell against it to counter it."

"So I… let me get this straight… I used the spells I'd been using today all together in a sort of spell-salad to block a simple spell that shouldn't have needed such overkill."

"That's what I said. You invented a new spell on the spot."

"Oh."

"I'd congratulate you except you look like you don't have the faintest idea what you just said to get us down here and it's going to be an absolute pig getting us out again."

"Well, thanks anyway."

"You're welcome." Severus grinned ironically. "Oh well. We were looking for tunnels. And now you found us one under Squirrel Hill. I'm guessing we're still in the general vicinity of Squirrel Hill, because I only felt a pinch of that ghastly lurch you get when you Disapparate. Congratulations. Oh, and just for future reference, that disguise charm I put on you has been broken. Damn."

"I know. Da-…-amn Potter, I think. I don't know what he hit me with, but I was keeping my face covered after I felt the spell lift."

"Good. Huh. Here… let me.."

With a wave of his wand, Severus reset the glamour.

"Well." Severus looked around dubiously, rubbing his knees with one hand while holding up his lit wand to peer into the shadows stretching out to either side of them. One path sloped down while the other headed up at a gentle angle. The floor was rough, but a hint of smoothness down the centre suggested that once upon a time, before small pieces of crumbling dirt had settled from the even more irregular roof, someone had used this tunnel regularly. A few scraggly tendrils dangled from the low ceiling. Severus bushed one out of his hair and scowled as if it had just given him a personal insult. "As we're down here and I don't expect those inbred microcephalic mouth-breathers to do anything that doesn't involve the phrase 'Do you think anyone saw us?' I guess we're on our own resources to get out of this mess."

"Sounds like normal, every-day life to me. Which way?" Harry asked. "Shall we flip a coin?"

"Actually, why not try a location spell? You never know – there could be the occasional golden sickle hanging around."

"So long as there isn't another one of those bloody basilisks. I've had enough of those."

"Fair enough." Severus stood up and brushed the dirt off his robes, which were looking even more worn after their fight with Sirius. Harry pointed out the scorch-mark on the right shoulder. Severus brushed at it angrily. "I guess that was where the spell hit. Black, you think? He was on that side, anyway. How the hell did he get a second wand? Honestly, those Gryffs think they can break every bloody rule…"

"Hang on." There was blood on Severus' face and Harry wanted to stop Severus before he got into full anti-Gryffindor rant and turned into Snape. "I think he got you without the wand." Harry wiped at Severus' forehead with a corner of his sleeve. The blood came off without revealing any injuries underneath. "Oh. No. You got him."

"Hooray for me. Now." Severus straightened until his head almost brushed the roof of the tunnel. He balanced his wand on his right index finger. " Let's try… _Reperio falx._"*

The wand trembled.

Severus changed to his left hand and said the spell again. This time the wand spun to point along the tunnel sloping down. Snape smiled.

"Basement. Ladies' robes, children's toys, horrible monsters with tentacles to rip off your face… Mind your step, please."

"Want me to go first?" Harry asked.

"I don't care either way – something can as easily sneak up behind you and bite the back of your neck out as leap out on you from a secret side tunnel in front and eviscerate you."

"I love your optimism."

"Patent pending." But he edged back a little to allow Harry to go first.

ooOOoo

They walked for what seemed like an hour but was probably only ten minutes when Severus spoke, breaking the silence with a whisper and making Harry jump: "If you start singing that bloody awful 'Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho' song I'll hex you now."

Harry got the giggles. "I'll never be able to get that out of my mind now. That was a cruel thing to do."

"It was, wasn't it? I think next time someone tries to annoy me I'll start whistling 'the Birdie Song'."

"What's that one – oh, no! Don't. Whatever it is it must be appalling."

ooOOoo

After over an hour of careful creeping along the tunnel, several verses of the 'Hi-Ho Song' where they had to make up new lyrics (Charms, Hell, Potions, DADA – Transfiguration and Detention as well as Fortescue's didn't scan) as neither of them could remember the Disney version and they eventually gave up on it as neither of them could whistle, several recastings of the location spell (which got ever more tantalising as it grew stronger – the last time Severus' wand had shot off his finger and a short distance down the tunnel), and a brief argument over the comparative value of Seekers compared to Keepers, the tunnel rose steeply.

"Are we there yet?"

Severus had said that every fifteen minutes on the dot. He was better than a clock. Harry gritted his teeth. "No. No. And no again."

The tunnel kept climbing.

"Are we –?"

"N– Ow!"

Harry's head hit something hard. The ceiling had suddenly grown much lower. Harry rubbed his head and glared up at it, then jumped when he realised the shadowy wall had a narrow opening in it. Wand ready to hex anything hiding around the corner, Harry peered around the corner. "Huh. Steps. And – hey – there's a trapdoor up there!" he added unnecessarily.

Severus was already squeezing his shoulders past Harry's to get a good look. "There. I told you you were a genius." Severus gave it a suspicious glare. Set into the side of the tunnel was an alcove. The narrow steps carved into it made a small but steep semicircle that led up to the trapdoor, the top step being level with the roof of the tunnel and a foot and a half below the edge of the door, which was in its own specially excavated chimney. Harry had banged his head on the rock lip of the chimney. "Should we be trusting trapdoors?" Severus asked, peering up at it, squinting to keep dust from falling into his eyes. We don't know if it's going to lead into certain death or Fortescue's." He scratched at the ceiling with a fingernail. It seemed to have been chiselled. By who or what was a question Harry would very much like the answer for, but one thing at a time. "We must be a fair way underground still – no plant material. You'd think we'd've seen some tree roots by now."

"True. Maybe there's a house up there. Huh." Harry squeezed past Severus and peered into the stretching darkness of the remaining tunnel. "Well, the tunnel keeps going a little way – maybe a long way. Back down. Do you want to keep on with that?"

Severus groaned. "I've had far too much of this tunnel. Let's see if there's anything better through the door."

"Okay," said Harry, ducking under Severus' arm to give the trapdoor an assessing stare. It looked heavy, but not so heavy he couldn't lift it providing there was nothing sitting on it. Like, for instance, a three-headed dog. "I'd like the chance to get back outside. We can always come back if we have to. And then trudge along this tunnel for the rest of eternity." Harry put a foot on the bottom step. "Well?"

Despite the threat of wandering along tunnels for eternity, Severus didn't seem entirely convinced about the exit. "Hmm – wait a minute." He checked his wand again. This time when he cast the sickle locating charm the wand leaped up and bounced off the wooden planks overhead, hitting Harry in the face as it came down."

"Ow again!"

"Sorry."

Harry poked at his cheek where it felt like the wand had dented it. "It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye."

"Depends how good your eyeball collection is, I suppose."

"Oh, that's just wrong," Harry said, laughing. He sobered. "You don't have an eyeball collection, do you?"

Severus gave him a look of exasperation. "Maybe I'll start one just to prove people right about me."

"I see you as more of a butterfly type."

"Butterflies?"

"Pretty creatures pinned down and poisoned. You could do an evil laugh. Mwa-ha-ha-haa. Something like that."

A sniff. "I could grow a moustache and twirl the ends while I'm at it. What?"

Harry, who had been grinning, decided not to mention the black cloak billowing out as Snape stalked dark corridors: he was pretty sure Severus would figure out that one without any help. "Just thinking of you with a moustache. It could work."

"In your universe, maybe. I bet it's hell when you're trying to eat corn on the cob." Severus shook his head. He flicked a greasy lock of hair out of his eyes as he peered up at the trapdoor. When he stretched up, standing on his toes, he could just touch the hinges, which were set into solid stone. "What sort of wards will be on it, do you think?"

"I don't know. You can tell a lot about a witch or wizard by the type of wards they use. Skuggin's Modifier? Lockable Ablelock? Portal of Doom?"

"Portal of Doom – the scariest thing about that is the name. I hope it's not a Triggerward, though – I don't want to end up bottled somewhere gathering dust for the next millennium."

"Understandable. Hmm." Harry drew his wand across the trapdoor as if he were sketching out the pattern for a game of noughts-and-crosses. "That's weird."

"What?"

"I don't feel anything."

"Nothing?"

"Absolutely nothing."

"Let me."

Harry stepped back as Severus climbed up the first two steps and tried a few charms to work out the nature of the lock. Eventually he lowered his wand and scowled up at the trapdoor as if it had personally offended him. Perhaps it had.

Harry took a deep breath. "Let me try something."

A little awkward in the close space, Severus moved off the steps, stepping back to allow Harry to climb up them to the trapdoor.

Harry pushed.

"Hey, you'll…" Severus broke off and frowned. "… Open the trapdoor because it wasn't locked in the first place. Oh. Well done. Any monsters?"

"Give them a minute." Harry pushed the trapdoor harder. The hinges groaned and threatened to seize, but when Harry climbed up onto the top step and put his shoulder to the boards they grudgingly gave way. Dust sifted down through the cracks, shimming in brief motes as they fell through the soft illumination of Severus' wand.

With a final creaking groan and a small shower of dirt, the door opened. Harry waited until the fine dust had finished falling before peering through.

"There's some light through here," he whispered. I can make things out. They look like trees. But there's something odd about them…"

"Have they tried to eat you yet?"

"They don't seem too hungry. Not at the moment."

"Give them time."

There was a scuffle and Harry squeezed sideways to let Severus have a look. "What do you think?"

"I think we're inside something very big."

Harry frowned. "Why?"

"See the constellations? They shouldn't have those angles between them. It's as if the sky is rippling."

"Oh. Oh… You're right." Harry hadn't paid over-much attention in Astronomy (or no more than it took to stop Sinistra taking points) but even he could see that the stars, which twinkled normally, were not within their normal degrees of each other.

"Those trees… they're not quite right."

"I know, but I don't know why."

"Hm." After carefully checking the immediate surroundings, Severus squeezed through the trapdoor and held it for Harry as Harry climbed up.

Severus let the door drop as quietly as the hinges would allow, then poked a dry forked stick into the ground next to it. He tied a handkerchief to the stick. "There. Just in case we need to find it in a hurry."

"Good idea. Now let's go and have a look."

"Let's _carefully_ go and have a look."

"That's what I said."

"You know, some days I could swear you were a Gryffindor."

Harry decided not to answer that. He was too interested in looking at their surroundings, anyway. When he walked sideways the stars should have followed him. Instead they danced and reformed in new patterns. "It's like being inside a kaleidoscope," he whispered.

Severus nodded. "It is, isn't it? I wonder what's turning the eyepiece. Or who. No – don't answer that. I want to see one of those trees. Come on."

Harry followed and watched as Severus poked and prodded at the nearest tree. It was an odd thing: the bark was leathery and relatively smooth by tree standards and covered trunks and limbs which flowed and bulged as if they had been extruded while liquid and set a short time afterwards. The many leaves littering the floor through which the hems of their robes shushed were as large as dinner plates, reminding Harry that he'd missed dinner. He heard a small growl and smiled.

"Were you just thinking these leaves were the size of dinner plates too?"

Severus, whose stomach was the one which had growled, ignored the question. "It seems to be some sort of fig. They aren't usually magical, although they crop up – excuse the unintentional pun – in literature and myth fairly regularly. Probably because they're so productive under such destitute conditions."

"Good for them," Harry said with feeling, thinking of the Dursleys. Severus gave him an odd look.

"I wonder what the fruit is like?" Severus mused, tapping his mouth with his wand.

"I wonder what the things that eat the fruit are like."

"I wonder what the things that eat the things that eat the fruit are like. Let's not expand on that. I'm not brave enough to face some of the things I can imagine."

"Fair enough. Shall we – hey… are you sure climbing them's a good idea? Severus?"

"No. But I'm curious."

"You're telling me." But Severus was already up to the second branch, climbing up the tree swifter than Harry would ever have considered possible for someone destined to turn into Snape, and luckily didn't hear Harry's remark.

After a minute or two of soft rustlings, occasional swear-words spoken just as softly, and a few falling leaves (but fortunately no falling Slytherins), Harry heard his name being called.

"Harry? Are you feeling all right?"

"Fine. Why? What's wrong?" Harry looked up, squinting through the twining darkness of the thick, sinuous, interlocking branches. He caught a glimpse of a pale face far above and then made out the form of the other boy, almost invisible in black robes and gloom, standing on a branch fifty feet up with all the confidence of Harry, who was standing on the ground. Like the trees, there was something fundamentally wrong about the way Severus was standing.

"Because one of us is upside-down, and it doesn't feel like me," came the reply, floating down with another leaf.

"What?" And then Harry saw it. And he saw what was wrong with the trees. "Severus, you're upside-down. I haven't moved. And the leaves on the branches up there are pointing the wrong way. The trees are growing upside-down."

"I'm coming back down."

Harry waited, gripping his wand at the sound of each rustle. But the only moving creatures in this world seemed to be himself and Severus, who leaped from branch to branch like he'd discovered a new and much more exciting version of Quidditch before shinnying down the trunk of a different tree to the one he'd climbed up.

He was grinning as he jumped down the last meter and landed softly beside Harry, arms outspread and feet together like an Olympic gymnast expecting only tens from the judges. "That," he panted, pulling a few leaves out of his hair, "was utterly brilliant." His eyes gleamed.

Harry shivered. There was something wrong with the trees twisting around gravity like this. And something about Severus had changed between climbing up and climbing down. But, like first seeing the trees, Harry couldn't quite put his finger on what that difference was. It probably had something to do with that back somersault Severus had done at one point mid-air. "How do you feel?"

"Feel? Great. It's like suddenly learning to breathe. Maybe these trees make special air or something – can't you feel it?" He sniffed at his fingers, which had some sticky sap on them. Harry was twice as disturbed when Severus licked them.

"Stop it. No – get your fingers out of your mouth. Do you have another handkerchief?" Harry wished he had one – it was something he always meant to have and never got around to. Severus, looking confused and dazzled, held one out. "Thank you. Now, I can't believe I'm saying this, but… spit."

Severus, cross-eyed as he tried to focus on Harry's hand, spat onto the handkerchief.

"Very good. Now hold out your hands. That's right." Harry did his best to wipe the sap off. "Feel better?"

Severus was looking a little dazed still. He looked around as if suddenly remembering where they were, then sat down as if his knees had lost all tension and put his head in his hands. Harry sat down next to him. "How do you feel?"

"A bit queasy. Don't touch the sap. It's magical – I mean, almost purely magical. The resin is normal except that somehow it's got raw magic stored in it like some sort of Muggle battery. It's… Wow. Beyond wow. Don't touch it."

"I'll try not to. Did it hit you fast or slow?"

"Slow. Then all at once. It might take some time to filter through your skin. I don't know. But it felt…" He leaned his head back against the trunk of the tree and groaned.

"That bad?"

Severus opened his eyes. They were like dark tunnels, or maybe it was just the angle Harry was looking at them. "No," he breathed. "Oh, no. And yes. It was glorious. Too much so. I never want to lose that, yet it's something I should never have. No-one should have anything that mindlessly great. Not while they want to stay alive, anyway. But…" The bleak hunger in his face etched shadows between his eyes and in the corners of his mouth.

Harry shivered. He felt like he'd just walked over someone's grave. He strongly suspected it was Severus Snape's. He had the sudden urge to talk to Ron and Hermione and felt something twist in his gut as he remembered they hadn't been born yet. "Should we leave?"

Severus snapped back to reality and turned to glare at Harry. "What? When we've come so far? No." He sat forward and wrapped his arms around his knees. "I had this moment up there – just as I was coming down the tree here, actually – and I could see everything in the glasshouse."

"It's a glasshouse?"

"Almost. Glass isn't quite right: it's a shield a little like the ceiling in the Great Hall – I heard Helga Hufflepuff made that, and I'm damned sure she made this. And maybe she had something to do with the trees – tree. It's all one tree. It's set itself into little treelets or whatever you want to call them all through this place. It's all one tree and it's all bound around a centre," he finished, pointing with his chin up and over his shoulder towards where the tangle seemed to solidify into shadows. Harry frowned at it, not liking it at all.

"That acts as a centre of gravity?"

"I think so. Things started getting a little hazy around that point." He scratched his chin. "I think for a moment there I thought I was a squirrel called Herbert – and if this ever becomes common knowledge I'll know who to blame. But luckily that wore off before I decided to find out if Herbert was a flying squirrel." He paused again, looking up and around at the trees which thrummed with stillness and a coiled magic which, now Severus had pointed it out, Harry could hear like the memory of surf inside a seashell. He curled his lip slightly as he pondered – it was the first time Harry had seen a pensive sneer. "It's so strange: this place is here, but only from the inside. If we went looking from the outside we'd never have found it. Lucky you thought of searching the tunnels for that room of Hufflepuff's – because I think this is the secret room of hers we were looking for. Remind me to thank Black when we get back." He smiled a crooked smile and his eyes gleamed with equally sardonic humour. "Congratulations, Harry – not only have you found the Secret Chamber of Salazar Slytherin, you found the Secret Glasshouse of Helga Hufflepuff."

ooOOoo

*More proof the author doesn't speak Latin.

ooOOoo


	26. Chapter 26

Disclaimer: Not even Herbert the squirrel or the occasional wandering badger are mine.

ooOOoo

Chapter 26: Centre of the Universe

That hungry, distracted, pre-Death Eater look of Snape's faded quickly, to Harry's relief. "So what do we do now?"

Severus shrugged. "I'd love a picnic, but we don't have any food –" he broke off as there were several dull thumps in rapid succession next to them.

Harry poked one of the little lumps which had dropped from the sky with his toe. When the lump didn't explode or turn his foot into anything nasty, he went to pick it up.

"Wait. Want to lose fingers?" Severus poked the odd object with a stick. Then jabbed the stick into it and, when there were no howls of pain, lifted it. After a few seconds turning it and checking it from all angles, he carefully sniffed it.

"Any idea?"

"It's a fig. Smells nice and ripe, too, if you like figs. Which I don't. Too squishy. Not so bad dried, though –" Severus gave a pre-emptive wince and looked up. But no dried figs came tumbling out of the suspicious canopy. "Apples are nice," he said hopefully in a slightly louder voice, and then shrugged and tossed the fig on a stick aside when no apples fell. "Oh well. No apples, it would seem, and this place doesn't have exactly the happy sort of atmosphere you'd expect for a picnic, anyway."

"No. There's a definite lack of jollity."

"True. Care for a fig?"

"After what you said about the sap I'm not touching the fruit." Harry looked up and around at the louring trees. A thick mist hung in coils between branches that twisted around and occasionally through each other like the trees had some sort of middle-ear disease. And beyond them were the stars, which rippled as if viewed through the skin of some great, translucent creature.

"Normally I'm not a big fan of jollity, but right now I'd give a few Sickles for some colour."

"Sickles…! I can't believe I forgot about the Golden Sickle. Severus – can you try that spell again?"

Severus nodded. "Should have thought of that before…"

The wand, predictably enough, snapped around on Severus' fingertip until its point quivered towards the deepest darkest tangle of shadows.

"Of course it would be _there_," Harry sighed. "Oh well, let's give it a look."

"I didn't sense anything predatory, if it helps."

"No, but you were also sensing you were Herbert the Squirrel."

"I knew I shouldn't have told you that. All right – optimism was never my natural mindset. How about if I say that, while I didn't sense anything predatory, I probably wasn't capable of sensing traps and neutral magics so we should expect an astonishing collection of those waiting to turn us into victim soup."

"That's better. I was starting to think that sap had damaged the sarcastic lobe of your brain."

They walked through the fallen leaves as quietly as possible, which wasn't very, considering the dryness and sheer volume of the leaves. In some places they gathered between roots like snowdrifts. The roots themselves – if they were roots, because sometimes branches swooped down from on high, slithered along the ground through the leaves, and zoomed off up again – the roots rolled over and dived beneath the soil like eels in a barrel of oil. The pair had to stop and recheck their bearings several times after negotiating curling paths around, between, and occasionally under the massive trees (which Severus insisted, when Harry asked again, was only one tree of unbelievably mammoth size) until at last they reached a point where the wand tried to stand on Severus' finger.

They looked up.

Above them was the knot and Byzantine centre of gravity of this world. Harry felt literally light-headed as he stared up: the pull of it was weak from this distance, but Harry decided not to try jumping in case he suddenly found himself falling forty feet up.

"How are you with heights?" Severus asked.

"Fine, but right now I don't have a broom."

"These trees – this tree – is the most climbable tree I've ever come across."

Harry smiled despite the brooding darkness hanging above. "You like climbing trees and Ribena. You know, I never would have suspected that."

"It's not a normal combination in a wizard," Severus agreed, sounding like he wasn't really concentrating. He was looking into the knot with a slight frown of concentration on his face. "There's something beautiful beyond logic about it," he said softly.

"Sorry?" To Harry it was just a big twist of shadows. How badly had that magical tree sap affected Severus, anyway?

Severus looked at him as if a little embarrassed. "Nothing."

ooOOoo

They climbed. Harry found himself warming to the task, which was easier if he didn't look down. Or up. Or in any direction other than right in front of him, really; directions were completely screwed up and put through the mincer the closer they got to the knot. One time Harry tried looking at the sky, but the stars wobbled so badly he nearly lost his balance and Severus had to grab his wrist and get his attention back on climbing. It was even worse when he looked at the knot. The sight of the twisted mass of branches and roots – thin hairs dangling in all directions as if seeking out independent means of sustenance in the mist – it touched something within him that was gut-deep and primordial. There were shadows creeping through the boughs and hiding beneath leaves that shifted and curved as he watched out of the corners of his eyes, yet did not move when he stared directly at them

Harry felt all the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. It was eerie. But at the same time the sense of raw magic hanging like storm-charge before it crackled into lightning made him grin with the joy found in the pure core of magic.

Severus, standing just above and canted a few degrees to the left, gave him another of his crooked, triangular smiles, but his eyes were a touch too bright. Harry wondered if he had that same look. "You can feel it, can't you?" Severus asked.

"Oh, yes. It's lovely." _And terrible._

"Make sure you don't touch anything sticky," he was warned. "What you feel now is nothing to how you'll feel if you touch the sap. And I don't want to explain to the headmaster how you took a swandive into the ground because the happy little pixies told you it would be a good idea."

"I never trusted happy little pixies. I've had enough trouble with do-gooding house elves."

Severus grunted agreement. "I never did trust do-gooders."

Harry suddenly found he was missing Dobby. Even that overwhelming enthusiasm seemed rosier with distance. Impatient with himself and determined not to give in to homesickness – not now that he was this close to success – Harry leaped to the next branch.

"Careful," Severus said, scowling, as he grabbed Harry's elbow.

"I'm fine."

"Yes, I can see that."

Harry firmed his jaw. "I'm fine."

Severus took the hint and resumed climbing.

ooOOoo

The light came from the thin mist trailing between the trees. It took on some odd shapes, and at one point Severus nearly fell out of the tree with shock after mistaking two brighter stars shining through a billow of mist as eyes. Harry wasn't entirely sure the mist wasn't partially alive after observing one of the (apparently motionless) wisps in a different shape each time he looked back at it.

After a few times when they needed to backtrack after (literally) going out on a limb, and carefully crawling over one giant, empty nest that could have been abandoned by a pterodactyl, they found themselves circling the knot.

This close, the shadows were giant runes. They weren't drawn into the bark – they were drawn by the shadows falling from twisting roots and knots in the growing bole. It was entirely possible they spelt out the same message they'd spelt out a thousand years ago. Harry squinted at them and tried turning his head to see if that would help.

"It's Ogham," Severus murmured.

"Can you read it?"

"Not really. Something about truth."

Harry tried walking around it. It was odd being at ninety degrees from and to Severus – he had the constant nagging feeling one of them should be falling. He made it two thirds of the way around the tree, carefully pulling himself up and over and around the branches which left a faint powder on his palms but not (because he kept a careful eye out for any suspicious gleaming patches) any sap. And then he noticed the runes curling in towards a darker patch. Harry leaned in – down – or up, as he was currently standing with his feet pointing away from the ground – for a closer view. "There's a hole here," he called out softly, bending as close as he dared. He looked up as there was a soft thump next to him. Snape had landed on the branch like a squirrel – should a squirrel be close to six feet tall with greasy black hair and patched Hogwarts robes.

Severus pulled out his wand. _"Reperio falx,"_ he breathed. The wand spun to point into the hole, flipping to point down. Severus grabbed it before it could fly into it. _"Lumos."_ The wand glowed, highlighting shadows.

They peered into the hole.

"It's pretty deep," Harry said.

"Are you ready to stick your arm in there?" Severus said doubtfully.

Harry grunted as he lay down on the branch, head down (up) towards the hole, which seemed to be the centre of gravity in this mad fig universe.

"Don't," said Severus as Harry reached in.

Harry had a quick grope around inside and pulled out his arm again as fast as he could. "Nothing," he said, half relieved, half disappointed. "I couldn't feel the end of it."

Severus scraped his fingers through his hair and tugged. "Merlin, Lovegood," he huffed, "you could have had your arm chopped off."

"I don't think so. You said you didn't sense anything predatory. I don't think –"

"That was your problem – you didn't think. I said I didn't sense anything predatory – I didn't say anything about defensive!"

"Oh." Harry looked into the hole. He shivered. He sat down cross-legged. After a brief, exasperated silence, Severus joined him.

They went back to staring into the hole.

_"Accio sickle,"_ Harry tried.

Nothing.

"You try."

_"Accio sickle,"_ said Severus.

Nothing.

They stared into the hole again.

"Well, this is a big bloody bag of uselessness," Severus said after a while, slapping his hands together in disgust. He climbed up onto one of the branches crossing overhead a little up (or possibly down) from the hole. It was a good, thick branch, and Severus sat astride it like it was a horse and scowled down at the hole.

Harry nodded, then followed, sitting down next to him cross-legged and resting his elbows on his knees. "We need to be able to get inside."

"I guess so." Severus pulled a small notebook and a stub of pencil out of a pocket. He started sketching. For a time there was no sound but the skritch-scratch of pencil on paper.

"Is this really the time for pretty pictures?" Harry asked after the silence went on too long. "Or are you doing one of your charms?"

"I'm doing one of my charms. I hope. It's the one my sister and I have been working on, although we haven't actually managed to make it work yet. But Herbert the Squirrel gave me an idea."

Harry decided it might be wise to ignore that last bit, which some people could construe as raving. "So what if it goes wrong now?"

Severus, not looking up from his sketch, growled, "I never said it goes wrong. I _said_ that we hadn't made it work yet. But there's so much standing magic around here I think it might have a charge – maybe all it needed before was a catalyst."

Harry tried to look over Severus' shoulder. Severus hunched up his shoulder, blocking Harry's view. "Don't be nosy."

"That's rich coming from you."

"My nose is fine. Everyone else in the world is deficient."

Harry couldn't help laughing. "Actually, I was talking about your curiosity."

"Same goes for my curiosity. Stop bothering me." Severus paused, pencil raised over the pad, and eyed his drawing dubiously. "Uh. That's just wrong. I'm never this bad at drawing animals."

"Let me see."

"No." He flipped over to a new piece of paper and started again. After a while he said, "No. That's not right either." Severus scowled at the paper so ferociously the edges curled. There was a few minutes of frantic scribbling. "Blast."

"Let me see."

"What part of 'no' is not understood by you?"

"Oh, for…" Harry snatched it. Ignoring Severus' snarl, Harry merely held it further away from the Slytherin. "Well, I don't know much about animals, but I know that's not a squirrel. It looks like you've tried to patch a big fuzzy tail onto a badger."

Severus grabbed the paper and tore it into shreds.

"Now it looks like confetti," Harry observed helpfully. In return he was given a venomous look.

"It was meant to be a squirrel," came the soft growl after a minute's sulk.

"I guessed that by the tail and the earlier 'Herbert' remark. Maybe you're not meant to be drawing a squirrel. If this is Hufflepuff's secret place, maybe you're meant to be drawing a badger."

"Badgers aren't as nimble as squirrels."

"So were you going to draw a squirrel and send it down the hole?" Harry asked, frowning. "That's something new to me, making an animal from a drawing."

"It's not quite like that," Severus said. He sighed and started another sketch. "Damn."

"Still wrong?"

Severus passed over the pad.

"It's great!" Harry exclaimed. The badger looked almost as if it was ready to lumber out of the picture and bite someone. The stripes along the face gave a hint of intelligence to the beady black button eyes, and the powerful digging claws gleamed.

Severus had his sour face on again. "It's good, isn't it?" he said, sounding as if he'd rather turn it into confetti than give it praise. "But I wanted it to be a squirrel."

"Well, maybe a badger needs to be the animal for the job."

"Huh. Well… I suppose I need to give it a trigger word." Severus tapped the picture with his wand three times and said 'Brock' with each tap. "The magic is already there."

"Special pencil? It's the one you used to sketch me for the glamour."

"Well done. Two points to the charity of your choice."

"Two whole points?" Harry said sarcastically.

"Yes, I'm feeling generous. Get ready… If something happens you may need to catch the badger. Oh, and to finish the spell, just say 'brock reversed'." He put the sketch down on a flat branch and knelt down in front of it. He began to chant.

"'Brock reversed'. Okay." Harry didn't like the idea of catching a badger because they'd always seemed pretty grumpy and inclined to be vicious if provoked. But interrupting Severus didn't seem to promise any happier ending.

It didn't seem to matter in the end. After staring at the drawing and chanting for a few minutes with his eyes half-shut in concentration, Severus looked up, resigned. "It's not going to work. I can feel it bottled up, but the magic needs something to catalyse it. It's like – I don't know. Learning to ride a broom, perhaps. Or whistle. One minute you don't have a clue, then the next you don't understand how anything so simple could have been so hard."

Harry wasn't sure what he was on about, but nodded anyway. "So you need something to give you that knack."

"Exactly! I need a – Hey!"

Severus was interrupted by something falling on his head. Harry caught it as it bounced off and fell towards the hole.

Harry turned it over in his hand. It smelt good – slightly dusty like the trees, but with a soft sweetness that tickled at his salivary glands. "It's a fig."

"Blast. Of course it is." Severus grabbed it and, before Harry could guess – and, more importantly, _stop_ – what he was doing, bit into it.

"Are you crazy?!" Harry tugged at Severus' hand and threw the fig away, but not before the Slytherin had taken a good mouthful. Harry grabbed his chin and tried to stick his fingers in Severus' mouth. "Spit it out right now, you great idiot!"

Severus ground his teeth shut, glared at him, and swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing defiantly.

Harry glared back, furious and at the same time terrified he was about to have a raving egomaniacal pre-Death Eater on his hands.

Severus wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "If it makes you feel any better, I still hate figs."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You git. Don't come complaining to me when the happy little pixies move into your head and start redecorating."

"Ugh." Severus squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered. "What an image. All right. You've had your revenge." He looked down at the picture of the badger, which had survived Harry's knee. "Let's try this again before the happy little pixies make me do something else." He began the chant again.

He had only repeated it a few times when he looked up, eyes wide. Harry, terrified Severus was going to go psychotic, got his wand ready.

_"Brock!"_

Well, Harry hadn't been expecting Severus to say that.

And he certainly hadn't been expecting Severus to start shrinking.

The other boy collapsed in on himself, nose becoming pointed, black eyes becoming round as buttons, ears creeping up on the side of his head, shadows striping his face. Then his robes fell around him, shrouding him from sight.

There was a muffled grumbling.

Harry carefully pulled back the neck of the robes. From out of it peered two bright little eyes, looking up at him myopically from a black-and-white striped face.

No, he certainly hadn't expected Severus to turn into a badger.

ooOOoo

The bundle of robes shifted on the branch as the badger tried to climb out of them. The badger barked in alarm as it struggled. Harry grabbed the bundle before the badger fell off – the fall down to the gnarled centre of gravity wasn't much, but Harry wasn't sure if the new centre of gravity would stay constant, and if it didn't the badger might bounce off and down, down, down to the ground far below.

In his arms, the badger made a high-pitched whickering sound. "You're welcome," said Harry. He disentangled the animal from the clothes, careful not to get the sharp claws caught. It was a little tricky. The Severus-badger was easily two feet long from twitching nose to end of the short tail, and heavy – maybe twenty pounds, although Harry wasn't as good at judging weight as he was dimension. And it grumbled and wriggled, wanting to be put down.

"All right, all right…" Harry made sure to put the badger on a level part of the branch they were sitting on. "There. How's that?"

The badger purred. Apparently it was acceptable. It waddled carefully down to where the branch dived down towards its join with the central bole. Sharp claws scraped on the bark and the badger barked again as it slid down to the massive trunk. Harry scrabbled forward, too late to save his friend. "Severus!"

The badger hit the trunk on its salt-and-pepper shoulder, twisting and barking with indignation. It picked itself up and shook itself off, grumbling in a very Snape-esque manner. Harry slid down the branch after it, ignoring the uneasy tingle that ran up from the soles of his sneakers as his feet hit the mysterious centre of the tree. The badger was picking up its own feet gingerly, as if something about the tree bothered it.

Everything about the tree bothered Harry.

He squatted down to look the badger in the eye as best as he could. "Awesome spell, Severus," he said softly.

The badger peered up at him and blinked. It made a small whicker, and turned to look down the hole briefly before looking up at Harry again.

"You sure?"

The badger growled and hunched its powerful shoulders, ducking its head.

Harry didn't have to be a whiz at Legilimency to know that was a 'no'. "You don't have to go down there, you know."

The badger sighed. It hesitated on the brink of the hole, nose twitching furiously, then crawled inside.

Harry crept closer to the hole. All he could see was the round rump of the badger quickly disappearing into shadow. The hole was just the right size for the animal. Then there was a sudden flurry of claws and a couple of sharp barks followed by a muffled thump. The badger had disappeared.

"Severus!"

Harry leaned forward and thrust his arm into the hole. His hand found only emptiness.

"Severus?"

A grumbling growl echoed up from the darkness.

"Are you all right?"

A sigh, then a faint, reluctant, high-pitched whicker. After a slightly longer moment there was a series of snuffling noises.

Then a bark.

"How about if I say 'accio badger'?" Harry called down the hole.

A growl.

"Fine. Fine. Just trying to help. Any tentacled monsters about to disembowel you down there?"

A stronger growl followed by a hiss.

Well, he didn't sound hurt, anyway. Harry sat back on his heels and listened as hard as he could. He tried hard to hear how the badger was doing, but the trouble was every falling leaf and slight movement of branch scraping gently over branch sounded like someone creeping up on him.

Harry had the distinct feeling someone was looking over his shoulder down the hole.

He turned swiftly, hurting his neck, but no-one was there.

Still the hairs down the nape of his neck prickled.

For a split second there – the barest sliver of time – he'd fancied he'd seen a face. But it was only the leaves. From where he was sitting the branches and leaves had shaped out a round, bonny face, with stars over on the horizon twinkling for eyes. But then he'd seen how the trees had tricked his eyes. He told himself that.

But he try as hard as he could, he didn't believe it when he told himself that someone hadn't winked at him.

"Still there, Severus?"

There was another grumbling growl followed by another surprised bark that had Harry kneeling and calling down the hole, "Severus!"

But the bark was quickly followed by a rough purr and then a dull clunk.

Claws scraped against wood and the badger grumbled again, but this time the grumbling sounded a little self-satisfied.

Harry thought he saw something gleaming in the darkness. Yes – there it was. The white stripes on the badger's face gleamed like strips of platinum. The face lurched a little as the claws lost their grip briefly, then steadied again, pushing up towards the light. Harry grinned in relief. "Want me to pull you out?"

The nose twitched left to right. No. But the head moved awkwardly, as if harnessed.

Oh – there was a stick in the badger's mouth. Pale fangs gleamed against the dark wood.

"Severus…" Harry breathed, barely daring to hope.

And then the badger was pulling itself out, its powerful shoulders and hindquarters bunching and pushing beneath the shaggy salt-and-pepper coat.

It dropped a gleaming crescent of gold at Harry's feet.

ooOOoo


	27. Chapter 27

Disclaimer: Look, honestly guys, I don't own anyone here. Thank you for thinking I could invent such cool characters if you for one millisecond thought that this could be the case, but no. JKR's and the Warner suits'.

ooOOoo

Chapter 27: Claustrophobia

The Golden Sickle shone in the pale light of the luminous mist. In this world it was the brightest thing; in this world it was the sun.

Harry couldn't help staring at it. Then sharp claws pawed at his ankle and reminded him he wasn't alone. "Oh… Severus. Well done! Here…" He bent down to pick up the Sickle. "Shall I change you back now? Bro–"

He didn't have time to finish the counter-spell.

It started with a fluttering of the leaves and the stars shook in their stations. Then the tree writhed. The entire world quaked, branches knocking and grinding against each other with brittle bangs and groans and squeaks. Harry had already grabbed the Sickle and wrapped it in Severus' bundle of clothes so that he didn't cut himself before realising that if Severus changed back now he'd be naked. Somehow Harry didn't think Severus was the sort of person who'd be satisfied with a strategically placed fig leaf.

"Oh. Sorry," he said to the indignant badger glowering up at him. "I'll just wrap it in my robes, shall -?"

Then the tree shifted again. And Harry's stomach lurched. It was like being at the top of a loop on his broom, ready to dive into the Wronski Feint, and savouring that feeling of temporary weightlessness…

But this wasn't the sort of weightlessness Harry could thrill to. It was one that threatened to throw him into thin air without a broom or any spells to soften the ground if he fell on it.

Gravity went sideways.

With his longer legs and his hand that grabbed one of the thinner branches that had been next to him and was now above, Harry managed to pull himself into temporary alliance with this new direction of up. But the badger, with short stubby legs, barked loudly as it began to slip. Its claws dug into the branch, scoring furrows in the smooth bark. The forelegs got some grip but the hindquarters swung out over empty air, their weight dragging the rest of the badger with them. Harry grabbed the badger by the scruff of the neck before it could fall: it was frightened and snapped at him, but stopped the bite before those long canines could touch Harry's skin. The badger looked up at him with fear and embarrassment mixed in its black button eyes.

"It's all right," said Harry, secretly unnerved by the vicious teeth. The badger licked its nose apologetically, which for once didn't look five sizes too big for the accompanying face. Tucking the badger under his arm with the roll of clothing and Sickle, Harry began to climb towards the ground as fast as he safely could.

It wasn't easy with one hand. Harry stuck to the thinner branches as they were easier to hang on to with his free hand, and he could occasionally sling a knee or elbow over one and – if need be – hang while gravity readjusted itself.

Helga's secret glasshouse was drunk and had a severe case of fleas with it. Harry gritted his teeth and hung on as the entire tree shook again. And again.

And again.

In the brief lulls he'd get another five meters down (or sideways or, for that nasty second when he'd nearly fallen back towards the sky, up) towards the ground before he had to wedge himself between two large boughs while the tree shuddered again and the frightened Severus-badger wriggled and barked hoarsely as the world turned upside-down. This close to the ground there were fewer thin branches, and Harry had to make do as best as he could and hope gravity didn't turn in a direction that was too awkward and would send him flying to his death, smashed against the ground or – more likely – against another of the massive branches that would be trunks on any self-respecting oak. He was having the most amazing luck, though – each time the tree shook, Harry was (as if by magic) next to a branch that curved in just the right way to catch him as he fell, or between two boughs big enough to provide a flat surface for him to land against rather than thin branches which might have snapped his arms and legs or punctured his ribs. Not that it made the badger any happier to be landed on, of course, but somehow gravity never shifted quite so much that Harry landed squarely on it.

So, lightly bruised and mildly scratched by the claws of a panicky (and slightly flattened) badger, Harry made it to the forest floor, falling the last few feet and landing with an "Oof!" from himself and a sharper "Wuf!" from the badger.

He dug his fingers into the loose humus and prayed that gravity wouldn't suddenly reverse and send him zooming back into the sky.

Gravity did reverse. And go sideways. And every angle between, but for some reason it didn't do much more than make Harry lighter. Now that he was on the ground, the gravity of the mysterious fig tree didn't affect him anywhere near so badly. Severus the badger struggled out from under Harry's arm and shook himself until his ears rattled against his skull. With another bark to get Harry's attention, the badger set off at a surprising speed through the leaves. Harry broke into a jog to keep up as the badger galloped under and around the larger roots and clambered over the smaller ones in its path, which Harry hurdled easily. There was a flurry of leaves flung into the air as the badger ploughed through one of the drifts. Harry, following right behind, spat out one of them.

"Want me to turn you back?" Harry called.

Bursting out of another pile of leaves like a small fuzzy rocket, the badger barked yet again, which Harry decided meant something like: "What, and stop to get dressed while this place goes crackers?"

Badgers could bark some very sensible things.

The badger stopped and hissed, sitting up on its hindquarters and trying to look around. Harry wasn't sure how far the badger could see: he'd already got the impression that its eyesight wasn't all that good. But he could guess what the badger wanted to find:

"It's over there." Harry pointed to the white handkerchief hanging from the stick Severus had thoughtfully planted when they arrived. The badger made that nickering noise again and galloped in the general direction. Harry was glad Severus was up to running in animal form; the badger was heavy and his arm was aching from taking the weight down to the ground. He –

Gravity shifted again, sending Harry sideways and into a branch: stars exploded from just above his left ear.

When his vision cleared he was on the ground with a very worried badger standing on his chest and nudging at his face with its nose. Harry lifted a hand to pet its head, confused for a moment into wondering if Helga had left a pet behind, but the nip to his fingers was sharp enough to bring him back to reality.

"Ouch. Sorry. I guess badgers don't like being patted."

The badger lumbered off Harry's chest with a snort. But it turned to make sure Harry stood up and followed. Satisfied, it bumbled off again at a quick trot.

With careful fingers, Harry felt the beginning of the lump on the side of his head, and told himself not to forget that gravity here had little to do with any outside conventions.

He reached the trapdoor on the heels of the badger, which immediately began trying to rip the door up with its powerful front claws. Harry had to give Severus credit: as a badger he had an awful lot of sheer muscle power. That heavy door was bumping up and down as the claws tugged at it.

"I've got it." The badger shuffled back as Harry lifted the door. The badger shot down through it and Harry could just make out the grey rump bobbing down from step to step. He slipped through after it and let the door drop down after him.

The darkness was absolute. Although the light from the mist in Helga's strange world had been mysterious and, Harry suspected, spookily semi-aware, now that he was back in pitch blackness he missed it. A few grains of dirt from the edges of the trapdoor settled in his hair and he brushed at them, realising that, along with the mundane darkness, gravity had returned to normal. For the first time in hours Harry was back to his normal weight, and the world didn't threaten to swing around him like he was a genie trapped in a bottle on the sea.

There was a grumbling growl in the darkness. It sounded a little bit like a monster, but more like an impatient badger.

_"Lumos." _Harry held his wand up. He looked down at the badger and grinned. "Hey, there. That whole Hufflepuff mascot look is really you."

The badger growled again, and sneezed as a thin stream of dust came down from a crack in the ceiling.

Harry looked up. That was strange. He didn't remember the ceiling having cracks before.

There was a groan.

Another crack zig-zagged out from one of the hinges, down the chimney the trapdoor was set into, then horizontally along the ceiling, splitting into a series of baby cracks that grew and grew and birthed more cracks…

The badger jumped up and down, barking, as a piece of stone fell and bounced off its nose.

Harry tightened his grip on the bundle of clothes and sickle under his arm. "This place is going to collapse," he muttered. "We need to get out of here, Severus – Severus?"

The badger's bark echoed back through the tunnel. Harry could just hear its claws clicking like a chorus of mini-castanets on the stone as the badger ran.

"Wait!"

Apart from another bark, he wasn't sure the badger had heard.

By the time the badger reached the bottom of the incline, Harry had caught up with it. Both of them puffing, they jogged along the tunnel.

Back behind them was the first crash as the ceiling began to fall in.

Somehow they found more speed.

ooOOoo

Harry was pretty sure badgers weren't designed as marathon runners, but neither was he, and both of them were doing pretty well at covering the distance back up the tunnel.

But then imminent death had always been a strong motivating factor for making Harry move faster, holding up the _Lumos_ spell against the darkness. It looked like he had something in common with Severus beyond an interest in Muggle music and literature after all.

But even adrenaline has its limits, and after about ten or fifteen minutes the pair had to slow to a fast walk interspersed with the occasional jog. Harry's legs and lungs were burning, and there was an annoying tickle in his throat from the dust sneaking up from behind them. It always seemed to be right on their heels: every time Harry thought they'd run far enough from the danger zone there would be another ominous crash in the tunnel they'd just passed through and another plume of dust billowing out and making them cough. Harry wondered if the Golden Sickle was responsible for this, but as it wasn't like he was going to toss it over his shoulder to appease the tunnel it wasn't a theory he was going to test immediately.

It had been nearly twenty minutes now since the last collapse.

"Severus? How are you going?"

The badger had slowed to a walk and its head was lower than he thought a badger should carry it. Not that he knew much about badgers beyond the fact that they weren't little bears, but Harry knew an exhausted animal when he saw one.

"Would you like me to carry you for a bit?"

The badger shook its head and broke into a trot again, straining to run faster.

Harry wasn't sure why, then he felt what the badger must have: the first heavy shiver in the air.

He ran, scooping up the badger on the way. After climbing up and down the biggest tree he'd ever found, his shoulders were aching almost as badly as his legs, but he'd seen the way the badger was struggling.

The badger struggled now, but Harry hissed, "Don't argue! You're too tired to outrun this."

Harry nearly was, too.

The nearest piece of rock – a boulder the size of his body – thudded down right at his heels, snagging on the hem of his robe. Severus-the-badger would have been pulped under it. Harry whipped his robes free and found a burst of energy that could have been magic – or simple, human terror. Whatever it was, it sent him hurtling up the slow slope of the tunnel, into the endless darkness, which –

Ended.

Harry smacked into the wall with a winded gasp plus an outraged snarl from the badger.

"Sorry."

The badger wriggled free. Harry managed to crouch down as the badger dropped, trying not to make the drop too high for Severus.

Dust from the fall eddied around them and they sneezed. Harry felt the badger leaning against his shins, and reached down to pat the animal with the reassurance he wished someone could give him. Luckily this time the badger didn't nip him. It was trembling slightly.

Harry looked around and realised why it was trembling:

They were in a dead end. He'd thought the tunnel dog-legged or had another trapdoor or something, but no. The wall he'd run into looked like it was cut from the same stone as Hogwarts; it was slightly creamier than the darker stone which this part of the tunnel was carved through. Maybe it was the exit? Harry sent the ball of lit magic up above his head and tapped his wand to the stone hopefully. Nothing happened. He looked around, and then looked again, sure there must be another way. One he'd overlooked. Smooth rock surrounded them on every other side except for the one with dust silting through it. The dust caught in the dim light of Harry's wand and became brief blue motes as the light flickered.

Harry realised he was shaking, too.

The badger growled.

And Harry realised it wasn't only himself and the badger: the rock was shaking.

He raised his wand and threw up a physical shielding charm. It was one Hermione had taught him for rain. Harry put every bit of power he had into it and knew it wasn't going to be enough. And then the one finger that had managed to dig through the layers of Severus' clothing to the Golden Sickle tingled. The tingling grew and filled him and then he was glowing with the magic of the Golden Sickle and the spell against rain twitched somehow and –

And the roof fell in.

The world became nothing but one vast, crushing noise.

And then, with a few plips and plops of the last falling pebbles and groans of boulders getting used to their new places, it stopped.

And when Harry, who was crouching over the badger, came to the slow conclusion that he wasn't squashed flat, he looked up.

The spell had held. It had done better than hold, Harry realised, looking around himself gingerly: it had managed to deflect the rocks and dirt so that they fell against each other and formed a little, natural cave of a couple of meters diameter. The spell kept out the worst of the dust, too, to Harry's relief. A mist of motes hung in the pale light of the hovering _Lumos._ He had a nasty feeling from the little dust he'd breathed in on the run here that as much dust as had fallen here might have given him worse than a tickle in his throat.

That was nice. Shame about the slow, lingering death by dehydration or asphyxiation since he was trapped here and nobody knew where he was. Except for Severus, of course. And Severus was here with him.

The badger shook itself off and looked around, appearing just as astonished as Harry about not being a red smear beneath several tons of earth.

Harry sat down next to it and rested a hand on the broad striped forehead. The badger leaned into it, as if relieved not to be alone. Harry could relate. Although in a few hours he would rather it were the opposite, because if Harry absolutely had to die, the only person he wanted to take with him was Voldemort or maybe Wormtail. Funny. Once upon a time Snape would have been on that list. Maybe Snape would still have been, had he not died in the Death Eater attack.

But not Severus.

Harry had a horrible feeling he'd really mucked things up big time. Obviously Severus hadn't died. But what if Harry's coming back in time meant that he would? What would things have been like without Snape? In one sense, a lot better. Potions might have been bearable. But then again, maybe Harry wouldn't have lived to care one way or another: Quirrel's attack on him in that Quidditch match in first year might have killed him if it hadn't been for Snape quietly deflecting it until Hermione broke Quirrel's concentration… by setting Snape on fire, unfortunately. Well, desperate times, et cetera…

But what else had Snape done? Harry realised he just didn't know. Oh, he knew about Snape in the Order, of course. Snape had spied on Voldemort. But Harry just couldn't understand what that _meant_. Now, he had a nasty, sickening feeling that Snape's role might have been extremely useful in gathering all sorts of information on Voldemort, from his moods to his logic to his long-term goals and short-term strategies.

Had it helped?

Voldemort had Hogwarts blockaded. Harry was here to find a way to help break the Blockade by bringing down the barrier, after all. But what if Snape had delayed the Blockade? What if in another, Snape-less, universe Voldemort had already conquered Wizarding Britain?

The awful, sick chill in his stomach suggested this was a possibility and, if Harry's arrogance in coming here in the belief he was the only person capable of saving the world from Voldemort had killed Severus Snape, maybe it was a done deal now.

Harry's fingers tightened in the badger's fur. The badger growled.

"Sorry," Harry sighed, wishing he could say just how sorry he was. "Want to change back now?"

The badge shook its head.

Harry nodded. "I can understand. It must be better to be underground and a badger, than underground and a human." He sighed and looked around disconsolately. Now that the dust was settling, it was easier to see how thoroughly they had been buried.

Still, Harry had his wand. Maybe he could start lifting the rocks away. If he dug straight up, maybe that would do the trick.

But when he lifted his wand the badger hissed warningly. Again, it shook its head when Harry looked down at it.

"Have you a better idea?" Harry asked, lifting one eyebrow in disbelief.

The badger nodded and waddled over to sniff around the rough walls of fallen stone. It took its time about it, sniffing, testing the dirt with its claws and pausing to listen, and then it began to dig.

When Harry realised what Severus was up to, he grinned. Then he picked up his wand again and used it to draw out the dirt from the tunnel the badger was making.

ooOOoo

It took a long time – Harry had no idea how long – but inch by inch the tunnel grew. The badger's strong foreclaws and shoulders shifted the dirt between the fallen rocks like a mini-digging machine. It was somewhat like a niffler scenting gold, but without the frenzy. The badger went about its digging in a very serious way, pausing when the rocks creaked, and occasionally shooting out backwards in case the new tunnel collapsed, then cautiously padding back in to begin work again. Harry helped as best as he could by shifting the dirt the badger pushed behind it, but was careful not to pull out too much dirt: he didn't want to collapse this tunnel, especially while Severus was in it. That brief time thinking about how things might have been without Snape had given him even more of a shock than the tunnel collapsing on him.

The badger was small but the tunnel it excavated was somewhat bigger than its diameter. Harry realised Severus wasn't planning on going for help – he wanted Harry to come through the tunnel, too.

Harry wasn't sure about that. But when the badger made that _nikka-nikka-nikka_ sound Harry guessed it was calling him. He gulped, and crawled into the tunnel with his lit wand held before him.

The badger was crouched by the paler stone – the wall Harry had run into. It had dug right up to it and tried to dig through the dirt underneath. It sniffed at the stone and scratched at it hopefully and turned to Harry again, its eyes shining faintly blue with the reflection of the wandlight.

"I don't think that even those claws of yours will get through that," Harry said.

The badger sighed. Then, looking as frustrated as Harry had ever seen Severus or Snape look, barked at the wall.

It sounded like a badger swear-word.

The wall shivered and lifted straight up before Harry's astonished eyes. He didn't have time to hesitate – growling and fuming, the badger grabbed the hem of his robes in its teeth and yanked Harry through.

There was the stomach-curdlingly familiar sound of rock groaning under tons of more rock right before the badger barked again and the stone door dropped closed. Harry, now lying on the smooth stone floor, felt it tremble as the small tunnel the badger had dug was crushed out of existence.

"Did you know the wall would open like that?" Harry whispered.

The badger shook its head, looking as astonished as Harry felt.

Harry sat up and looked around. They were safe inside this little room – a little room with thick stone walls buttressing the low ceiling, and although it was a narrow room, there was an even more narrow staircase leading out of it from the opposite side. It was an exit, and Harry felt in his bones that it was a Hogwarts exit. It was the feeling he always had when he stepped inside the castle, a feeling he'd just come home. Giddy with relief, Harry tucked an arm around the badger and gave it a quick hug. The badger didn't seem to mind – it purred as if it, too, was extremely happy to be inside something designed by someone who'd at least _met_ someone who'd been to architecture school.

"Ready to be a Slytherin student again?" Harry asked.

The badger thought about it – or _pretended_ to think about it. Its eyes gleamed as it shrugged, then nodded.

Harry smiled and spread the other boy's robes over the badger. He pointed his wand at the small mound which was moving its pointy nose under the black material, looking like Voldemort's smallest and most bewildered Death Eater. Harry was a little astonished at the image – he'd never thought he could find anything funny about Voldemort and his minions. But he couldn't help smiling, although he had the sense not to let the Severus-badger know Harry was laughing at it. He'd already seen that Severus could bite in either form.

"Brock reversed!"

Nothing. Only a feeling of intense exhaustion and the realisation that it was a long, long time since he'd last eaten.

The badger growled.

Harry tried again. And again. After the fifth attempt, he shook his head. "Sorry. I think I'm just too tired. Maybe you are, too."

The badger managed to find its way out from under the robes. It glared up at Harry. Harry might have been more impressed had he not been so tired, or had the glare not been vaguely aimed at his left ear, or had the badger not been wearing the robes like a nun's habit.

Harry had had more frightening glares from Simon. Or even Luna, come to that.

But he was too kind-hearted to let the badger know that.

"Come on. I'm pretty sure we're in Hogwarts. We can see if Dumbledore can fix it."

The badger crept back under the robes and growled.

"…Or we can go back to your room, get some food from the kitchen, and then try again when I've rested. How's that?"

The black and white nose poked out again and, after a small hesitation, was followed by the rest of the badger.

"Good." Harry picked up the robes, making sure Severus' wand was still tucked inside. Amazingly, the boots had stayed, too. Possibly Snape had charmed them not to get lost. Given that he didn't seem like someone who had a lot of money for buying new clothing, it was likely. Harry tucked the Golden Sickle inside his own robes. "There're some stairs. Feel up to them?"

The badger sighed, looking put-upon, but followed Harry up the narrow stairs.

ooOOoo


	28. Chapter 28

Disclaimer: Mine they are not. But dreams are free (although Harry might think differently at the end of this chapter).

ooOOoo

Chapter 28: Remus Helps

The stairs were dusty and sometimes steep, sometimes levelling to long, narrow corridors without doors or windows. On the steeper parts Harry picked up the badger, who always gave a token grumble but seemed to be secretly pleased to have some help. They were both so exhausted when they finally came to a door at the top of a particularly narrow and twisting set of stairs that they walked through it without thinking about where it might open to.

It opened into a Hogwarts corridor. A busy Hogwarts corridor. Harry, putting the wriggling badger back down on the ground, had no idea what time it was but suspected it was near curfew, so maybe that was why so many people were going along it – and staring at him curiously as they passed. Of course, it was the corridor just outside the library and it was Thursday evening and assignments tended to be due either Friday or Monday, so people might have been out finishing up homework.

Whatever the reason, Harry could have done without the attention. Even the portraits were staring. A portrait containing a group of witches in a bright array of robes pointed and giggled behind their fans. One of the witches, a pretty young woman wearing buttercup-yellow robes, gave him a very hard look. He stepped back, almost tripping over the badger that was huddled behind him, as he tried to go back through the door.

It had disappeared.

Of course.

Harry had a nasty moment when he thought he didn't have the disguising glamour on him any more (and surely people would get suspicious at the sight of someone who looked almost exactly like one of their fellow students, albeit a dusty and exceedingly bedraggled version). But then he sagged with relief, remembering how, back in the tunnel right after they'd fallen in, Severus had re-set the glamour. Apparently the spell James had cast had only dented it. Severus had been able to re-set it in a fraction of the time it took to cast the thing from scratch. It was a shame his hair had gone back to being its normal mop, Harry thought, ruffling it until dust clouded him, but at least it was now a light brown mop. He was especially pleased the glamour was still in place when a familiar voice said:

"Lovegood?"

Oh, Merlin. Remus. Just what Harry didn't need. Harry scowled and the badger growled softly.

"I thought we were going to talk about tunnels at dinner? I thought you might be in the li– Oh dear – what happened?" Remus stood with his hands on his hips, taking in Harry from the top of his scraped and dirty head to the toes of his dirty sneakers poking out beneath his (dirty) robes. Luckily he didn't make an issue out of the bundle of cloth Harry was carrying. "You're almost grey. Did something attack you? Did Snape –?"

Harry's lips tightened. "Why don't you ask your friends?"

Remus bit his lip. Harry couldn't help noticing that he was looking even more stressed tonight. How close was the full moon? He'd assumed – for no good reason other than optimism – that the full moon had just passed, but now he suspected it was quite the opposite. Remus looked as if he was searching for the right words. But he was interrupted in what he was planning on saying by a female voice.

"Remus, what –? Oh. Hello."

Harry steeled himself not to look away again. He'd already faced the worst – finding out his father was a complete and utter – whatever that word Severus had used was. And now here was his mother again, green eyes flicking between Harry and Remus, and Harry could guess that she was trying to work out why Harry looked at least as bad as Remus. Harry nodded to her; he could at least be polite, especially as the way he had bolted earlier had been anything but. "Hello."

"So… you're not running away from me now?" A small smile, testing the waters.

Harry decided to let her know there were crocodiles before he had to undergo the piranhas in her own waters. "Why? At least here the view is good enough to let me see your boyfriend before he manages to sneak up behind me again."

Lily frowned, and Harry remembered that someone had told him once that he'd inherited her temper.

"I don't have a boyfriend."

"Really? Well, he seemed to think that beating me up was the solution to my heinous affront to you in the library. So that _wasn't_ your wand he used to hex me with? Because I'd just confiscated what I thought was his. Speaking of which… I'll give it to you. There's Pettigrew's and Black's as well… you can work out if you want to give them back or not."

Lily went pale and her green eyes glittered coldly and her lips pressed together so tightly they were bloodless. But she wasn't looking at Harry. She stared down at the three wands he gave her, and Harry wasn't sure if she was embarrassed or just very, very angry. And if she was angry, he wasn't sure if it was at him or not. Harry told himself he didn't care. She took a deep breath through her nose, just like Harry did when he was seeing red. A bit like how he had felt when his own father had attacked him. "I'm –"

"Don't bother," Harry said quietly. "I already know what a complete pillock he is. I guess I just didn't want to have you turn out to be the same. Excuse us."

He ignored her expression of mingled anger and consideration – although if he'd been less tired he would have found the glimmer of curiosity more threatening – and stalked off down the corridor with the badger trotting at his heels.

Remus caught up with them just around the corner. There was a notable absence of Lily Evans.

"Harry – wait." He put his hand on Harry's shoulder.

There was a blood-curdling growl. It didn't come from the werewolf, who stepped back quickly.

The badger glared up at him.

"Ah. Yes. I noticed you had a badger. Um – where's Snape?"

"He's around somewhere. Probably finding some bandages or something," Harry added snidely. "Merlin knows he needs it with you lot picking on him all the time."

Remus rubbed his temple. Harry couldn't help noticing the first grey hairs were sprouting through already. "It's not like he doesn't give us grief, you know…"

"I wonder why?" Harry said as sarcastically as he could, which wasn't very. He was tired and wanted food and sleep and a bath, preferably all at the same time.

There was a small alcove set into the wall. A window behind it showed the stars. It was nice to see them standing still in the firmament for a change. Harry, starting to wobble in their stead, sat down before his legs could give out. He was dimly aware of Remus sitting down next to him.

"Are you all right? You don't look all the best."

"I missed dinner." He reached down and scooped up the badger for reassurance. It crouched in his lap, glaring at Remus, nose twitching as if it could smell something not quite right.

"Oh. I didn't see you there."

"I suppose your three goons were there?"

Harry looked up in time to see Remus' brow furrow. "They were looking a little battered. I take it that was you who burned James? He was –"

"He was attacking me while I had my back to him," Harry snapped. "And I didn't hex him." He stroked the badger's back. "Luckily for him. I might have used a hotter flame."

"What was that you were saying to Evans before? About her boyfriend attacking you?"

"Well, if Potter isn't her boyfriend it's pretty damned obvious he wants to be. And it looks like going around bullying everyone else is really attractive to her."

Remus' frown deepened. "Lily isn't like that."

Harry rubbed his face tiredly. "She is. She must be, you see. That's the only way they would…"

"I don't see. Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm perfect fo- fine. Perfectly fine. I – I've said too much anyway. There's stuff I have to do…" Suddenly realising how dangerous it was to be this tired – tired enough to spill secrets that needed to wait twenty years – he stood, swaying, with the badger clutched in his arms. It growled, and Harry realised he was holding it. "Sorry," he muttered as he put it on the floor.

"Harry… will you wait here for a minute? Curfew is in five minutes but I should be able to get you something to eat before it. I'll be back in a sec. Wait. Please."

He left, his robes flowing out behind him from his haste.

Harry couldn't think of anything better to do so he sat down again. Partly because he really needed some food, but also because he was so tired it was nice to have someone do the thinking for him for the moment. He felt a small body settle at his feet and relaxed a little more.

People went past the alcove but none stopped, to his relief. There was a brief conversation between two girls just around the corner that made him pay unwilling attention: they were worried about the full moon tomorrow night. Apparently one of the girls had an aunt in Hogsmeade, and the aunt had been out walking two months ago on the full moon. She was sure she'd nearly been attacked by a werewolf, but a stag and a big black dog had somehow distracted it while she escaped. She'd only been drinking eggnog, she swore, but everyone in the family was saying it had been firewhisky. Still debating the likelihood of a werewolf near Hogwarts, the two moved off, leaving Harry with something else to try not to think about. Harry had a moment's peace before the badger growled, long and low. He opened his eyes to see an unwelcome sight. Two unwelcome sights.

"Lupin went that way," Harry said, pointing with his chin down the corridor.

Sirius and James glared down at him. Both had marks – Sirius was scratched from where he'd landed in the tree, and a bandage was wrapped around his hand. Harry vaguely remembered Severus biting him. It shouldn't have been a happy thought, but right now Harry didn't care about that, and simply smiled slightly at the memory. James looked even less like Harry now; the burn marks were mild but livid. And the potion someone – presumably Madam Pomfrey – had put on it had turned his skin orange.

Harry was exhausted. He'd had a really strange day – three times, now, his life had been in danger today; once in Potions and twice in the last hour. Not to mention these clowns attacking him so much earlier this evening it felt like last month. He felt hollow inside, but at the sight of these two that hollowness was filling up fast with what felt like lava. It was something hot and primordial, anyway. And there was no moral reasoning behind it. At his feet the badger kept up a continuous low growl.

"Where's your greasy friend?" sneered Sirius, ignoring the animal crouching in the shadows.

Harry considered punching his face in for half a second. The fact that Sirius at sixteen or seventeen was significantly taller and heavier than him wasn't that much of an issue today. He lowered his eyelids instead, trying to bottle up this strange, inhuman rage that lay thick against the back of his throat and lent the world an alien red hue. "He's dead. Well done. You finally managed to finish what you've been trying all these years."

James scoffed, but looked a little rattled. "We've never tried to kill anyone."

"No? So how did he break his arm the other week? Accident, was it?" Severus had mentioned it in passing yesterday, but Harry was guessing at the details. If he was hoping to have them proven wrong, he was about to be disappointed.

Sirius snorted. "Of course. Probably slipped on his own grease. So what if we were there and maybe helping him with his, ah, balance? You can't prove anything. Shame the stairs were moving at the time. He only fell one floor."

Harry reached down and stroked the badger's hair flat. Futile, really; the hair only bristled up again. "Of course. Strange how often that happens, though. I wonder what people would think if they ever went and got some statistics from Madam Pomfrey?"

"He doesn't go to the hospital wing," James said. "You don't see him there that often."

"Funny how fast people can learn spells to heal themselves – especially when they get so much practice."

"Huh. If he were dead there would be a party being held." Sirius shifted so that he was standing between Harry and escape. He'd tried to make it look subtle, but Harry had grown up with Dudley Dursley and his friends whose hobby had been trapping Harry and making his life hell. Harry knew all the signs.

Harry didn't feel threatened anymore. Quite the opposite. Calmly, he said, "If he were dead there would be an inquiry. Who knows what they'd find? And I wonder who would go to Azkaban? What's the penalty for murder, anyway?"

James, who was looking pale, asked, "Where is he really? If he was dead Dumbledore would have said something."

Harry blinked his scorn. "Not if someone attacked him while he was testing out a spell to locate tunnels. Not if his body was transported underground by the backlash of a miscast spell."

James looked ill. "I don't believe you."

Harry watched the man who would become his father. Part of him wanted to stand up and walk away. The rest of him needed to stay and keep going. It was like picking at a scab or squeezing a pimple. Horribly fascinating and you pretty much knew it was inevitable that what you would end up with wouldn't be your favourite Bertie Bott Bean flavour. "Don't, then. Makes no difference to me what you believe. I grew up with people like you. My cousin and his thuggish friends." He curled his lip, unconsciously imitating Snape. "They had nothing better to do with their lives than make my life hell. What sort of person has that as their favourite game? People like that make me sick. People like _you_ make me sick."

Sirius growled and stepped forward, his fists on his hips as he sneered down at Harry. "You little piece of –"

James stepped forward too, but to put a hand on Sirius' shoulder. Too late. There was a sharp crack and Sirius screamed.

Harry blinked, dazedly thinking someone had cast a spell.

But no.

The badger had cannoned forward and butted the tall, muscular student in the shins with its skull. The badger, snarling like a vampire who'd just seen how much dentists charge, seemed unharmed, bouncing on its four feet, but Sirius clutched at his shins. "Ow ow flippin' ow!"

The badger took advantage of the lowered head and leaped up, bouncing off Harry's knees to sink its fangs into Sirius' cheek.

Sirius's shriek rattled the glass panes in their leading. A few portraits called out, "I say! Are you all right? Someone help!"

Sirius shook his head and swung an arm, and the badger flew off to the side. Blood streamed down Sirius' face and dripped off his chin: the badger's teeth had torn right through.

The badger bounced off the wall. Fearing how this would end, Harry stood and took out his wand, just as Sirius spun and kicked the badger before it could charge at him again.

The badger gasped _Oomph!_ as it hit the wall. Sirius strode forward, snarling, as the badger shook its head dizzily.

James was saying something, trying to stop them, but his voice was hollow in Harry's ears.

The world crystallised as Harry stepped between Sirius and Severus.

In the brittle personal silence he found within the roaring tempest of his blood pounding in his ears and reddening his vision, Harry grabbed a fistful of Sirius' robes. He touched the tip of his wand to Sirius' throat. Blood ran down it. Harry ignored it. There could very well be a great deal more blood in a second.

"Stop right there," he said softly.

Sirius stopped, staring into Harry's eyes.

Harry continued in the low, cold whisper that couldn't have carried out of the alcove, "If you harm him I will kill you. If your kick has done any permanent damage I will kill you. If you come near him again I will kill you. Am I clear?"

Sirius was almost going cross-eyed trying to work out which of Harry's eyes to stare into. He swallowed and his Adam's apple bounced off the tip of Harry's wand.

"Siri…" It was James. He put his hand on Sirius' shoulder and gently eased him back. Harry let go of Sirius' robes before he had to suffer hearing his father ask him to. "Sirius… back off." James didn't take his eyes off Harry and his face was ashen.

"James? Sirius?"

Oh, damn, thought Harry. Remus was back. With a large wicker picnic basket.

Remus peered into the alcove, taking in at one glance the drawn wand, the blood, and the snarling, bristling badger. "What in Merlin's name is going on here?" he breathed. For half a second Harry saw a yellow-eyed wolf looking out from behind a tired student's eyes.

"Why don't you ask your friends?" Harry hissed. "You told me to wait here. And so I did. Nicely set out as a target, yes?"

Remus' mouth thinned and he closed his eyes for a second. "No. No, Harry, I didn't leave you here to be attacked. I'm sorry that you were given cause to think that I would. James and Sirius were meant to meet me in the library, but I had to arrange something with Lily – we're both prefects, you see. And then I met up with you and you needed some food. I've brought some food from the house elves for you – see?" He held up a basket and opened the lid. There was enough food for two. He continued talking in that low, comforting voice. "There's food for you and Severus if you find him – but don't try the jar there. I asked the house elves what was best for badgers and they put something in a jar for your little friend. Now would you like to put your wand down and take the basket? I promise on my honour and fifty points from Gryffindor that if you put your wand down no-one will harm you. Do you hear me, Harry? James? Sirius?"

James and Sirius were watching Harry and Remus carefully, occasionally shooting glances down at the black-and-white bundle of vibrating anger on the floor.

"Can you control your badger, Harry?" Remus asked.

With a sigh, Harry took his wand from Sirius' throat. After a final stare to make sure Sirius understand that it was in his best interests not to try anything funny, Harry stepped back. "Come here, please," he said to the badger.

It growled, but went to him, stalking in a wide detour around Sirius. Harry bent down to gently feel its body. "Are you all right?" he whispered.

The badger nickered softly and only winced a little as Harry poked carefully at one rib. As the badger didn't bite Harry guessed the rib wasn't broken. Just bruised. He felt some satisfaction straightening up and seeing the blood still dribbling off Sirius' chin.

In silence, Remus held out the basket.

Harry took it, feeling like it was the first step in a disarmament treaty. "Thank you," he said stiffly. "It was kind of you to think of the badger."

Remus nodded. "I'm going to take these two back to the dormitory now. Do you have a place to go? Are you sure?" he added as Harry nodded. "Well. If you're sure. If you have any trouble, please ask me for help. Or any of the prefects, actually – I won't be able to help you tomorrow evening or the day after, I'm afraid: I've got a little health matter that needs to be taken care of. And I think it would be a good idea if you talked to Professor Dumbledore."

"Remus," James said as his friend tried to usher him and Sirius back out of the alcove. "We need to talk to Dumbledore – he said Snape's dead."

Remus turned, quiet panic on his face. "What? I thought you said Severus was fine?"

"I never said that."

Remus looked as if he was struggling hard against the same deep rage Harry still had throbbing in his veins. "Harry – you must tell me. Is Severus in trouble? Is he – is he dead?"

Harry couldn't keep up the lie to Remus. "No. He's not dead."

"Shame," sniggered Sirius, then _oof'_ed as his two friends elbowed him in the ribs.

Harry fingered his wand. "He's none of your business," he said softly. "Would-be murderers shouldn't be given information about their targets. Oh, and you scream like a girl."

Sirius flushed, or maybe that was the effect of the blood smeared across his face. James looked away. Remus narrowed his eyes sharply at Harry. "That's a little strong, don't you think?"

"But he _does_ scream like a girl – Oh, yes, I know what you mean." Harry pursed his lips, thinking of a boy who hated his environment so much he would think about poisoning everyone in it, yet end up saving those people after a disaster in Potions without stopping to consider that he could choose not to. And his reward was a hundred points and a blind eye to his bullies. Meanwhile the authorities didn't pay enough attention to the bullies, who thought they could get away with anything. Up to and including running with a werewolf at the full moon, having the occasional near-brush with innocent people, and laughing about how close it had been.

"Why? Because it hasn't gone to court yet? In a decent world the sort of abuse that goes on at this school would never have gone as far as it has. Breaking someone's arm and thinking it's a fine joke? That's not funny. It's sick. Really, deeply sick. It's the kind of thing psychopaths join up with Voldemort for. And it's just a short step between a prank designed to break someone's arm to a prank that accidentally breaks someone's neck. So as far as I'm concerned that makes you no better than murderers. A little bit like the sort of murderer who would have a nasty disease and not care about going out and risking infecting others. Maybe," he added slowly, taking in every carefully suppressed twitch of Remus', "that person would even laugh about it with his friends afterwards. I met a werewolf like that once. I don't mind werewolves, they're people like us most of the month, but someone like that should have been locked up in Azkaban for the sociopath he was."

Remus flinched and went as pale as James. He dragged off his two friends without another word, his expression deeply wounded.

Harry told himself he didn't care. It was nice of Remus to have found the food for him, but as far as he was concerned a meal didn't make up for putting people's lives in danger.

"Come on," he said to the badger, who was looking up at him, slightly puzzled. "Let's go back. I really need to listen to that Pink Floyd record right about now."

The badger nodded.

Harry went out into the now mercifully silent corridors. They were as empty as he felt.

As he turned the corner towards the storeroom, he heard soft footsteps hurrying to catch up with him.

Harry whirled, wand at the ready.

James Potter held up his hands. "I'm not here to fight."

Harry lifted his eyebrows.

"I… Is Snape all right?" James asked. His face was still pale where it could be seen under the orange lotion.

"What's it to you?"

"I know what you think of me. But I never wanted him to die."

"No. You just wanted to break his arm."

James bit his lip. Harry knew he did the same thing when he was in the wrong and wanting to make it right. "I never wanted to break his arm."

"But you did anyway. What was your defence going to be after you broke his _neck_? 'I'm sorry, Your Honour. That wasn't what I wanted to do.' I don't think a judge in the real world is going to be half as indulgent as Dumbledore. Now what do you really want? Someone to tell you you're not such a bad person after all? Because you are. You're a complete and utter shit, James Potter. And you have no idea how much you… it… it gutted me to meet you."

James, looking like someone had just hit him in the midriff with a Beater's bat, opened his mouth a couple of times, but there were no words. More from a desire to get rid of him than from any pity, Harry said, "He's not dead. Now piss off and leave me alone." He turned and stalked off, just as the soft rippling charm announcing curfew sounded softly through the corridor.

From behind him came the voice, so much like Harry's own, calling out, "You won't believe me, but I'm glad he's not dead. Not because I'm afraid of Azkaban, but because – because I don't ever want to be responsible for anyone's death. Not Snape's. Not anyone's. Lovegood?"

"Words are cheap," Harry said without looking back. "Actions are what prove worth. Now piss off." That was a phrase he'd picked up from Severus – Harry had never sworn so much since he'd become friends with him. Who would have though Severus Snape, master of the English language and with a higher degree in Applications in Sarcasm, would ever have had chosen swearing as a first resort?

He turned the next corner, ears half-ready to hear his father creeping after him with a hex on his tongue, but he was alone again.

Alone surrounded by people who either cared nothing for him or who would try to harm him if they could – especially if they knew who his enemies were. Hell, some of his future enemies were at school now. His future so-called friends would hex him just to keep in practice for when he left and Severus would be an easier target again.

Sometimes he wondered what the difference between Voldemort and everyone else was meant to be.

But then he touched the warm gold of the Sickle in his robes, smelled the rich smell of chocolate cake thoughtfully provided by the house elves rising from the basket hooked over his arm and heard the click of claws on the stone behind him, and the world took on a slight tinge of colour again.

He wasn't completely alone.

And although he'd found out a great deal of things he would have gladly never have learned, he'd found his prize: the Golden Sickle of Helga Hufflepuff.

And he'd found a friend. He looked down at the badger tagging along at his heels and smiled sadly.

Not the friend he'd expected to find, no.

ooOOoo

They made it as far as the unused prefect's bathroom for which Dumbledore had given Harry the password. There, they took a detour for a quick wash which made each of them feel a great deal better. Harry used the shower faucet to sluice a kilo of dirt off the grateful badger, who wasn't keen on finding out if badgers can swim, and slipped into a tub to scrub the dirt off himself. He considered sleeping in the bathroom, floating happily in a big tub of bubbles, but the badger gave him one of those looks that suggested someone was going to get a nip on the nose if that someone didn't get moving. Cleaner, hungrier, and swaying slightly with exhaustion, they found their way back through the now-dark corridors to the little storeroom. Harry had dried the badger off with one of the towels which had appeared the second time he looked at the towel rail, but it was still damp and left little pawprints in the dust of the disused corridor. Harry hoped people would think it was just Mrs Norris on the prowl. They might even stay away if they thought Filch patrolled here on a regular basis and that Mrs Norris was suddenly the possessor of an awesome set of claws.

Now, safely ensconced in the storeroom, Harry was too tired to summon the magic to change Severus back; even touching the Sickle didn't give him a hint of the power he'd channelled when he'd stopped the tunnel crushing them to death. He sighed and looked at the badger, who was snuffling inside the picnic basket. With a small snort of satisfaction, the Severus-badger tipped the basket over and pulled out some sandwiches wrapped in grease-proof paper. Cucumber dropped from the sides.

"Are all badgers as messy as you?" Harry asked, and yawned. When he looked again the badger was yawning, too. Harry couldn't help laughing. "The contagious yawn strikes again, huh?"

The badger might have smiled – if badgers were capable of smiling. It didn't look cross, anyway, which was something considering who it really was. After spitting out some cucumber (which couldn't have been to a badger's taste as much as it was to a human's), it abandoned the sandwiches and went after the jar.

Harry had to unscrew the lid.

"Yuck. You aren't seriously wanting to eat that, are you?"

The badger peered at the live worms and huffed as a beetle tried to make a break for it. It licked its nose and shuffled back, snorting as if it had just smelt something bad.

Harry recapped the jar. "I guess there is only so far that spell can change someone."

The badger nodded and tried to right the basket.

"I'll get it," said Harry. "Here. Try some chicken."

Chicken, a beef sandwich and half a hard-boiled egg were enough for the badger. Harry ate the rest of the sandwiches and some cake and washed it down with pumpkin juice. He poured some into a saucer the house elves had kindly added, and set it down on the floor. The badger lapped it up thirstily.

"Not such a bad way to finish the day, is it?" Harry said as they lay down to sleep, Harry in the blankets and Severus curled up in his robes (Harry had taken the Sickle out so the badger wouldn't be jabbed). The badger yawned in reply, showing again just how wicked those white fangs were, and nestled down.

Harry wanted to think about what to do tomorrow… how he should hide the Sickle from Dumbledore (who wouldn't approve of Harry's having it), but he was asleep as soon as he snuffed out the candle (also from the house elves, wonderful, underrated creatures that they were, he thought muzzily) and put his head down.

He dreamed he was back in his own time, up on Squirrel Hill brushing Simon. Someone was helping him brush the horse; Harry kept getting glimpses of greasy black hair hanging over a boy's face, and a serious expression as Severus concentrated on his work. The sun in the blue sky was warm on Harry's head and the grass was a bright green. Luna was somewhere nearby, he knew (as you do in dreams), as were Draco, Ron and Hermione. For some reason everyone here were friends. And when Harry looked up into the sky he saw the sun was a crescent like the moon, but gold, and the clouds were shaped into Ogham letters which spelt out victory. And in the dream Severus peered over Simon's back, smiled at Harry, and said, _Thank you for bringing me back with you._

ooOOoo


	29. Chapter 29

Disclaimer: still not mine.

ooOOoo

Chapter 29: Sketches and Edges

The next day the school was abuzz with the gossip: there had been a screaming match in the Gryffindor dormitory. Lily Evans, the Mudbl– er, the Muggleborn girl, had told James Potter in no uncertain terms that: 1. He wasn't her boyfriend; 2. Anyone who stole her wand and used it to hex other people wasn't fit to lick the dirt off her shoes, and 3. He was a complete and utter – (people weren't sure about the word she used).

She'd blacked his eye.

Then, before he could go to Madam Pomfrey, she Transfigured him into a pincushion.

Rumour went on to say that she'd slipped him into the box of pincushions McGonagall was going to use today for the first years.

"You know, for a Gryff she's not so bad," Severus admitted, slathering raspberry jam on a slice of toast, gesturing with his butterknife at the Gryffindor table where Lily was sitting with her friends. To their relief, Harry's magic levels had recovered enough to change the Slytherin badger back into a Slytherin boy before breakfast. And patch up those bruised ribs from Sirius' kick. He cast the occasional glance at Sirius, sitting with Peter, just to check that his future godfather wasn't about to do anything nasty. "Want to come to classes with me this morning? It's History of Magic and Charms, though. Binns is about as interesting as slime mould – no, actually, slime moulds – particularly the plasmodium ones – myxogastrids, I believe – are utterly fascinating in a quiet way –"

"Only you would think slime mould is interesting," Bellatrix interrupted.

"It's what he uses to style his hair," smirked LeStrange.

Severus continued smoothly, "– and they've got even more personal charisma than LeStrange and his slapper girl-friend. But Flitwick is okay. Sometimes I even learn something useful in the class."

Harry noted the way Rosier glared Bellatrix and her boyfriend into silence, but didn't think Severus had. Interesting. "I think I'll stay in the library, thanks. I thought I'd look for something on edge-creatures. Plus it should be nice and quiet and not get anyone killed," he added in a low voice.

"Bonus." Severus smirked and pulled out his notebook and pencil, ignoring the tuts of annoyance from his housemates for having something so Mugglish, and wrote down a few references. He tore out the paper. "Here. Try these."

"Ta."

By lunchtime Harry had some interesting leads on horses to ask Severus about and memory charms (which he most certainly would _not_ ask Severus about), and James Potter was back for the meal. Apparently Sirius had managed to find and un-transfigure him and his black eye. But not before the first years' class.

One eye still swollen shut, James sat down very, very carefully on the hard wooden seat. He, Sirius and Peter sent the occasional glare at Harry and Severus (which may have had something to do with the way Severus couldn't stop sniggering every time he looked at James). Remus seemed unaware of tensions, but mainly, Harry guessed, because he was stressed about the full moon tonight. Rumour also mentioned in passing that he'd temporarily lost his wand yesterday – Sirius had found it, luckily, but for some reason instead of Remus being grateful they'd had a falling out over it. Lily ignored everyone except for the two girls she was chatting quietly with. Harry noticed she kept a discreet eye on Remus, though, and made sure he ate a proper lunch, even slipping a chicken leg onto his plate when his attention was somewhere else.

Oh, hell, Harry thought. So there would still be a Severus Snape, but now with the way his mum was treating his dad it looked like there wouldn't be a Harry Potter.

Maybe there would be a Harry Lupin.

Harry cheered up a little at the thought, although there was still that teeny tiny hurdle of Not Upsetting the Temporal Universe to overcome.

As the Marauders walked behind him, Harry tried to give the appearance of not paying any attention, when in fact all the hairs down the back of his neck prickled with adrenaline. He didn't like the way Sirius had been trying to plot something with James and Peter – although for some reason James had seemed less than keen. So Sirius finished out the meal with his head bent close to Peter's.

Remus didn't seem in the least bit upset about being excluded.

Harry couldn't help feeling just the least little bit sorry for him. But not much. Maybe it was time Remus started considering how much friendship with people like Sirius and James was worth in terms of conscience.

Severus had two free periods that afternoon, which he spent in the library with Harry, working on an Arithmancy and a DADA essay, Harry giving him some help with the latter. It seemed that some of the defensive charms Severus had to learn were based in one of the Goblin Rebellions – something Harry had researched in Charms in his own time, and so he knew where the best books were. He was just coming back with an armful of them when he saw Sirius standing over Severus' desk, speaking softly.

Severus looked like he was restraining an impulse to commit murder – Harry had first seen that look in the Shrieking Shack – but when they saw Harry, Sirius broke off and nodded at Severus. "Think about it," he said, and left, shouldering Harry aside as he went past. "Lost your badger, Squit?" he sneered.

Harry ignored him.

"Think about what?" Harry said, dumping the books on the desk and rubbing his shoulder. Sirius had at least four inches and a stone of muscle on him.

"Oh, he wanted to express his eternal respect for me and my talents," Severus replied airily. "So unoriginal of him. No, he's just trying to trick me into another trap. Again. Not very original, either. Now, what did you find?"

Reluctantly, Harry opened the more promising of the books. But there was something nagging at him – and he suspected it was Severus' inability to convince him that Severus wasn't going to fall into this trap of Sirius'. He had a very, very bad idea of what was going to happen.

ooOOoo

Severus opened his notebook to jot down a couple of spells. Harry goggled at a picture he glimpsed. "Hey – let me see!"

Severus shrugged and flicked back to the page. "Do you like it? History was boring – fancy that – so I drew this."

"That's amazing."

"It's meant to be your Simon. I drew him from your description."

"Yeah, but… it's spot on."

"A black thoroughbred? How hard is that?" Severus looked shifty and proud, a not surprising combination on a Slytherin.

Harry studied the picture. It wasn't just Simon's look – and Severus had that down to a T – it was Simon's attitude. The horse was standing with its head up just a fraction, and the ears tilted at that exact angle Simon used when he'd just been shown something new. But maybe all horses looked that sceptical. It wasn't like Harry had that much experience with them. "Can I keep it?"

"Sure. I can always draw another one."

Harry tore out the page carefully and tucked it into the pocket with his wand. "Thanks. What other animals can you draw?"

"Well, not squirrels, it would seem." Severus managed a lopsided smile at himself.

Harry folded his hands on the table. "I think that place made sure you had to draw a badger. It was you barking at the wall that made it open and close. It's probably keyed in to the sound of a badger. I guess they're edge creatures, too. Hmm. You said dogs are edge creatures…?"

"Yes. Dogs represent loyalty."

"I knew that."

"Did you know they represent faith?"

"No." Harry's mouth twitched as he tried to imagine Sirius in a monk's robes. No – Sirius would never have a tonsure, not after the fuss he'd kicked up after Remus had suggested he _might_ have the beginnings of a bald spot.

"They look to us as we look to gods. Or God. Or Goddess. Or Cthulhu – whatever your religion is."

"Oh," Harry said, not knowing what religion Cthulhu represented and not wanting to look ignorant of wizarding traditions by asking. "What about wolves?"

"Representative of wild magic. Possibly in its evil form, but usually that's only believed by the more credulous. Also fidelity. Faithfulness to the family."

"That sounds nice." And it might explain a lot about Remus. "Rats?"

"Rats are edge creatures, too. They – hmm, let me think… oh yes. They stand for path-finding. Problem solving. Intelligence. But not – and this is significant – not wisdom."

"Ah. What about a stag."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Oh. In pre-classical magic stags – mature male deer – are about power and deepest wisdom. They're the most magical of all… well, apart from pigs." His frown verged on a sneer as Harry grinned. "Pigs are intensely important in Celtic myth, Lovegood. Don't tell me that didn't give you a clue?"

"I don't know anything about Celtic myth, sorry, Severus," Harry replied good-naturedly. "So what do horses represent?"

There was that odd gleam which brought a semblance of life to those black eyes again as Severus explained in his softest voice, "Horses… Thanks to them our nations have risen and fallen. They bring war. They bring food and medicine. They represent freedom. They've carried us and our messages of betrayal and despair or hope and victory for thousands of years, now. But longer than that and most importantly of all, they've carried our dreams."

There wasn't anything Harry felt he could add to that. And the sudden twisting in his chest as he thought of Simon was almost painful.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine. Just… just a little homesick, I guess."

Severus nodded hesitantly. Harry had the impression he'd never experienced homesickness. Harry never had until he'd come to Hogwarts… and had to leave for the summer holidays. It was sad Severus couldn't view Hogwarts the same way. "What do you miss most about it?"

Harry considered. At last he said, "Everything. Everything. Except Filch and that apology of a cat."

Severus smiled.

"I…" Harry began, and paused. But it needed to be said. What was that thing about Gryffindor bravery again? "I wish you could come back with me."

Severus stopped smiling. "But I can't, can I."

"No," Harry whispered. Looking into Severus' eyes was like meeting Snape for the first time all over again; they were hollow tunnels into darkness which a person could fall down and find only despair at the end. "You have to stay here. I'm sorry."

Severus nodded. "Because there was no Harry Lovegood here, but there was a Severus Snape in your dimension. Even if he is supposed to be dead. And there can't be two. If I ever met myself it would be like meeting yourself in another time – and all the theorists say that's a really bad thing."

"I guess so."

It was a good excuse. Providing Severus didn't argue that if Harry's Snape was dead there was nothing stopping this Severus from returning with Harry.

ooOOoo

They studied quietly until dinner, when they ate quickly in the Hall before returning to their spot in the library. They weren't there long until a young Ravenclaw boy sidled over and said, "Hey, Potter's looking for you."

Harry looked up.

"Sorry?"

"Potter. He's asking where you are."

"Well then tell him I'm in the Forest. Or at the top of Astronomy Tower. Yes. Tell him Astronomy Tower."

The Ravenclaw smiled. "I'd like to, but he'd probably take it out on me after. Just thought I'd warn you, 's all."

Severus flicked back a greasy lock of hair and scowled. "So how come you're interceding all of a sudden?"

"Do you mean getting between him and whatever? Well, 'cos he made my sister cry last week. And he's got a swollen head that's just aching for a pin."

Harry still wondered why he was capable of being hurt. He wanted to yell at the Ravenclaw for saying his father had a swollen head. But he knew it was true. He forced a smile. "You don't think Evans made sure he had enough pins today?"

The boy grinned and Severus smirked. "I don't think he can ever have too many pins." The Ravenclaw looked around nervously. "Better not be seen talking to you." And he vanished behind one of the shelves.

Harry and Severus had a quick discussion, the result being a conclusion that they wanted a peaceful evening so they could get some solid work put in on edge creatures and maybe go to Hogsmeade tomorrow if they had time (which would be impossible if fighting with Potter earned them a detention). Harry was curious to see how much the town had changed. James Potter didn't have any place in that. They gathered up their books and left.

Occasionally as they passed someone in the corridors they'd hear a murmured, "Potter's looking for you. Where shall I tell him you are? Astronomy Tower? Sure."

Why had everyone told Harry how popular his father had been at school? It seemed like just about everyone not from Gryffindor (and one or two of the younger students _from_ Gryffindor) wanted to help Harry and Severus avoid him. It wasn't as if Severus was popular – quite the opposite, and in fact it was _Harry_ people wanted to warn – it was that the students were sick of putting up with James. And it seemed to Harry that they were a little embarrassed of how he, the visiting student, had been treated. The students appeared to be eager for him to have a better impression of Hogwarts than he'd first been given.

Hoggy, warty Hogwarts.

Harry's home. And the home for many others.

So why did his father seem popular?

Because other students were afraid to talk about how much they disliked him?

Harry was starting to think so. It was like school with Dudley Dursley all over again.

In the dark corridor near the storeroom, he couldn't stop himself from asking, "Severus?"

"Mm?" Severus was walking quickly and quietly, swishing his wand so that their footprints disappeared into the dust behind them.

"Y'know how I look like m– James Potter?" He'd nearly said _my father._

"I don't hold it against you, if that's what you're asking."

Harry thought of his first Potions lesson. And every other Potions lesson. And every other meeting with Snape. "No – that's not it. Do… do I ever seem like Potter? In any way?"

Severus paused, a scathing reply poised on his lips. Something in Harry's expression must have warned him, because the black, pitiless eyes took on an expression that, in anyone else and with a good dose of imagination, Harry might have called pity. "You're very different," Severus said. "Well, maybe you tend to rush into things without thinking which makes me wonder why the Sorting Hat in your universe put you in Ravenclaw, but you don't have his surety that the rest of the world should bow down and kiss your holy arse. He's arrogant and, unlike some other people I could name – do you have any Malfoys in your universe? – he doesn't carry it off with much style. And he thinks that because I'm ugly and have no people skills whereas he's handsome and can be charming when he wants to be, that he's justified in whatever he does to me. And then can wriggle his way out of any consequences by smiling at the people in charge. But you – remember in the library when you hexed him? You talked directly to Dumbledore. You took responsibility. And in Potions you stayed with me instead of running. Only you and Evan Rosier did that – and Evan's one of the few people I know who doesn't shirk from his duties. Better than me in that respect, actually," he muttered. They had reached the door to the storeroom; Severus tapped it with his wand and it creaked open just enough for them to slide through before it shut itself behind them. After re-setting the privacy wards, Severus continued with a snigger, "He ran so fast he nearly made a sonic boom."

"He did go to get Dumbledore…" There was that picking at a scab again.

Severus sneered. "Yes. Hooray for him. But did he stop and check if everyone was out of the room? Did he stay and help us put out the fires?"

Harry sighed and settled down on a pile of blankets. There was a bottle of butterbeer left over from last night in the picnic basket. Harry popped the cork and poured out two cups. "I guess I just want to know that there is something good about someone who looks like me."

Severus cocked his head, hands on hips as he stared down at Harry, looking puzzled, as if trying to work out what was the real issue. Not something Harry wanted him to understand… "Something good… Well, he does well in some classes. Better than me in Transfiguration, if I have to admit it. And he's a good Quidditch player. Loads better than me, although I don't really know if it's from more practice – unpopular people don't get on Quidditch teams, you know. Or if they do, a sudden excess of Bludgers tends to make them realise they're not welcome." Severus' face twisted as if he'd just been munching on pickled limes. "But he _is_ good – good reflexes for catching Snitches and Quaffles."

"Those things don't make a person worthy," Harry said slowly, wondering if anyone would be able to say anything better of him than that he was good at Quidditch and did well in some of his classes, too.

Not meeting his eyes, Severus slid down the wall and settled in a gangly pile of limbs on his blanket next to the box. He took the cup of butterbeer Harry offered and sipped at it. "No. But then, what does? What does it take to prove yourself as a worthy person? Maybe an Order of Merlin…" He shrugged one bony shoulder. "I don't know. Slytherin is meant to be the House for the ambitious. But Gryffindor is where the glory-hounds go."

Harry frowned. "What are your ambitions?"

Severus sniffed, twitching his nose in disgust. Probably not at the butterbeer – Harry thought it tasted fine. "To get out of here. And go and live in Australia."

"I thought you wanted to go to America?"

"America… Australia… they both start with 'A' and they're both a hell of a long way away from here. One of them doesn't have kangaroos. Outside of that, who cares? So – do you want to go over those charms for taking edge-creatures through barriers, or mistletoe applications?"

Harry considered the options. And the abrupt change of subject. "Actually, could you do me a really massive favour?"

"Does it involve lending you money? Because neither a borrower nor a lender should you ever be. Or something along those lines."

Harry bit down on a grin. "Worse. I need you to face the wrath of Madam Pince and write in a library book."

Severus gave him a genuine look of horror.

"No, really," Harry said. "I just need you to make some notes on the use of mistletoe in potions for breaking barriers that use three oak trees as anchors. Oh, and harvesting mistletoe. And anything else you might think is relevant."

"Oh. Is that all. Would you like me to sign my name so Pince knows whom to eviscerate?"

"No, no. Nothing so fancy. Just whatever you think might be useful." Harry decided it might be best not to be too specific: it was hard to know how much juggling he was allowed with time, and if he'd already affected things so that he would be Harry Lupin, that was far too much meddling for one trip through time.

"And how is it supposed to benefit you, pray? Will you take the book with you? Because dimensional travel did _such_ good for your possessions." He waved a hand at the remains of Harry's pack, abandoned in the corner since Harry had arrived.

"I want to try moving specific information from this dimension into mine," Harry said, which was a truth. Just not _the_ truth.

"What's in it for me? Other than a public flogging when Pince finds out?"

"She won't find out. And you'll get… a warm glow of satisfaction. How's that?"

Severus sniffed disdainfully. "Nothing compared to a box of chocolate frogs."

"Well, if we get down to Hogsmeade tomorrow – it _is_ a Hogsmeade day, isn't it? – then I've got some money." The money had survived intact. Gold seemed to take well to time-travel, which boded well for getting the sickle back. "I'll get you two boxes. Deal?"

Severus' ebony eyes narrowed, weighing up chocolate frogs over Pince's fury. "Done," he agreed grudgingly. "Which book?"

Silently, Harry passed him the thin potions text Severus had given him to read on his first full day here. He watched as Severus scribbled notes, not interrupting, feeling the weight of history in fresh ink which would fade from black to blue-grey by the time Draco's Mendeleev gloves found the book again. It wasn't the most comfortable of feelings.

The room was silent apart from the brisk scritch of quill on paper interspersed with pauses when Severus had to stop and remember what he'd learned. "There," sighed Severus at last, snapping the book closed in one hand which didn't have the stains from potions ingredients on the fingers quite so strongly as it would in the future. He ran a critical look over Harry. "You look tired. And tomorrow's your last day, isn't it? Do you want to get a nap in while I take some books back to the library? I have something I want to investigate…" There was an odd snap to the way he closed his mouth, as if trying to stop himself from adding something.

Harry hoped Severus wasn't going to ask about coming with him. At first the idea had been amusing. Now, especially after last night's dream, images from which re-emerged at odd moments, there was nothing humorous about it. "You're just going to the library?"

"I won't be long, I expect."

"Okay. I have a few ideas I wanted to bounce off you, but I could use a nap first, I think. But Severus…"

Severus, already standing with a few books tucked under his arm, hesitated by the door. "Yes?"

"I don't know what Sirius was trying to do, but don't trust him. He won't hesitate to harm you." Harry held the flat black eyes, trying to impress on Severus how vital this was. Saying anything more could give away Remus' secret, and Harry, who was feeling just a tinge of guilt over the way he'd flat-out told Remus dangerous werewolves should be put down – not sent to Azkaban, but put down like animals – Harry had had it sitting in the back of his mind, comparing notes with his conscience. Being cruel was a James trait, not a Harry trait. And revealing Remus as a werewolf would be the cruellest thing Harry could do to him.

James Potter mightn't think twice about hurting someone that deeply, but Harry knew who he was: he was Harry.

That was important to remember. And, while he was currently annoyed with Remus, part of him still cared for the person who had been his favourite teacher in third year… and had proven over subsequent years that he loved Harry like Harry was his nephew by blood.

"I know that. And I don't trust him. Don't worry about me – I'm just going to find a bit more information for you. Best if you have everything you can know before you go back."

Harry looked up at Severus, wondering if anyone else had ever seen this earnest, whole-hearted person. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

Severus smiled, a little shyly. "Anything for a friend."

It warmed Harry more than the butterbeer. "Thanks, friend. And watch yourself out there."

He yawned and snuggled down in the blanket. It didn't take long for him to nod off.

ooOOoo

When he woke the sun was down and Severus still wasn't back. Anxious now, Harry stood up on the box, ignoring its growl at being used as a footstool, to see which stars were up.

The moon was up: a beautiful big moon, round and yellow as a cheese and swimming in clouds far above the tops of the trees of the Forbidden Forest.

And, with a chill in his gut, Harry knew where Severus had gone. He swung his cloak over his shoulders, picked up his wand and crept out of the room.

ooOOoo

There was a nip in the late-spring air. Harry's breath was the faintest mist in the moonlight as he stood up on the top of the slope overlooking the Whomping Willow. The branches drifted slowly in the night, as if they'd been surprised by something. Or someone. Harry could guess who.

He looked up at the moon. What time was it? The moon wasn't at its zenith yet, and Harry judged it wasn't yet eleven. A watch would have been useful.

It had been a mistake looking at the moon: Harry had to take off his glasses and press his hands over his eyes for a minute to get them accustomed to the dark again.

That done, he looked around carefully until he saw what he was looking for.

Over in the shadows of a gazebo overlooking the tree was a tall, slender figure. The shoulders were too broad for it to be Severus, unfortunately.

Well, Harry had been expecting this. Expecting, yes; hoping for, absolutely not. With a sigh, he tapped his face with his wand and whispered the counter-charm. It took three goes before he was sure it was completely removed, and then he took his glasses off and changed the shape of the frames just slightly, as well as altering them so that they gleamed like pale metal instead of black plastic.

He put them back on and gave his hair a good ruffle just to make sure. Hopefully it was back to being black. He wished he'd brought a mirror. Well, never mind. Harry threw a pebble less hard than he would have liked, and hit the figure on its shoulder.

As the figure jumped, Harry hissed, _"Padfoot."_

Sirius Black peered into the darkness. "Who's there?"

Harry stepped out into the light of the full moon. "Me."

"Prongs? What are you doing out here?"

"Trying to stop Moony from becoming a murderer. Or maybe it's you who's the murderer."

Sirius curled his lip uncertainly. "What's wrong with you, Prongs?"

"Did you send Snape into the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack?"

Sirius shrugged. "Eh. He'll get the fright he's been deserving for years. Teach him to go sneaking 'round after his betters."

Harry's fingers tightened around his wand.

"So you showed him the trick with the knot and sent him in to see Remus. Who just happens to be a werewolf. And if he manages to bite Snape Snape'll become a werewolf too."

Sirius smirked. "That'd teach him. Imagine what would happen if everyone knew he was a werewolf."

"No – imagine what would happen if everyone knew _Remus_ was a werewolf."

"Dumbledore would keep it quiet. Honestly, James, what's wrong with you tonight? Did Evans tell you to naff off again?"

If she had that much sense she would have, thought Harry, his blood reaching simmering point. "I think you're overestimating the headmaster's influence. And how do you think Remus would feel knowing he's damned someone to the same hell he goes through every month? That's if he doesn't kill Snape outright, of course. In that case Remus won't have to worry about anything, because the Ministry will have him put down."

Sirius sniffed. "It won't come to that." There was a flash in the darkness as he grinned.

It was plain he wasn't going to see sense and Harry didn't have time to argue. He was used to Sirius being a little irrational at times (and especially over Snape), but had always put it down to twelve years in Azkaban. Now he wondered just how balanced Sirius had been when he went in, because it seemed like Azkaban would teach him to act rather than just react.

"Go and get Pomfrey. And Dumbledore," Harry snarled, hurrying down the slope with his cloak flying out behind him. As he passed Sirius the taller boy grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Hey – you're not James," Sirius growled. "You've got a curse scar and green eyes… Squit!"

Harry silently cursed Sirius' excellent night vision. He'd underestimated it. "No, I'm not James. And the big difference between us isn't my scar or my eyes – or my nose, which is a little smaller – it's that I've got a brain between my ears, whereas he's got gym socks."

Sirius sneered. "Think you've got a fancy disguise? Well – here's one for you…"

"What? Are you going to turn into a big, black dog? That's old news, Paddy."

Sirius' jaw dropped. "Well, disguise this!" He drew his wand.

Harry beat him to it with a fist. He thought he heard the crunch of broken cartilage as his knuckles smashed into Sirius' face.

"Worst come-back line ever," Harry snapped. "Honestly, Sirius. I never thought I'd say this, but I think Azkaban might just do you good," he added softly, then stopped in horror, hoping Sirius hadn't heard. There were going to be too many people for Dumbledore to Obliviate if he didn't keep his temper.

"Argh!" Sirius was down on the ground, hands cupping his nose, which was pouring blood through his fingers and down his chin. It didn't seem likely he'd noticed anything Harry had said. His wand was next to him.

Harry picked it up. "Get up," he said coldly. "Go and get Pomfrey and Dumbledore. I'm taking your wand with me and I'll snap it if you've not come to me before I get to the end of the tunnel."

Sirius glared up at him balefully.

"I've wasted enough time with you. Now get moving or I'll snap it anyway – but if Moony's got to Severus before I do I'll do more with this wand than break it. Understand?"

Sirius nodded, still glaring.

"So why are you still here? Go."

Harry hurried off down the hill again. When he got to the bottom he looked up. Sirius had gone. Harry could only hope he'd gone to get help. He sighed and found a long stick near the base of the Whomping Willow. Possibly it had been dropped there by Snape, although it would make more sense for Severus to take a stick in with him just in case.

But when Harry poked the tree and tried to take the stick into the tunnel he found out that some things are incredibly awkward when you try to go spelunking with them, and a long stick is one of them.

He crawled into the hole.

"Severus? Severus?"

Harry paused, stretching his ears into the still darkness.

Nothing.

Hell and damnation. This was meant to have been done by James Potter. That was history, which already he'd meddled with too much. Maybe he should sit and wait for James to come and save the day and leave Severus forever embittered?

Harry considered it for all of half a second before he realised this ugly feeling inside him was shame.

History could go jump in the lake and do something biological with the squid.

_"Lumos,"_ Harry snapped, and ran down the tunnel, his wand illuminating the way with cool blue light.

ooOOoo


	30. Chapter 30

Disclaimer: All herein belong to JKR. I own nothing and am too poor and humble for anyone to waste time suing. (Best disclaimer I've read recently ran something along the lines of: "If JKR knew what I was doing with her characters she'd chase me with a spanner". I don't think she'd be quite that cross with me. I live in hope, anyway.)

ooOOoo

Chapter 30: Remus Doesn't Help

If it was any other mysterious tunnel Harry would have taken things slowly. But he knew this tunnel – more importantly, he knew what was at the end of it and who might be getting close to the end already. If he hadn't come back in time, would James Potter be racing along here instead? Would James be further ahead and stop Severus before the door into the Shrieking Shack was opened?

Did Severus have his hand on the latch now?

Harry ran faster. "Severus!" he shouted. "Severus, stop!"

The only sound he heard was the patter of his feet on the dirt as he raced through the darkness.

When he finally got to the end of the tunnel and charged up the steps he was gasping for breath and his chest ached with fear. He skidded to a stop at the awful sight:

The door into the Shack was open.

Harry gripped his wand tighter and mouthed a petrification hex just to be sure he remembered it. "Severus?" he called again more softly. "Severus? Are you in here?"

There was a nasty hollowness deep in his gut at the sight of the empty room. Once upon a time it had been a basement; a few chairs had been stacked by one wall but something had toppled them and left them scattered around an upturned table. That something had also ripped legs off the chairs, splintering them and leaving deep tooth marks. Harry picked up one of the chair legs as he crept through the room and up the stairs, which creaked under his feet. When he stepped on the second step something shifted a fraction under his foot and there was a sharp click. Harry jumped, but then saw a lamp hanging from the ceiling spluttering into reluctant life. Oh – that was different from the last time. The lamp gave out only a meagre amount of light, but it was better than the lumos spell. With a flick, Harry put the wandlight out and continued up the stairs.

"Severus," he whispered hoarsely.

The door above him was flung open, revealing a room thinly lit by a lamp hanging from the ceiling. The scanty light outlined a tall, cloaked figure. Every nerve in Harry's body screamed: _Death Eater!_ Without hesitating, Harry cast the hex at the shadow in the doorway.

The figure toppled as the hex hit it square in the chest.

"Oh, shit." Harry dropped the chair leg as he hurried up the steps and crouched over the figure that was lying flat on its back. "Severus? I'm sorry… _Finite incantatum."_

Severus blinked up at him balefully, then twitched his feet. "What the hell did you do that for, Lovegood?" he spat.

Harry put his wand in his pocket and helped Severus up. "I thought you were a monster."

"Oh, like I've never heard that one before…"

Harry shook his head and brushed some dirt of Severus' shoulder. "Maybe you should give people a business card or something first, just to make sure they know you're human."

"And what ever gave you the impression I was human?"

Harry stared at him until one dark eyebrow raised. "Gotcha."

Harry snorted. "Come on, funny person."

"In a minute. But you shouldn't have taken the glamour off…"

Harry grimaced at the memory. "Trust me, it was necessary. I'll explain later. But right now we have to get out of here."

But when Harry grabbed his arm Severus shook him off. "No. Lupin's here. He's – someone just dumped him here without his robes or anything. And he's sick… _really_ sick –"

"I know. That's why we've got to get out of here. Right now."

Severus stared at Harry. "And people tell me _I'm_ callous…!"

Harry gritted his teeth and grabbed Severus' arm again. "Look. We can get back down into the tunnel, shut the door, and I'll explain it then."

Severus twisted his wrist, breaking Harry's grip with the ease of practice, then drew himself up to his full height and glared down his nose at Harry. At this age he wasn't much taller, especially given how much Harry had grown this year, but he had the whole glaring-down-nose thing down pat. Especially when he folded his arms like a roosting bat. He had just opened his mouth to say something that probably wouldn't endear him to Harry when there was a sharp cry from the room behind them. Severus turned. "He may be a complete and utter tosser and I'm amazed I'm arguing his case when I should be standing over him gloating or something while he writhes in deservèd agony, but he needs help," he growled, as if he was taking Remus being ill as a personal affront. Probably it was the idea of giving help to the Gryffindor that gave him the expression of a camel about to spit. At another, more pained, cry, he shifted as if he was about to go and see to Remus.

Harry grabbed him just in time.

"Let go of me!"

"No, you stubborn git! We have to leave! Remus is a –"

A low growl throbbed through the air. Even the light cast by Harry's wand and the lone lamp hanging from the ceiling vibrated at it.

Severus' fingers, which had been trying to pull Harry's off his arm, froze. Then dug into Harry's hand. His eyes widened. "What the hell was that?" he breathed.

Harry shook his head, took out his wand again, and pulled Severus towards the steps down to the basement. This time Severus followed without hesitation.

They crept back down the stairs, discreetly shutting the door behind them, and scurried across the basement.

They were almost at the entrance of the tunnel when something crashed against the door above.

"Oh, shit." Harry wasn't sure if he or Severus said that. Both of them froze for a millisecond then shot towards the tunnel.

There was another mighty crash and a howl of frustration and blood-lust.

The door burst open.

The strength of the werewolf ripped the hinges out of the doorframe and threw the door across the room, where it smashed into splinters against the wall. The werewolf didn't bother with the stairs – it flew in an arc through the doorway, twisting with mindless rage mid-air and landing four-square between Harry, Severus and the exit.

It stood, legs splayed, hair bristling, and rippled back its upper lip in a snarl. A thin stream of infectious saliva dripped to the floor as it fastened its smouldering yellow eyes on the two boys backing away from it.

Harry was just about to ask Severus, who was grey with fright, if he knew any good spells when the werewolf lunged at him.

Harry flung up his wand-arm instinctively, shouting a spell which arced out to hit the werewolf in the snout. The spell seemed off somehow – the werewolf shook it off in little sparks of crimson light, snarled, and snapped at Harry's hand.

Harry stepped back as the werewolf prepared to leap again and raised his wand. Severus beat him to it. _"Lupus somnolens,"_ he shouted.

The werewolf staggered as the spell hit it, the ferocity in its yellow eyes dimming for a moment. It shook its head as if dizzy.

"Run," Severus hissed, already darting around the befuddled werewolf towards the tunnel. Harry mirrored him on the other side of the wolf…

…Which shook its head and whirled, ready to sink its teeth in Harry's leg.

It missed when a skinny figure leaped on its back in a flurry of flying robes. The wolf had nearly reached Harry when the sudden weight of its passenger knocked it sideways and almost far enough away from Harry – almost, but not quite far enough. Its snapping jaws bit down on the wand in Harry's hand. There was a crackle of magic and a yelp as the wand splintered between the wolf's jaws.

"My wand!"

"Stuff your bloody wand up your –" Severus broke off as the wolf slammed him into the wall. "Oof! You can get a new one… Do something!"

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Harry shouted as the wolf twisted and tried to savage its rider.

"I don't know!" Severus shrieked back, his face as firmly locked in terror as his arms and legs were locked around the wolf, which was now rolling to try and loosen his hold. "Do _something!"_

"Like what?"

"Like kill it and don't let it kill me!" He gagged and spat: the werewolf had flicked saliva into his mouth. "Merlin – it's going to infect me," he moaned. "Kill the fucking thing!"

"I can't kill it – I don't have a wand! And it's Remus!"

Grimacing and trying to wipe his mouth on his shoulder while not losing his grip and getting killed, Severus managed to shout, "Well, Remus is about to fulfil a life-long ambition and eviscerate me!"

Harry had to give him credit – even while hanging on for grim life to a thrashing, foaming werewolf, Snape could use words of more than two syllables. Then he suddenly remembered he had Sirius' wand. Where had he put it? Oh yes – in his pocket. He snatched it out. "I'm going to petrify both of you –"

"You're trying to kill me!" Severus howled – at the same time as the wolf, which, snarling and frothing again, headed towards Harry with murder in its eyes. Harry managed to step aside just as Severus untucked one ankle from around the wolf's belly and kicked it in the flank. The wolf roared at this new outrage and spun, trying to bite Severus' leg. Severus kept his arms wrapped tightly around the beast's neck – so tight the wolf coughed as its air was cut off – but any lack of oxygen wasn't slowing it down, unfortunately. Severus wasn't strong enough to strangle the wolf, but he was, luckily, strong enough to stop it bending its head around far enough to bite him. But he was weakening. "That spell will work on me but not – argh! Stop it, you ghastly creature! – but not on a werewolf…"

"I'll aim for the wolf. Try and slow it down for a moment." Lucky he hadn't told Severus it wasn't his wand…

Severus said something incredibly obscene (and unlikely ever to be achieved without significant magical intervention) as the wolf galloped around the room, leaping and plunging as it went.

"It's trying to buck you off," Harry said, grabbing one of the chairs and holding it out to fend off the wolf as it feinted at him again.

Severus managed to get out two whole sentences during leaps and charges: "Buck me … off? It's certainly … succeeding … several … letters … further down the … alphabet, so … if you … will please – Argh!"

The wolf slammed him into the wall; harder, this time. There was a thump that sounded unhappily similar to someone's skull hitting a plank, and the wolf snarled in triumph.

Eyes half-closed and rolling up so that only the whites showed, Severus let go of the werewolf. It whirled and –

– and Harry hit it with the petrification hex just as it tried to sink its teeth into Severus' face.

The wolf staggered and dropped, falling onto Severus. Severus didn't make a sound of protest.

That wasn't a good sign.

Harry, wand at the ready, crossed the room in three long strides. The wolf glared up at him but didn't move.

Excellent.

Steeling himself, Harry grabbed it by scruff and tail and pulled it off the Slytherin.

Oh, damn. Blood covered Severus' face, running down from his greasy hairline to mask him in red.

"Severus?" Harry shook him by his shoulder. "Severus?"

"Ngh?" Midnight eyes opened. It would have been more reassuring if they hadn't been slightly crossed. Harry swore he saw a couple of stars spinning around in them.

"Come on. We have to go."

"Ngh?"

There was a low rumble from the werewolf. One paw twitched.

Severus' eyes uncrossed immediately. He grabbed Harry's hand, Harry dragging him onto his feet, and staggered towards the tunnel. Harry helped him down into the tunnel and looked back into the room just in time to see the wolf stand up groggily and shake itself off.

Yellow eyes fixed on Harry and Severus. The wolf growled again, baring its teeth.

Claws scrabbled on the floor as it lurched to its feet and charged.

Harry and Severus bounced off each other as they grabbed at the door handle: Concussed or not, Severus was the one who yanked the door closed with a crash that echoed away up the tunnel. It was followed by another, louder crash, as the wolf slammed into it from the other side. The hollow boom echoing away down the tunnel was even extra loud in the pitch dark.

_"Lumos,"_ said Harry, and Sirius' wand flicked into life even better than Harry's had done in the Shrieking Shack. Oh – that explained it, he realised as he took a better look at the wand. It was his. Remus had just chewed up Sirius' wand. He should have felt a little guilty, perhaps, but all he felt was relief it wasn't _his_ wand.

Severus peered muzzily at it from behind the greasy hair hanging over his face, which looked even worse covered with blood. "Thought the wolf ate your wand?"

"I saw Sirius and took his. I was using it by accident – that's what Remus chewed up."

"Ha. Lucky. Maybe ironic, too. Ge' back t' you on that one… brain not working…"

"Come on. We have to get you cleaned up."

"Th's cut. Werewolf spit." Severus tried to wipe his face with his sleeve.

"Stop that," Harry sighed.

"Don' wanna be a werewolf."

Damn. That smack into the wall had really rattled Severus' brain. "Let it bleed – that'll help clean it out. Come on. We'll get you to Madam Pomfrey." Harry tried to sound comforting, but inside he was starting to get very worried indeed. What was the greatest threat: the concussion, or the open wound exposed to werewolf saliva?

ooOOoo

Harry was thoroughly sick of tunnels. That walk back down the steps and along the tunnel from the Shrieking Shack to Hogwarts seemed endless. Mercifully, Severus kept quiet and was quite docile. Harry kept Severus' arm over his shoulder to make sure the other boy kept up and, more importantly, to stop him falling over. There was something a bit off about Severus' balance. But as they continued Severus grew steadier. The howls from the Shrieking Shack behind them grew fainter and finally disappeared. Unfortunately the smell of blood on Severus stayed: thick, metallic and instinctively disturbing. They hurried through the dark tunnel in silence, each thinking their own thoughts – which were probably along very similar lines: Harry kept trying to remember how infectious werewolf saliva was (highly, was the word that came to mind) and if the infectious agent needed to be embedded into muscle by a bite or if it could latch onto a new host through a more superficial wound.

He'd been told that the best thing for a bite was to let it bleed itself clean.

Well, Severus seemed to be doing a good job of that; Harry worried if the Slytherin would have any blood left in his veins by the time they got back to Hogwarts; most of it seemed to be soaking into their robes by the smell of things.

He sighed with relief when the tunnel finally sloped sharply upwards. Severus was walking without help now, although Harry made sure he stayed within catching range in case the Slytherin stumbled. "Nearly there," he said.

Severus nodded. "Good. I've got the ancestress of all headaches."

"What day is it, do you know?"

"Well, it could be Saturday, but I think it may still be Friday. I met up with that arsehole Black at about ten-thirty. And I'm not concussed, if that's what you're trying to ascertain."

"I guess not – you just used 'ascertain' in a sentence. So I guess you might feel up to answering why you've turned into the sort of complete twit that goes haring off down tunnels on the say-so of someone who's got a proven track-record of wishing him harm, hmm?" Harry bit out the words. Now that the werewolf was behind them he was almost shaking with fury at Severus. And Sirius, of course – but Severus had been the one stupid enough to go into the tunnel.

"No. I wanna get out of here. Don't feel well."

Harry stifled a sigh. "We're nearly out. Hopefully the Whomping Willow doesn't try and kill us on the way out. Maybe it'll bash some sense through your thick skull."

"How'd you know about the willow? And Lupin?"

"I'll tell you later," lied Harry.

"Promise?"

"No. I'm still pissed off with you for nearly getting killed. No promises." And when Severus paused at the exit Harry grabbed his bony wrist and dragged him out. "Come on. I don't know how well that door back there will hold a werewolf."

That did the trick. Severus pushed him through and tumbled out after him. They scurried out.

"Phew," said Harry, lying on his back and staring up at the branches of the Whomping Willow as they lazily passed in front of the stars. "Now let's –"

The first branch nearly killed him. Instinct made Harry roll out of the way as the long branch whipped down. It slashed a furrow into the ground.

"Where's the knot?!" Severus yelped.

"I can't remember! Run!"

The second branch lashed out, cutting off their path. Harry looked up just in time to see the third raise and begin its killing stroke.

The first syllable of a fire spell was on his tongue when the branch quivered to a stop.

Harry gaped at the now motionless tree. "Severus… did you…?"

"No. I did."

The voice was eerily familiar. Harry looked around for the source and saw a slim figure with messy black hair throw a long stick away Light glinted off frames as the figure adjusted its glasses.

Then the figure pointed its wand directly at Harry and said, _"Revelo veritas."_

The spell hit Harry and washed through him as if he wasn't really there. It tingled a little, but otherwise had no effect.

"So," drawled the figure. "That's your real face, is it? I think I deserve to know why it's almost the same as mine."

James Potter pointed his wand at Harry again.

ooOOoo


	31. Chapter 31

Disclaimer: Does anyone ever read these things? If so, the characters herein and their hoggy, warty world do not belong to me in any sense other than the books I bought.

ooOOoo

Chapter 31: Rosier Helps?

The silence was broken by Severus.

"'Scuse me," he muttered before staggering out to a safe distance from the Whomping Willow and throwing up.

Harry ignored James and went over to Severus. "You okay?"

"No." He retched again, this time only bringing up a thin stream of bile.

"Come on. We have to get you to Madam Pomfrey."

"Wait." James stepped in front of them. "What happened?"

"What do you think happened?" Harry snarled. "Your sidekick tried to commit murder. Now get the hell out of my way."

Mouth in a firm line, James reluctantly moved aside, but then fell into step beside Harry, who had Severus' arm around his neck again. The thinner boy smelt uncomfortably of vomit, and from what could be seen in the moonlight, wasn't in good shape. Harry could only hope it wasn't from being infected.

Limned in silver by the full moon now passing its zenith, Sirius met them at the main doors. "James – he knew to call me Padfoot and you Prongs… Look – he's still masquerading as you."

"No, I'm masquerading as me, you great dunderhead," Harry snapped, then dragged Severus, who had tripped over a step, back up to his feet.

"That's his real face, Siri'," James said softly. His own face suggested matters were far from being settled regarding this. "How did he know about our nicknames?"

"Dunno. Where's my wand?"

"Remus ate it," Harry said.

Sirius opened his mouth to say something. He caught the expression of bottled fury on James' face and shut it again. Luckily.

Harry heard him whisper to James, "Is Remus..?"

"About to be put down for attacking a wizard?" Harry butted in. "Possibly. It depends on whether he's turned Severus or not."

Sirius growled, "Snivellus as a werewolf could only be an improvement… might even give him a smaller nose… Merlin, he smells even worse than usual," and squared his shoulders as if readying himself for a fight, but, before he could actually make his threat physical, James, bared teeth white in the darkness, shoved him off into the shadows behind the doors.

The furious whispers of James Potter ripping into Sirius Black faded behind them as Harry dragged Severus up the stairs towards the hospital wing. And good riddance, as far as Harry was concerned. Although it was about time his father put some effort into not being an arse. Well, at least they were back in the castle, with its effortless silence and familiar scents soft around him like a sleeping mother's arms should have been – the arms of a mother Voldemort had denied him a long time before time-travel had denied Harry the illusion of a good and honourable father. But the fact that he was home again put some strength back into his muscles, which had been feeling like perished rubber bands. Now all he had to do was get Severus to the infirmary, call Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore, and –

"Well, well… what have we here? James Potter, out doing no good… Oh, dear… how much blood did we spill tonight?"

All the hairs up the back of Harry's neck stood up at the familiar voice. Knowing what he would find, he turned with a small, private sigh, adjusting Severus' weight as he did so, to see Argus Filch leering at them. Mrs Norris sat at his feet with her tail curled primly around her toes, her large, luminous eyes alight with the same malicious glee in those of her master's.

"We have two students, one of whom has been attacked," Harry replied evenly. "I need to get him to the Infirmary."

"A likely story… what do you say, young Snape? Did Potter get the better of you this time?"

Severus eyed the caretaker owlishly through his mask of blood, making Filch squirm.

"Huh. I think this is something for Professors Boggle and McGonagall to take care of…"

"Fine," Harry huffed. "I suggest you call the headmaster, though. He's the one who will be most interested in this. And he won't appreciate you involving anyone else other than him, I can guarantee you that."

The scowl was so fearsome it was amazing Filch didn't turn himself inside out with the force of making it. "You always were a mouthy little bugger, Potter. Maybe it's time you got your comeuppance…"

"He's not me."

Harry looked around to see James, his hazel eyes cold as he stared down Filch. Sirius stood at his friend's shoulder with his arms crossed. James continued, "And I think he was right about calling for the headmaster."

"That's absolutely true, Argus."

Even Mrs Norris started.

His beard and hair glowing with the faint silvery light of the moon coming in through high windows, Dumbledore had arrived on cat's feet.

Well, Harry amended – not quite. Someone _else_ had arrived on cat's feet. The tabby next to the ancient wizard gave Harry a stern glare. Harry did his best to pretend he didn't know the cat was Professor McGonagall.

"Headmaster, these boys –" Filch began, stabbing a knobbly finger at Harry and Severus, but was cut off by Harry.

"Headmaster, there has been an attack. I think you know what kind." Harry cast a brief glance towards the window, though which could be seen the full moon partially veiled by thin clouds.

Dumbledore's eyes went cold. "How…?" He didn't miss Harry's quick glance back at the two Marauders, although Harry hadn't meant to give them away before he'd had a chance to settle matters himself. The headmaster turned to the wall, where one of the portraits was watching events with barely-concealed interest. "Stephanie, be so good as to go inform Poppy her services are urgently needed."

The portrait of a young woman in yellow robes curtseyed and sped off from frame to frame to the accompaniment of complaints from the occupants of the other paintings as she woke them.

"Mr Potter and Mr Black – you will go to Professor McGonagall's office. Now." His voice was soft, but it brooked no chance for argument. The pair scuttled off after Filch, Mrs Norris, and the Animagus tabby.

Harry, who was unused to seeing Dumbledore angered, blinked as the elderly wizard re-focussed on him. "I'm sorry," he said, not knowing why he should be sorry, but needing to say something. "I should have known this would happen."

Dumbledore shook his head. "It was never your problem to solve. Severus…? Can you make it to the Infirmary or would you like me to transport you there?"

Severus shook his head and winced – but at least he'd managed to get the blood-sticky locks out of his face. "I can walk."

And he did – but only with Harry's help. It was with a great deal of relief that Harry finally got him to stagger in through the open doors of the Infirmary and into the brisk care of a Madam Pomfrey almost identical to that of Harry's time except for a few lines her face had not yet acquired.

"Oh dear… Lie down, Severus. And hold still. I said hold still, my lad. I need to check that bump on your head. Headmaster, that blanket would be best put over your student…" She held her wand over the lump on Severus' head, ignoring the boy's scowl as Dumbledore tucked the blanket around his legs. "A bit of a concussion, but nothing that can't be fixed in a trice," the nurse said, nodding in satisfaction. She tapped the bump with her wand. A few blue sparks shot up and Severus winced, then screwed up his face in embarrassment as the nurse quickly wiped his face with a cleansing spell, following it up with an antiseptic spell to the now-clean wound at his hairline. He didn't get time to protest as Pomfrey put a glass of water to his lips and tilted it so that he had the choice of drinking or getting his front wet. Severus drank.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked, leaning over and ignoring Pomfrey as she switched her attentions to him.

Severus rubbed his head, grimacing at the little flakes of blood Poppy's cleaning spell had missed that floated free and settled onto the fresh white linen brighter than rust. "My head feels clearer, yes. But as for…"

"You're fine, Mr Whoever-you-are," Pomfrey broke in briskly. "As for the rest of your injuries, Severus, the wound is clean. We will need to see about any further complications tomorrow when Professor Boggle has brewed the diagnostic potion. Now wait here while I organise sleepwear for the two of you… Headmaster, if you would be so kind as to …?" She gave Dumbledore a meaningful glance: grownup talk time.

"Harry – will you wait here for me?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry nodded, not really wanting to go anywhere else anyway, and sighed as the nurse and Dumbledore glided out of the room, not liking being patronised but pleased to have this opportunity to have a few words with Severus, who owed him a damn good explanation.

He leaned forward in his chair and linked his fingers to stop himself strangling the other boy. Tomorrow he would be gone. And there would be no-one to watch Severus' back and tell him when he was being thick. "Now, tell me: what could Sirius possibly have said to make you put your life in danger like that?"

Severus hunched his shoulders and wrapped his arms around his blanketed knees. "Mumble-mumble-mumble…"

"Could you say that a little more clearly, please?"

Black eyes glared at him. "I _said_ I knew he was angry with Lupin."

"Yes. And that's always a perfect reason to take his word on anything."

The scowl deepened. "He said that Lupin had to go and take care of something at every full moon. That fitted… and he said that it had something to do with the tunnels you were looking for… I thought that if your Hogwarts was so similar to mine, there might be a tunnel that goes right the way past the barrier you're stuck behind… and there mightn't be any more time for you to find it." (Harry bit his tongue to stop from blurting out that the tunnel to Hogsmeade and the Shrieking Shack would, in Harry's time, be cut off because of the earthen component to Voldemort's Blockade wards.) "…Also there might be some magical item you could use, given how Lupin seems to find it so important. I thought Black was using me to get back at Lupin somehow. That's why I thought he could be trusted – because I thought he'd expect me to hurt Lupin, not… I didn't know he was a werewolf." He looked away, scowling.

"You bloody great idiot. You could have been killed." Harry passed his hand over his face and reminded himself that Robert Python said you should always be patient. He did a quick count to ten. "Don't ever trust Black. Yes, I'm going tomorrow. And no, I'm not going to be happy thinking that he might bump you off when I'm not here to keep an eye out for you."

Severus shrugged, a mix of emotions flickering over his face faster than Harry could follow. He settled on melancholy pleasure. "Black will be expelled over this. He won't be able to kill me."

Harry stared down at his hands, feeling the thin breeze wafting through the window and stirring the white gauzy curtains cool on the sweat drying down the back of his neck. Black would be expelled – the life-debt Severus had owed James would have meant James could argue for his friend to stay – and thus things would be completely different.

Maybe when Harry got back to Hogwarts he'd find that he'd spoken the truth all along – he really did come from an alternative dimension.

Would things be better or worse?

ooOOoo

Poppy Pomfrey bustled back, starched apron rustling over her mediwitch robes. Dumbledore followed more sedately, and paused in front of Harry. "I think matters would be best tackled in the morning, when we have all parties concerned present," Albus said.

Harry, who had been wondering if patience came easier to other people (Horse Mutterers, for example), nodded tiredly. Yes, it was more fair if Remus was involved, but the knowledge of what he'd nearly done would crucify him. If Sirius had thought there was a bit of a rift between them in the past few days, what now? With a nasty twist in his stomach, Harry wondered just how different time was now: was this the trigger which had made Sirius argue for Peter's suitability as Secret Keeper instead of Remus'? With a small jolt, he realised the nurse was asking him something. By the stern set of her mouth she'd probably asked him more than once. "Sorry?"

"Where are you staying?"

"With Severus."

"In Slytherin?" she asked, cocking her head to the side sceptically.

"Not exactly."

"Leave the boy be, Poppy," Dumbledore said gently. "Both of them have had enough trials tonight without your quizzing them." He turned to the boys. "I must stress how important it is that you not discuss tonight's happenings with anyone else."

Harry and Severus nodded, the latter reluctantly. Looking apprehensive, Severus asked if he could go.

"No." Pomfrey put her hands on her hips and looked down at him. "Both of you will stay in here tonight. Are you comfortable with him in the same room?"

She was asking Severus, which was alarming for some reason Harry couldn't put his finger on.

"I'm fine."

"Good." She nodded. "If either of you leave before my say-so I'll have your guts for garters."

Severus nodded morosely. Harry was privately shocked: he'd never heard Madam Pomfrey quite so militant. But then maybe she'd developed it for the few students who needed it.

It seemed to work on Severus, who meekly took the proffered nightgown and slipped behind a screen to get changed. When Harry returned from the same task, he had settled down in bed and pulled his blanket up to his chin.

After Harry had followed suit in the bed next to Severus', Madam Pomfrey relaxed fractionally. "Not a peep out of you two until tomorrow," she admonished with a stern waggle of her finger.

She locked the door behind her.

Harry sighed and closed his eyes, willing sleep to come quickly and stop the thoughts he didn't want running through his head. It was no use second-guessing what had just happened in relation to Pettigrew's betrayal. And despite the animosity he felt towards his father, there was still that small, sick feeling at the possibility of Harry's being involved in his parents' betrayal.

He was just drifting off when Severus asked quietly, "How did you know Lupin was a werewolf? You said you didn't know his revolting cronies from your dimension, and you gave me the impression you didn't know him that well, but you knew he was a werewolf… and what was that Black said about nicknames?"

"I know the signs of lycanthropy. The full moon was the clincher." Harry crossed his fingers under the blanket.

"You're lying."

"Go to sleep."

"That doesn't stop it being a lie."

Harry didn't want to lie anymore. "It's the best I can give you tonight." Harry rolled over. He listened for the soft snores of Severus sleeping. They were a long time in coming.

It was some time more before Harry could find sleep, too.

ooOOoo

The next morning Severus seemed to have forgotten his questions, to Harry's relief. Harry hadn't slept well, having nightmares where the door back into the tunnel had been locked, or the werewolf had broken through it and was chasing after him, but his feet were suddenly wearing lead shoes. At one point he'd thought the werewolf was sneaking up behind him, and woken to hear whispers coming from the room across the hall. It had been a while before he could convince himself that the dream wasn't really happening, and he was safe in Hogwarts. By the looks of him, Severus hadn't slept much better. After breakfast, which they had in the Infirmary, they dressed in silence, as if denying any possibility Severus would test positive for lycanthropy and be forced to stay in bed until the specialists from St Mungo's came to take him away, and for the first time since the first days of Harry's arrival Severus kept his thoughts completely to himself. Something had closed off, and Harry wondered if that question from last night really had been put aside.

"Do you feel better?" he asked.

"I feel fine, thank you," was the unsettlingly polite reply. But Severus wouldn't meet Harry's eyes.

"Good. Because if you're up to it we can go to Hogsmeade. I owe you two boxes of chocolate frogs, remember."

"That's right." But it didn't make him smile, and the inky eyes Harry glimpsed behind straggly locks were as flat and lifeless as the first time he'd seen Snape.

Harry suppressed a shiver. "Well, let's see how it goes."

Why hadn't Robert Python included a chapter in his Horse Mutterer book on what to do when you were back in time with your future enemy who was currently a friend and needed help in dealing with the possibility he'd just been turned into a werewolf – oh, and was beginning to be suspicious about all the lies you'd been telling him?

It would make the book an instant best-seller, if only because Harry would buy every copy.

ooOOoo

The Hogwarts rumour mill kept churning. Perhaps Professor Boggle had let something slip when he went to prepare the potion, although given a taciturnity that would make Snape seem garrulous by comparison it was doubtful. More likely it was because the Marauders and Harry and Severus weren't at breakfast that suspicions were raised in certain quarters. The Slytherin quarter, for instance.

"I don't want to see him," Severus snapped, crawling back into bed and pulling the blanket over his head.

Madam Pomfrey firmed her jaw and jerked the blanket back down. She returned Severus' glare with interest. "Evan Rosier is worried about you. The least you can do is let him know you are unhurt."

"We don't know that, do we. And he's not worried – he's making sure of information."

"Mr Snape, at least _try_ and pretend you are a sweet-tempered lad…"

"What happened to honesty? Between you and Dumbledore this place is one big untruth." He pulled the blanket back up.

Pomfrey planted her hands on her hips. Before she could draw her wand, Harry intervened. "I'll go out and explain to him that Severus isn't well. How's that?"

Pomfrey huffed. "I suppose that would do." She smacked one blanket-covered foot lightly. "All right, Sunshine and Happiness. You stay here and be good while Mr Lovegood goes out and acts as your press agent."

The blanket mumbled something.

Pomfrey shook her head. "Come along, Harry."

She led Harry out into the corridor where Evan Rosier was waiting, leaning up against a wall and idly exchanging glares with James Potter who was leaning against the opposite wall with his arms folded. No wands were in sight, but Harry suspected they were close to hand. The Fat Friar drifted through one wall next to Rosier and passed through the other by James. Neither boy took their eyes off the other.

The nurse cast the eye of experience over the pair. "Evan, here's Harry Lovegood to explain about Severus. Yes, before you ask, it _is _Mr Lovegood. Headmaster Dumbledore has assured me quite strongly of this fact. Now play nicely, children. Don't make me come back out here." She bustled back into the Infirmary, closing the door behind her with a cry of, "Mr Snape, did I _say_ you could examine my stores?"

Harry ignored James and turned to Rosier, who was glaring at him suspiciously. He sighed. "First of all, Rosier, it's me. Harry. There's been a bit of weird spellcraft going on, and now I look like James Potter." That was true. If you viewed it at a certain angle. "But, if you look carefully," he added, lifting his fringe, "you'll see I still have the curse-scar and green eyes."

"And your nose is different," James added.

Harry ignored him – James thought he was being helpful, did he?

Rosier sneered at James. "What are you doing here, Potter? Shouldn't you be circling up on your broom? Tell you what, if you be a good little chap and bugger off I'll let you know when Snape has drawn his last breath and you can come in for the carrion. How's that?"

James reddened. Harry couldn't be bothered with an argument (and he was still finding it weird when anyone said Potter' when referring to someone else), so he said to Rosier, "Severus is still asleep…"

"Really?" Evan raised his eyebrows meaningfully. "So that was _another_ Snape Pomfrey was yelling at?"

"No," Harry said, appreciating the mild sarcasm. It wouldn't be a normal Hogwarts day without it. "Actually, he's in a foul mood and doesn't want to talk to anyone."

"So he's all right, then."

"Probably. I certainly hope so. But we need to check something first. Boggle's brewing a potion for diagnosis."

James, appreciably paler, said, "So it's possible he…?"

Harry, feeling vindictive despite James' help with the tree, replied, "Oh, definitely."

"And if…?" He tried to hold Harry's gaze, obviously wanting to know that Remus would get out of this unharmed. But it was impossible to do when Harry could barely bring himself to look James in the face, let alone meet his eyes.

Harry drew his finger across his throat. "Do you think they'll bother with Azkaban?"

James swallowed.

Rosier frowned, eyes narrowing in speculation. Harry didn't like to guess how much the Slytherin prefect had deduced. "I say – much as I'm enjoying this elliptical conversation, could we please get back to the matter in hand? Thank you. Now, Harry... When can I see Severus?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. But I know the trip to Hogsmeade will go soon, and if you could pick him up a box of chocolate frogs he'll probably appreciate it. I'll keep an eye on things until you get back. How's that?"

Rosier cocked his handsome head to the side and considered. "Acceptable," he allowed at last. "On your word? You'll stay with him and protect him from Potter and his thugs?" Apart from a faint lift to the corner of his mouth, he appeared not to hear James' strangled growl of protest.

"While I'm able to. I tried to stop him going out last night, but…" He bit his lip, annoyed for what he expected wouldn't be the last time over Dumbledore's restriction. "I'll do better this time. But I won't be here much longer. I don't know exactly when I'm leaving, but I expect it'll be some time today."

"Oh." Rosier looked displeased. As, oddly, did James. "Well, I hope to catch you again before you go. Try and get Severus down to Hogsmeade if he's able to – it'll do him a power of good to get out and an old friend of his is going to be meeting us there. I'll stand the both of you butterbeers if you make it. If not and I don't see you again, it's been a pleasure having you here." He held out his hand.

Harry shook it. "Thanks, Rosier. It's been good to get to know you. I'd ask to keep in touch, but my school's really strict."

"Well, after graduation, then. I'm sure we could do some project together, what?"

Harry made himself smile politely, realising what the project would be, and forcefully reminded where this handsome and intelligent young man was going. Into the grave, buried by a white mask and a black robe.

_Imagine if this was Draco._ Harry didn't want to imagine. He could only hope against it.

"Are you all right now?" Rosier asked, casting a meaningful glance at James, who stared back steadily.

"Nothing I can't deal with," Harry said, hoping it was true. "He's just leaving, anyway."

Rosier nodded, then dragged Harry away just out of earshot to whisper, "I say – I've noticed you can't look at him. Not and meet his eyes, that's all. Are you sure you want me to go? I can ask Wilkes to pick my up stuff in Hogsmeade…"

_Damn, am I that obvious?_ "I'm fine. He's a creep, that's all."

Reluctantly, Rosier left, casting one last warning glare at James, who appeared to be oblivious to it. Harry turned to go back inside, then paused as James moved to follow.

"You're not coming near him," Harry said, turning but still not looking James in the face.

"I'm not here to see him. Remus is here."

"Oh. Well, I guess I can't stop you. Where're your sidekicks, by the way? You sure you can venture out without bodyguards?"

James' jaw tightened. "Up yours, Lovegood," he snapped, then ran his hand through his hair, making it look even messier. Harry, uncomfortably reminded that he did exactly the same thing, scowled. James visibly calmed himself. "I'm also here to make sure Snape isn't hurt."

"Why? So you can get ready to warn Remus to do a runner when it turns out Snape _is_ hurt?"

James glared. "No. You think you're so smart, don't you. You can't believe I'd be here to make sure Snape is fine just because I want him to be well, can you?"

"Don't give me that pile of hippogriff crap. I know you better than that. In fact I know you so well I want to stick a wand to my head and Obliviate myself."

James' eyes narrowed and he tilted his head back, considering Harry. "Yes. And there's something really personal in there. Dumbledore said you were from a different dimension – and if so, are you connected to me? Because something about me is incredibly important to you. It's personal, this hate you've got for me."

Harry's grip on his wand was so tight his knuckles creaked. "Go and see to Remus," he whispered, his voice shaking. "Don't try coming near me or Severus again."

He stormed back into the Infirmary, not caring that the door slammed back so hard it nearly broke James' nose, and turned right towards the small room where Pomfrey had sequestered Severus. Thankfully James didn't follow.

Harry flopped down on the bed next to Severus, breathing hard.

"Well. You look happy."

"Potter."

"Oh. What did Rosier have to say?"

"Thought you didn't want to have anything to do with him?"

"Doesn't mean I don't want to know why he was sniffing around. First time he's tried to visit me in the Infirmary."

"Come here often, do you?"

"Was that meant to be a pickup line?"

Harry snorted, and didn't realise until later that Severus had deflected the question. "He said an old friend of yours is meeting up with him in Hogsmeade."

Frowning, Severus said slowly, "I don't have any friends, old or otherwise. Did he say who?"

"No. And I'm your friend."

"Then you'll stop lying to me and tell me the truth about yourself."

Harry sighed. "I'm not lying."

"And I'm not stupid, Lovegood. If that's your real name, of course."

That was it for conversation.

They lay staring up at the ceiling for a while longer. Harry, sick of the silence, said, "Boggle is meant to bring the potion in" – he looked at the clock, which said twelve minutes to nine – "in about ten minutes."

"I know."

"I… guess you do."

They waited in yet more silence until a small raven shot out of the clock and cawed nine times. They waited longer.

At twenty past the hour Harry was bored again. He heaved a sigh and rolled over onto his elbow. Severus still looked washed out and severely lacking in sunshine, but that was normal. "You look better, anyway."

"Thanks. I'll feel completely better when Boggle finally finishes that potion. Although as he's making it I'm not entirely sure it'll work."

There was a rustle of robes in the doorway and a cough from Dumbledore.

Boggle glared at Severus, who didn't bother to hide his own sneer. "Well, well. If it's not my favourite student. Bit of bother, ha?" he barked, glaring at Severus, who glowered back, completely unrepentant. The professor was holding a smoking goblet and a silver pin. "Still think you're smart enough to get away with the sort of tom-foolery you think is condoned at this school, eh? Well, well, _well,_ well, well. Maybe this might be enough to make you think about the idiocy of your actions… although given your history I doubt it. But that's enough dithering, boy; let's find out if you can stay here or not. You're not the only student I have to deal with today, you know, only the most annoying."

"I think Mr Snape is deserving of more than a few hours of your attention per year," Dumbledore admonished mildly.

Glaring at his student, Boggle said with disdain, "I suppose you would feel more secure had you brewed it yourself?"

Severus met his glare coolly. "Well, sir, you know the old saying: if you want something done right, do it yourself."

Boggle snapped his mouth shut and smacked the goblet down on the bedside table. He swept out with his robes billowing behind him. Harry couldn't help thinking that in twenty years Snape would do it with more style.

Severus picked up the goblet, some of which had slopped over the rim onto the table and was now eating a hole in the varnish, sniffed it, and turned to Dumbledore. "I _could_ have brewed it, you know," he said resentfully.

Dumbledore shook his head, blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles resigned as if he was fully aware of how argumentative Severus was. "Unfortunately victims are not allowed by law to brew their own diagnosis potions."

Severus frowned in disgust and opened his mouth – to protest rather than drink.

Dumbledore sighed. "Please drink it while it remains hot, Mr Snape."

Severus wasn't quite bold enough to glare at the headmaster – not _quite_ – and he glowered into the goblet then squeezed his eyes shut and drained it to the dregs.

His face twisted as if he was having a fit. Or metamorphosing. "Ugh! Gah! Oh, shit!"

Harry jumped up, not sure if he should run to him or away. "Severus! Oh – hell, you're a werewolf?"

Dumbledore bent down and used a finger to lift one of Severus' eyelids. "The eyes are not red. There, it's quite all right, Harry… it would seem your friend is uninfected." He smiled at Harry.

"Then… why all the fuss?" Harry rounded on Severus, who was frantically wiping his tongue on the back of his hand.

"You try it! It tastes like Boggart found every mildewed, rotting, sub-standard, puke-inducing, vile, abominable, revolting…"

"I think I get the point." Dumbledore reached into his pocket. "No, I'm afraid I'm out of sherbet lemons. Care for a chocolate frog?"

Severus grabbed the chocolate frog and ripped the wrapper off. There wasn't time for the frog to twitch before its head was bitten off.

"There, now. Better?"

Severus, his mouth full of chocolate, nodded and mumbled, "Than' you, He'master."

Dumbledore lifted his hand as if to pat the boy on the head, then appeared to think better of it. Possibly because the frog's back legs were still weakly kicking as it was swiftly devoured.

"I don't suppose we need to do the silver test."

His mouth still full, Severus looked at the pin and sighed. He picked it up and jabbed it into the back of his hand.

Fortunately the chocolate muffled what he said. By the way he raised his eyes to the ceiling, Dumbledore knew what the words were, but chose not to make an issue out of it. "Any burning sensation?"

Severus shook his head, taking out the pin with relief. A bright red spot of blood welled, and was blotted by a tissue from the box on the beside table.

"So he's uninfected?"

Dumbledore smiled. "He's had a lucky escape, Mr Lovegood. As have you. Now, would you care to tell me what exactly went on last night?"

Harry glanced at Severus, who shrugged. "Tell him everything," Severus said. "How about starting with Black trying to murder me?"

"That's a serious accusation, Mr Snape."

Severus' face grew cold. "You taught us to consider murder as a serious issue. Are you going to make light of it because the accused is a Gryffindor?"

"Nothing of the sort, Mr Snape. Whatever you may think of me, I would never condone murder by any student, regardless of House. I… excuse me." He fished out a small fob watch from a pocket. When he opened it, one hand had spun around to point to the words: ward breach.

"Ah. Please excuse me. I see those Ravenclaw fifth-years have finally gone too far with their little vendetta against Mr Filch. I will return shortly. Please do not leave before we finish this talk, Mr Snape, Mr Lovegood."

As he left, Harry heard him speak softly to someone just outside the room. He hoped it wasn't James, out poking his nose into business that wasn't his. It was disturbing, though, to know that Remus was in the room just down the other end of the Infirmary. He wondered if he should go and visit, then decided that things were already rocky enough with Severus, who was looking at him strangely.

Harry, about to ask what was wrong, was distracted by a whisper at the door.

"James? Have you seem Remus?"

He turned to see a red-haired girl leaning around the doorframe. Her green eyes widened at the sight of him sitting on the bed next to Severus'. "Oh – hello, Snape. If James is bothering you I'll come and turn him into a pincushion again."

"Hello, Evans. No, he's not bothering me. In fact, I think you're a little mistaken over who he is. Come and have a look if you don't believe me."

He ignored Harry's death-glare, watching the girl as she slipped through the door, her slim figure even slimmer in the dark robes and her red hair flaring up copper as she passed through the sunbeam of the room's one window.

Harry caught his breath and looked away.

Not aware of his discomfort – or aware and not inclined to be in the least bit kind, hateful bastard that Snape had seemed to take such pleasure in being, Severus continued, "He looks like Potter, doesn't he? In fact this is Harry Lovegood. Have you been introduced?"

Lily smiled warily, obviously not trusting the Slytherin, as she came closer until she stood in front of Harry.

"Good lord," she breathed. "You look just like him. But… I've seen your eyes before…"

"So have I," Severus said softly, something dark and deep glittering in his own eyes. "Harry Lovegood, this is Lily Evans. Aren't you going to say hello?"

Harry muttered something, wondering if he was going to be sick.

"Harry? I always liked that name."

Any minute now she was going to turn into the ghastly creature who could have married James Potter.

Harry panicked and said the nastiest thing he could think of.

"Oh – you're that Mudblood the Slytherins mentioned."

Lily stepped back as if slapped. High points of colour tinted her cheeks; the only other colour in her face were her freckles and her eyes, green as sea-washed glass.

Those eyes narrowed as her nostrils flared.

"Might have known this was the sort of idiot you'd associate with, Snape," she snapped.

Seemingly uninsulted, Severus stroked one finger along his mouth. Harry didn't dare look at his face. Or Lily's. "It seems a little out of character." And then his voice went as soft and icy as Harry had ever heard it, now or in the future. "Aren't you going to apologise to your mother, Harry?"

ooOOoo


	32. Chapter 32

Disclaimer: Does anyone ever read these things? If so, the characters herein and their hoggy, warty world do not belong to me in any sense other than the books I bought.

ooOOoo

Chapter 32: Headlock

There was a high-pitched ringing in Harry's ears.

"Wh– What did you say?"

"I believe you heard me quite well enough. I asked if you were going to say sorry to Lily Evans."

"Oh… I thought…"

"That I had asked you to apologise to your mother? Yes. I did. Lily Evans, in fact."

Lily was gaping at them as if they'd run mad. "What sort of game are you playing, Snape?"

Severus levelled an arctic stare at her. Lily visibly braced herself at the chill. "Me? Why don't you ask your son? The one who claims to be from another dimension, but is in fact from the future? So, Harry… why can't you bear looking at you mother? It's not like she's ugly or anything."

Harry was shaking. He buried his face in his hands. He barely heard Lily asking, "Stop acting crazy, Snape… can't you see how much you've upset him? Harry? Harry? Do you want me to call Madam Pomfrey?"

"Answer her, Harry. Answer your mother."

"Shut _up_, Snape – you're not helping."

Severus spat venomously, "I think I've done enough helping for _him._ Come on, Harry. It's rude to ignore your mum. Why won't you look at her?"

His voice sounding like it was coming from another person, Harry whispered through his fingers, "Because… because… because she'll turn out like _him._"

"Who?" that soft scalpel of a voice asked. "Your father James?"

"Yes."

"Ah." That soft exhalation was the final straw. Breathing heavily as iron bands around his chest tried to smother him, Harry leapt to his feet and charged out of the Infirmary, knocking past Lily.

But when he tried to push past someone in the door, that someone turned out to be strong and grabbed hold of him, holding tighter when Harry struggled, pushing him against the wall and twisting his arm up behind his back until Harry cried out at the pain.

"Did you hurt her?" that someone hissed in his ear.

"James! James Potter, let him go this instant!" Lily said, her voice high and as tight as Harry's throat. Harry was released with a shove that sent him face-first into the wall, and when he looked around to get his bearings again he saw Lily watching him with dawning horror, her eyes darting back and forth between his face and James'. Harry tried to cover his face with his hands again, but it was too late.

"Oh, lord… Does Dumbledore know about you?" she asked, still shaking her head slowly.

Surprised by the question, Harry blurted out, "Yes."

"Oh, he does, does he?" Severus was standing behind Lily with his arms folded. "I expect the both of you thought it a great lark to have me running around after James Potter's time-travelling son."

Harry blanched at the poison in Snape's voice. "No… No, we never…"

"And I suppose you felt completely justified in not telling me how I was going to die?" he hissed.

"No – of course n-"

"Oh, save it for someone who believes your lies." As white-faced as Harry felt, Severus shoved past Harry and his parents.

"What's this time-travel clap-trap?" James called after Severus, who only quickened his steps. "Snape? What do you mean – my son?" When Severus didn't stop, James turned back to Harry. "What…?"

He stopped, jaw dropping. "Oh, no…" He shook his head decisively. "No. It's not possible."

"What's going on, James?" Lily asked. She looked angry and bewildered. "What is he on about? Are… You aren't going to be sick, are you?"

Green-faced, James sputtered, "I… it can't be true… Lovegood here can't be from the future…"

"Of course not! It's just one of Snape's jokes. Harry… He…" Lily trailed off, shaking her head in dismay as she took another look at her eyes in James' face; the nose smaller like hers; the hair just as messy as James'… Harry saw the moment when it all clicked into place in her mind. "I… _James?"_

Caught between the gimlet stares of his parents and watching his future enemy disappear around the corner, Harry decided on the lesser of two evils – and the greater responsibility that came with being someone's friend as opposed to that of a son wandering in time who'd met his parents who didn't know they were going to get married, let alone have children together...

Yes – chasing after a friend was easier.

Even when that person didn't believe you were their friend. He turned for the door, but James grabbed his arm. "No – you need to explain this! You don't need to run from me… not if you're my son…" his voice weakened at the shock of what he'd said. "Why can't you even look at me?" he continued softly, shaking Harry's shoulder in an effort to make Harry look him in the eye. "I know we had a bit of a rocky start, but…"

"You know nothing," Harry breathed hoarsely. "And that wasn't a rocky start… it was a bloody great avalanche! It was the truth about the sort of person you are…" At last he steeled himself to meet his father's eyes and he had a bitter satisfaction of seeing the pupils widen in shock as he spat, "I loved you. But that was when you were dead and I didn't know you. Now I _do_ know you – and you're just like the bullies who made my life hell before I found out I was a wizard. I hate them – but not as much as I hate _you!"_

Lily made a muffled sound and tried to catch his wrist, but Harry sidestepped her neatly. His voice shaking, he said, "No, don't touch me. I can't bear to have you turn into the same… same… the same thing that he is."

Harry had no idea what Robert Python would say about this and he was beyond caring or thought, and James' sick expression mirrored the roiling in his own stomach that threatened to bring up his breakfast; instinct made him break into a run, sprinting away from the two speechless Gryffindors who would one day be his parents… and die, leaving a boy grieving over lies and illusions.

Running as quietly as he could, he caught Severus by surprise halfway along the next corridor. The Slytherin was striding along briskly, the tatty hem of his robes flickering out behind him and his bootheels striking the floor smartly. The set of his shoulders suggested he was bracing himself against a pain that was trying to bow him.

However much pain he felt, Harry was almost grateful for the opportunity to distract himself from the horror of what he'd run away from. Strange to have Severus Snape as a direction to run _to_, but then time-travel was a strange business all-round…

Well… this had worked well enough last time…

He leaped.

In a flurry of robes and curses, Severus hit the ground with Harry on his back. Before the skinnier boy could reach for his wand, Harry grabbed one arm and twisted it behind his back. In the next split-second he had him in a headlock.

"You bite me, I'll bite you back," he warned, getting a glimpse of crooked teeth.

Severus looked ready to spit poison. "Hey – here's an idea for you," he hissed. "Why don't you go back and make some happy memories with your ever-loving parents?"

"Because I need to make things right with a friend."

Black eyes squeezed tightly closed. Harry shivered at the raw pain, quickly masked by scorn.

"Then why are you here?"

"Because you're the friend."

_"Liar!"_

Harry relaxed just a fraction – and Severus took the chance to break the headlock.

A brief scuffle and a nasty bite to Harry's forearm later, Harry was on his back with Severus in a second headlock, and both boys were gasping for breath. He moved his head just in time as Severus snapped his head back, trying to break Harry's nose. "Stop that."

"Or what? You'll lie to me again?" Severus sneered.

"No." Really, Harry had no idea what he'd do. "I'll think of something else."

"I'm sure. Cruciatus too plebeian for you, yes?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "Yes. Now are you going to listen to me like a reasonable person, or do I have to keep you in a headlock?"

"You can let me go. I'll listen." The bared teeth suggested he'd preferentially listen to Harry's screams.

"Liar."

"Takes one to know one."

Harry shook his head. "Haven't heard that one since I was at primary school. And yes, I lied to you. I admit it and I was wrong. Happy? But look at it from my point of view… If I'd told you the truth you wouldn't have had any time for me other than the second it takes to spit on me."

"You'll never know."

"No," Harry replied softly. "I guess not."

"So why are you here? Haven't I done everything you needed me to?"

"Yes," said Harry sadly. "And more. Because you were my friend."

He was ready when Severus writhed angrily before settling again, hissing with rage as he found himself pinned down on his stomach again.

"What makes you think I was your friend? You were just someone unusual, and I was bored."

That stung. But Harry remembered just in time Severus telling him that the best way to get rid of people was to find the right insults. "You know I don't believe that. And you've been a better friend to me than I could have expected. Or deserved," he added morosely, feeling a chill pass down his back that felt like a ghost. He looked around just in time to see the Fat Friar vanish through a wall. "And you guessed the truth – and I bet you can tell me now how you would have reacted if you'd known I was James Potter's son…"

"I would have handed you over to whatever Death Eaters were passing through the area with a sign around your neck saying 'Please use me for vivisection purposes.' I would have fed you to the Giant Squid. I certainly would have let that werewolf rip your throat out…" He stopped as Harry's forearm tightened on his throat. "What? Truth too frightening for a liar?"

"No, it's not. And speaking of truth: you have to agree that I didn't need to come and find you when you went into the tunnel," Harry said. "Yes – I'm from the future. And I know that you were attacked by a werewolf when you were at school. But I also know it was my father who saved you, not me. I know the rules about time travel – don't interfere. But there was no way I could sit back and hope James had the moral fibre of something better than a weasel and go to rescue you. Don't you get it? Do you think I would have risked some sort of temporal indiscretion that could change history for someone who wasn't a friend?"

"You…?" Hope tinted Severus' voice for half a second before he snarled, "You lie. Again. How stupid do you think I am?"

Resting his forehead on the back of Severus' head, ignoring the greasy hair, Harry wondered not for the first time if having a nervous breakdown and going to St Mungos for a holiday would make his life more restful. Sometimes merely interacting with other people was harder than passing his OWLs. He was jerked back to reality when Severus tried to brain him again. "I don't think you're stupid. What do I have to do? I can't say anything else…"

There was a pause.

"You can tell me what I'm like when I get older. You said you don't know me very well… what's the truth? Are we friends?"

Harry stiffened. "I've already done too much damage…"

"Oh, don't give me that shit," Severus said, wriggling in irritation. "I already know you're going to have me Obliviated. Tell me the sodding truth, already."

"All right," Harry agreed softly. "No. We're not friends. In fact it was hate at first sight. You thought I looked like my father and I thought you looked like a sociopath. Then in my first Potions class – you're the Potions master and Head of Slytherin, by the way, and you suffer from massive favouritism concerning the Slytherins – you embarrassed the hell out of me by asking me something I couldn't possibly have known because I was raised by Muggles, you sadistic bastard. I thought you were a traitor all that first year… and things only got worse the next years. You kept trying to get me expelled. And I kept thinking you were secretly a Death Eater – well, when I found out what Death Eaters were, of course – you don't hear much about them in Surrey – and then… and then you tried to have Sirius given to the Dementors, which I completely understand about now of course, but then I thought you were just being your normal hateful git-self. Oh, and you were still absolutely awful to me whenever you got the opportunity. But Dumbledore trusted you… I didn't realise quite why until you died defending Hogwarts from Voldemort. I'm sorry. I'm – I wish I could have told you what was going to happen to you and that… that when I get back to my time I find you've already made a miraculous escape from certain doom and come back to Hogwarts and, and, and be the same poisonous, snide, nasty-tongued, sarcastic, narky, greasy bastard I've always hated and continue to terrorise the school as Hogwarts' nastiest teacher since… since Boggle, I guess." As an afterthought, Harry added, "Oh – and I'm a Gryffindor."

There was an extended silence in which there was only the faint happy sounds of students preparing to leave for Hogsmeade. Occasionally a laugh would rise bright out of the distant murmur. Like the warm yellow sunlight dappling the floor as it threaded through windows in the wall on Harry's right, it was too cheerful to be part of Harry's real world. Then:

"Gryffindor?"

"Yes."

"So… not friends, then."

Harry blinked. Then started laughing. He kept laughing as Severus broke the headlock and tipped Harry off his back. Harry lay on the floor, still chortling helplessly. Severus pulled himself up, sitting cross-legged and gazing solemnly down on Harry.

"It wasn't that funny, you know."

"Well, it's been a long week."

"Longer for me," Severus sniffed. "I've had to run around after some clot-brained fool."

"Serves you right for all the crap you've dished out to me."

"You're a thankless bastard."

"Takes one to know one," Harry managed, wiping his eyes.

"Oh – touché. So… I'm the most hated teacher since Boggle?"

For a split second Harry wondered if he'd hurt Severus' feelings, then decided probably not: there was something almost smug there… "Well, only by seventy-five percent of the school. The Slytherins think you're fantastic and nearly rioted the other week my-time because you were gone and they didn't think anyone cared about them anymore."

"Really?"

"Really."

Yes… definitely more than a touch of smugness. Severus stood. "I suppose we'd better see the headmaster… too much temporal problem stuff about to happen as your parents know they're going to be – well, your parents…" He looked around. "Although it doesn't look like they've gone too far… Evans' hair is pretty distinctive and I just saw something orange bob back around the corner. I guess they want to make sure their darling treasure hasn't been eaten by the nasty Slytherin."

Well – that was all Harry needed to wipe away all traces of humour. "They aren't coming here, are they?"

Severus sent a poisonous glare down the corridor. Three of the portraits gasped and turned aside. "Not now."

"Oh. Thanks."

Severus sighed, something down the opposite end of the corridor catching his attention. His hair had been tucked back behind his ears after the fight, and he shook his head so that it fell back into the usual greasy curtain over his face. "Don't thank me too soon – here comes Dumbledore."

Harry looked up as Dumbledore walked down the corridor as if he were planning on visiting the Infirmary. Harry wouldn't have been surprised to find out that was true.

"Ah," said Dumbledore. "The good Friar informed me you two were here. I'm pleased to see you have sorted out your differences. Mr Snape… are you feeling better?"

Severus brushed off his robes with as much dignity as he could muster. "That depends on what you're going to do with Black."

"I see. Well? Not going to offer a hand to help your friend up?"

Severus gave Dumbledore a look so cold it could have been imported direct from the North Pole. "I don't have friends."

"You may be surprised," Dumbledore sighed, extending his own hand to a downcast Harry.

"Thanks." Really, Harry wondered, why had he been surprised? It wasn't as if Snape had been famous for his kind, forgiving nature. Infamous for the opposite, actually.

"Now… I believe the Infirmary is more convenient than my office…"

The boys followed Dumbledore back to the hospital, carefully not looking at each other – and even more carefully not looking at James and Lily who were hiding around the corner, debating if they should go and intervene between Snape and the weird new kid who might just be their son from the future… They jumped as Dumbledore addressed them by name.

"Mr Potter, Miss Evans… I think you may wish to accompany us. I have sent for Mr Black, and Mr Lupin is already there. There are matters which concern all of us to be discussed."

James and Lily obediently fell into step behind Harry and Severus, Severus too preoccupied to properly sneer at the Gryffindors.

They found Remus looking dreadfully worn but awake and attempting to read a Transfigurations textbook. As it was upside-down, Severus wasn't the only one with nagging thoughts. He looked up and went pale at the sight of Severus. The double-take when he saw Harry standing next to James almost made Harry smile.

Unfortunately he didn't feel like smiling at the moment. Not with James Potter standing next to him and Lily Evans in the same room; any minute now she would….

Harry couldn't imagine what she would do, but he expected it would be even worse than meeting his dad.

Maybe if he ignored her she'd go away. And then this awful sick feeling would go, too, and his hands would stop shaking and sweating. He wiped them on his robes. It didn't help.

ooOOoo


	33. Chapter 33

Disclaimer: Does anyone ever read these things? If so, the characters herein and their hoggy, warty world do not belong to me in any sense other than the books I bought.

ooOOoo

Chapter 33: Lily's Eyes

"Good news, Mr Lupin," Albus said kindly. "Severus is not infected."

Remus breathed a shaky sigh of relief as he carefully closed the book on a bookmark and laid it in his lap. "Thank Merlin…" He smoothed at the white sheets with hands that shook as much as his voice. Harry wasn't used to seeing him this soon after transformations: it made him want to drag Severus down to the Potions laboratory and have him invent the Wolfsbane potion twenty years ahead of schedule. Who _did_ invent the Wolfsbane? Maybe Harry could slip him a note, a hint… He squashed that impulse firmly. He wasn't here to destroy the fabric of space and time. Just his illusions.

"However, he is aware of your unfortunate condition," Dumbledore was saying. "But should he keep the secret, you –"

"I'm not keeping the secret of that _thing_." Severus stood pale-faced, arms crossed, trembling slightly with rage.

Even Dumbledore looked taken aback by the amount of loathing loaded in the short sentence. "Mr Snape…" he began sternly.

"Are you going to expel me? If you do, I'll write to all the papers and the parents to explain why you did!" He pointed a shaking finger at Remus. "It's a monster – an accident waiting to happen! It should never have been allowed here in the first place!" he shrieked.

"Oh, shut it, Snivellus!" James growled, eyes flitting to his friend's pale face and suspiciously moist eyes.

"You shut it, James," Harry snapped. "You're not helping anything."

"Hey – if you're my son you do as you're bloody well told and keep your nose out of this!"

Harry swore. "I didn't choose you as my father…"

"No – but you can do as you're told anyway!"

"Want to find out how fast I can invent a spell out of the word 'patricide'?"

"Cut it out," Lily interrupted, grabbing Harry's arm as he drew his wand. "No fighting – the Infirmary is where people go _after_ they've been fighting."

"Not when they're so good at patching themselves up from arseholes pushing them down the stairs," Severus put in, smiling coldly as Lily frowned.

"That – James said it was an accident." Lily's mouth dropped open as she gazed, hurt, at James, who flinched.

"Funny," said Harry, "when I talked to Sirius he implied it wasn't that much of an accident. You'd be surprised how accidents can happen on purpose."

White as her namesake, Lily rounded on James. "You –"

Dumbledore, looking every year of his age, waved them to silence. "Enough," he said. "We are here to patch up the effects of one near-tragedy. Let us focus on one thing at a time. And anything else can be dealt with later – but Severus, you should have told me."

Severus scowled down at his shoes. "What? With four witnesses saying it was me who tripped?"

"Three," Remus said tiredly. His voice was still hoarse from his transformation, but not quite as bad as it would be in years to come. "I was there, Headmaster. And I should have reported it. But I thought Severus was unhurt…"

For a brief second a halo of dark energy flickered around Dumbledore. "Yes," the headmaster said mildly. "You should have. And I believe your prefect badge is forfeit for such a misjudgement."

Severus smirked. "He can keep it. It's not like it'll carry much weight out of Hogwarts. Maybe he can sell it or something."

"Ah, yes… as to that, Mr Snape… I now understand your animosity towards Remus, but I must ask again that you keep silence on this. I assure you, things will be different between you and your classmates…"

"No." The clenched jaw as he faced down the headmaster reminded Harry for a second of Millicent Bulstrode when she'd confronted Dumbledore in front of most of the school. "With respect, Headmaster, I have no faith in you or your decisions, let alone your assurances. You've allowed them to make my life hell for the better part of six years. I hardly see that you will change things now – but that's all right, because now that I know just how far they'll go to hurt me I'll be more cautious. I want _that" _– another vicious stab of the finger towards Remus, who flinched as if Severus had poked him in the eye – "gone. I want him gone by Monday or I'll tell everyone what he is. Oh, and I want Black gone, too."

As if on cue, that was the moment Sirius walked in. "Oh, God… what's Snivellus doing here?" His nose looked a little lumpier than normal – Harry must have broken it last night, because it looked like it had been recently healed. Then Sirius caught sight of the headmaster, who was standing to the side of the door. "Oops, sorry, Headmaster…"

Dumbledore frowned. "I believe you should apologise to Mr Snape."

"Sorry, Snape." Sirius smiled disingenuously and shrugged. "You wanted me here, sir?"

"Yes. I believe you can shed some light on last night's activities."

"Oh, that. Well, Sni – Snape wanted to find out some information, so I sent him to get it from Remus."

There was that dark, crackling aura around the headmaster again, transforming him from a slightly daffy old man to something distant and dangerous. Here then gone again in the blink of an eye, but it left no good-natured twinkle in Dumbledore's blue eyes.

Even Sirius took note – possibly this was the first time he'd really taken in the fact that this was the wizard who had defeated Grindelwald, and became abruptly serious. "Uh – he'd been sneaking around after us for months, trying to find out about Remus."

"So you decided to 'inform' him."

"Uh – yes. In a sense. I thought that once he'd had a good fright he'd leave Remus alone."

"So you did it for Remus' good."

"Um. Yeah."

"Not worrying, of course, about the consequences if Mr Lupin should kill Mr Snape."

Sirius shrugged. "He didn't die."

"Luckily for me," said Remus, looking at Sirius as if he was going to be sick. James handed him a bowl just in case and Remus took it in trembling fingers, resting it on the book. "Severus… I'm very, very sorry. If I'd harmed you or – Merlin forbid! – killed you, I'd never be able to live with that."

Severus wouldn't look at the other boy. "I don't care if you live or not. Just so long as it's nowhere near me or Hogwarts. Or humans. You can die in a ditch if you like – let me know when and I'll come and kick dirt on your corpse."

Even Harry thought that was a bit much. Sirius bared his teeth and James growled. Lily put a hand on James' arm and skewered Sirius with a glare that kept the peace. For now.

Apparently oblivious to the threat of physical assault, Severus repeated, "I want the werewolf and his boyfriend out of Hogwarts by Monday."

Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles. "You demand a lot, Mr Snape. And if I do not acquiesce?"

Severus' face was bleak. "Then I'll go to the papers and the Governors. I'll have you removed from your position. Sir."

White eyebrows rose in astonishment. A slight frown creasing between his eyes as if he was annoyed with himself for doing so, he turned to Harry, who shrugged and said, "I hope you're good with an Obliviate, Professor." At the slight nod, Harry continued, "Then I'm sorry, Severus. Remus doesn't get expelled – neither does Black. But you'll like this bit: Remus teaches for one year at Hogwarts, is very happy doing so – and is the best DADA teacher we've had – until you expose him as a werewolf and he's fired. Sirius goes to Azkaban for twelve years for involvement in the murder of James and Lily Potter, even though he was innocent. I expect everyone thought that as he'd already proven himself capable of murder no-one thought he couldn't be guilty."

Sirius yelped. "What? Murder?"

"What do you mean, 'murder'?" Lily said softly, her freckles standing out stark against her white face.

"Voldemort kills you when he tries to kill me –"

"Hang on, hang on…" Sirius huffed. "Who the hell is this person? James? Why are we listening to him?"

"Shut up, Sirius. What do you mean, Lo- Ha- Whoever the hell you are? _Sirius_ sends him to us?" James interrupted, disbelieving. "No."

"Sirius wouldn't help Voldemort with anything – he hates Dark Wizards!" Lily exclaimed, crossing her arms and then uncrossing them self-consciously when she realised she was mirroring Severus, who glared at her as if he thought she was mocking him.

"That's right!" Sirius said.

"This is the same Sirius who got annoyed with one of his best friends and then sent the one person he hates most to make trouble? Who could have been the cause of this friend's death when the authorities have him put down for being a dangerous animal?"

Remus made an animal sound of hurt and Harry winced. "Sorry, Remus."

The boy in the bed rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. "You're only speaking the truth," he whispered.

Sirius was sweating. "But Sniv- Snape is fine! Remus wouldn't have –"

"Stop telling me what I 'wouldn't have'," Remus broke in harshly. "The point is that I was fully capable of 'would have' and a werewolf is definitely in the realm of 'would have' when it comes to killing and eating someone…" He shuddered and clutched at the bowl.

Sirius looked like he wanted to cry, but Harry couldn't find much pity for him. It had been too long a week for that, and he'd learned too much about the people he loved – he'd learned not to love them for starters.

There was something awful about the pleasure he took in twisting the knife a little more. "It's funny how easy it is for people to believe someone is a murderer when he's already proven himself of acting on such malice," he mused. "I wonder if people said, 'Oh, maybe James beat him at Exploding Snap once too often, so Black thought he'd tell Voldemort where the Potters were hiding to get even'? Some people might argue that Sirius was James' best friend, but it's easy to think the worst when you've seen what they're capable of doing to their friends, right, Remus?"

Remus made another of those animal noises and covered his face. Sirius clenched his fists – and how long would it take him to steal another wand to hex Severus with? – Best not to think of that. "He wouldn't think anything of it, sending Voldemort to the house of James, Lily and Harry, Sirius' one-year-old godson…"

Sirius shook his handsome head, dark hair flying. "My…? No! He's deranged. Stop _listening_ to him! _I wouldn't do that!"_

"No, he wouldn't – but people think that because he was set up. You – you die defending me," Harry said in Lily's general direction without actually looking at her, then had to swallow against the lump in his throat. "I just don't understand how you can… can save _me_ and then turn out to be so horrible…"

"But you don't even know me!" Lily cried, throwing up her hands. She sounded as if she was about to burst into tears, too. Harry knew exactly how she felt.

"I know you married _him_," he said, inclining his head towards James and unable to stop a sneer of disgust twisting his mouth. "What more do I need to know?"

"So I really am your mum?"

When Dumbledore nodded, Harry looked up in time to see Lily bite her lip. It was frighteningly reminiscent of Hermione. Harry suddenly missed his friends fiercely – he wanted to see Hermione and Ron… Luna especially. He even wanted to see Draco. Something was seriously wrong with him for that.

Dumbledore sighed, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand. "I think if I speak to Severus and Lupin for a time… Sirius, take yourself to Professor McGonagall." He flicked his wand, and there was a thrum in the air that zeroed in on Sirius – a compulsion spell, Harry suspected, probably something to stop Sirius from telling anyone anything he shouldn't. "There will be no Hogsmeade for any of you, I am afraid. Was Mr Pettigrew involved in any way? No? Well, that's a mercy…

"Harry. I know this is probably the last thing you wish, but I would like you to talk to James and Lily for a time." When Harry twitched, he added, "There are things needed to be said between the three of you. Lily, take them into the room Harry and Severus were in last night. You know the one, I think."

Harry tried to protest, but Lily's grip on his arm was like iron as she dragged him and James away. She shoved Harry inside. Over James' shoulder he caught a glimpse of a glowering Severus whispering something to Dumbledore, then Lily slammed the door in James' face before he could follow.

Harry heard a muffled "Hey!" from James as the door slammed, but Lily ignored it. She took out her wand and locked the door. "Right," she said, her jaw firm. "Look at me."

Harry hesitated for a second – and in that second she grabbed his chin. He tried to twist free, but she dug her fingernails in until his eyes watered and forced his head around so that he had no choice but to look at her.

"Right," she said, green eyes blazing, "let's be sure on one thing: I'm not James Potter. I'm Lily Evans. And whatever you think of James, I'm not so awful that you should feel so appalled by the sight of me that you run away… unless you meant that 'Mudblood' comment earlier?"

Something in Harry's expression – the flinch at the word – must have satisfied her, because her grip became gentle.

"No," he said. "I needed you to go away."

"Good. Because I won't have my son ashamed of me." Her voice trembled on the word 'son'.

"I'm not – I wasn't anyway. Not until I came here and… and…" He swallowed.

Her fingers tightened again, becoming almost painful. "No – don't you look away from me. Until you came here and met James, right?"

"Right." He couldn't nod. "I don't care about you being Muggle-born. One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she'd kill me if she thought I'd ever said… you-know-what."

The fierce line between Lily's brows smoothed. She released his chin (wincing apologetically at the red crescents her nails had left), sat down on the bed – Harry's bed from last night – and patted it next to her.

Harry sat gingerly, dreading whatever question came next. Would it be something along the lines of: What do I do to stay alive?

Lily twisted one corner of her mouth up. It wasn't a smile. It wasn't a frown. Harry only knew it meant she had no idea how to manage the situation but was about to give it her best shot because he did exactly the same thing with Ron some days. "What's she like, this Muggle-born friend of yours?"

Harry, taken aback, opened his mouth to ask why she wanted to know then smiled ruefully. Lily was trying. He had to admit that. So maybe he should show some Gryffindor courage and try, too. "She's just the best. She's going out with my other best friend Ron, who's a Pureblood although he never goes on about that sort of thing. And she's the smartest student of our year – maybe even in the entire school. She's got bushy brown hair and she used to be a bit sensitive about her teeth until the nastiest teacher in the school said something, ahh – something typical of him. Then she got them fixed and she's really quite pretty when she wants to be… although it's odd thinking of her like that. She's always been Hermione."

"Sounds like a sister."

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so, although I'd never be brave enough to tell her that."

Lily raised a hand and, after a moment's hesitation when Harry didn't flinch, stroked his hair, threading it through her fingers. Harry wondered if she was trying to establish his reality – or comparing the texture to James' hair. "Maybe you should. If she's half as smart as you say she is, she won't get all feminine and huffy because you don't think she's a sex siren."

Harry nodded carefully, not wanting her to take her hand away. There was something hauntingly familiar about it. "I guess."

She chuckled. "So what are your other friends like? Ron – do I know his parents?"

"He's a Weasley. Red hair. Brighter than yours. And freckles. More than yours. And his family's pretty cool… his mum always sends me a hand-knitted jersey at Christmas. I wonder what she'll think now that he's going out with Hermione?"

"Is this Molly… it'd be Molly Weasley, now. I remember her vaguely. Older student who got married straight out of school. All right sort. They haven't told her?"

"No – well, post is hard to get through because Voldemort's blockaded Hogwarts."

"So Voldemort is still going strong in your time?"

"Yes… but he had a huge setback thanks…" he paused, then realised that as Dumbledore was going to do a mass Obliviate it didn't matter. "Thanks to you, really."

Lily laughed, obviously not believing.

Harry shrugged. "Honest."

"What do I do? Argue him into submission?"

"Do that a lot, do you?"

The corners of Lily's eyes crinkled as her grin grew huge. "There might be a, um, small reputation I've amassed."

"Did you really change James into a pincushion?"

Lily smirked. "Do you think I should have changed him into something else?"

"No. Just somewhere else."

"Oh." For a second something else passed behind her eyes, and Harry knew she was carefully changing the subject when she said, "So do I turn Voldemort into a pincushion?"

Harry managed a smile. "I wish. But no."

"And he kills me in the process."

Harry looked down. "Yes. You die even though he gives you the chance to run. And when he kills you, somehow that protects me."

"Oh. And James?" she said in a quiet voice.

"He…" Harry frowned at the floor. For some reason his shoulders ached. And his jaw. It felt like every muscle in his body was pulled too tight. "He dies. Trying to stop Voldemort from coming into the house. Trying to give us time."

There was a lengthy pause. "That's hard. You knowing two different versions of him, I mean."

Harry looked up again. Lily was pale, very pale. But focusing on Harry now as if that would stop the future nightmare. Harry didn't ask _How do you mean?_ He said, "Yes. The one I thought was – the one who _was_ a hero… and the one who is a thug."

Lily nodded. "The two aren't irreconcilable."

Harry scowled down again. House elves had left a small dust bunny – it was currently the most offensive thing on the planet. Apart from James Potter. "I'd like to know how they aren't."

Lily wisely didn't argue that one further. "So. Voldie. Does he die?"

"Sort of. He manages to come back years later."

"Oh, right. Sorry. You said he's got Hogwarts under siege in your time. Is that why you're here?"

Harry shivered as he remembered that no matter how hard this trip had been, things would only get worse when he returned to his time. "Yes." He didn't resist as she pulled his head down to rest on her shoulder. That, too, felt natural, as natural as having her stroke his hair. Luckily she kept doing that. It was very soothing and made the future a long time away instead of only a few hours before he would leap-frog over the deaths of his parents. And not do anything to stop it. He threaded his fingers through each other and clenched them until the knuckles showed up yellow-white. "I needed to find something to break the barrier he's got keeping Hogwarts separated from the rest of the world."

"And did you?"

"Yes. Severus helped me." His hands relaxed until he remembered Severus' future, too.

His head rose and fell with her sigh. "Is that true what he was saying about James and Sirius and…? Well, I guess I sort of knew about poor Remus. Dear me – to think everyone says I'm the only one in Gryffindor who turns into a destructive monster once a month."

"Huh?"

The breath of her soft laughter ruffled his fringe. "It's a girl thing. Never mind. But… it's true?"

"Yeah." Harry stiffened, nearly sitting up and away again until the brush of her fingers lulled him again. "Yeah. The first time I met them, Sirius took offence to me and called me Squit, just because I was with Severus. Then he got James – James tried to hex me. I bounced it back, of course. I know you won't believe me, but…"

Her fingers tightened for a millisecond, but not enough to hurt, only enough to make him stop talking. "Remus said you'd used Protego. That's not bad."

"Well, it's saved my life before… last time I saw the Death Eaters…" Which reminded him of the time he'd seen the spell-shadows of James and Lily, and how they'd protected him…

The fingers tightened in his hair for longer this time. "They… they tried to kill you?"

"No – I think Voldemort wants me saved so he can deal with me personally."

Fingers still not moving, Lily asked, "Why, Harry?"

"Because… because I'm the Boy Who Lived," Harry said bitterly. "I survived the Killing Curse because Voldemort killed you and your love protected me. I just… I… You should never have…" That band around his throat that had been threatening to cut off air for what seemed like half the morning finally tightened. He pressed a hand over his mouth.

Lily's arms wrapped around him before he could pull away, rocking him gently as his tears soaked into the shoulder of her robes, her hands rubbing his shoulders as they shook with sobs.

She handed him a handkerchief when he finally sat up, embarrassed and wiping at his eyes with the back of his hands.

"Thanks," he said with a slightly hoarse voice. "I really should get some of those for myself."

"You can keep it."

"Ta." He stuffed it into his pocket after giving his nose a quick wipe. "Hopefully I'm done needing hankies for the next fifty years. Statistically, I should be."

Lily laid her palm against his cheek. Harry leaned into it, closing his eyes and shivering, wishing that when he got home he'd find his mother there, ready to give him another hug,

It wasn't going to happen, of course, but for the moment it was a good dream.

"I still don't understand how you could marry him," he muttered, reluctantly opening his eyes again.

Lily twitched one corner of her mouth down. "There's something appealing about him. Honestly, Harry. He's got his good points. He's smart. And when he remembers to be, he can be kind. And generous – oh, and he's very brave. And… there's just something about him. I don't quite know what it is… But it's spoilt, yes, by that strutting need to have the world as he likes it. He's a bit of a brat, but I think that when he grows up and grows out of it he'll make a fairly decent man."

"And if he doesn't grow out of it?"

"Then the only way I'll touch him will be with a hex and you'll never be born. So I guess he does grow up." She smiled.

After a moment Harry smiled, too.

Lily brushed his fringe back, smiling like it amused her. "I like how you've treated Severus," she said. "He's someone who's always needed a friend – it's just tricky the way he drives people away like he does. I can't say that I like him personally, but I don't like anyone being bullied, even Muggle-hating Slytherins like him. What?"

Harry was trying not to chuckle. "He doesn't hate Muggles. Thinks they're pretty cool, actually." He sobered. "Merlin – never tell anyone I said that; the other Slytherins would rip him to pieces."

Lily sighed again. "That's true. Why does life have to be so complicated? Sometimes I think we bring it on ourselves…" She brushed her hand over his hair again. "Does it ever stay tidy?"

"You've got to be joking."

"Ah. James has a lot to answer for."

"Too right."

Another sigh. Lily took his hands. "Shall we call him in now?"

"Can't I just stay here with you?"

"Dumbledore said not. And I didn't get the impression that we were going to be allowed that much time to talk, anyway." She squeezed his hands. "I'm sorry. There's so much I want to learn about you. And from you."

"I… Me too. But I think I learned the important thing… I still love you."

Lily bit her lip. "I love you too. Harry. Harry Potter." She shook her head. "It's crazy – here I am, sitting here with a boy my own age… and it's so easy to believe you're my son."

She'd been talking to him like she believed he was who he claimed to be. Part of Harry had been wondering about that. "How?"

"Just… the way you look at the world. It's something about your eyes. You got – will get them from me. And no-one else in the family has eyes like mine. The way you bite your lip when you're not sure what to say. Your chin. But always and especially your eyes. I knew when I saw them who you were, I guess. I just… knew that it was impossible."

"You can't know just from looking at someone's eyes they're your son from the future," Harry argued, trying not to smile.

"Can too. If you're a witch."

"Oooo – maaagic."

"It's real, you know." She rounded her own eyes mysteriously as Harry dragged himself back from the memory of a conversation on a hill twenty or so years in the future, then turned serious again. "I… I just knew. I think James does, too, although he's not clued in to intuitive magic as strongly as I am. I've got this knack of knowing things about people just by looking into their eyes. Honest to God – but don't tell anyone because it's not regular magic as far as I know, and I don't want to stand out as any more of an oddball – that crazy Muggle-born student who thinks she can read your soul by looking into your eyes." She snorted cynically.

"They were what made Severus decide who I was… and now he hates me."

Lily's glum look must have mirrored his. "Yes. Mr Logic – he's pretty intuitive himself, and logic doesn't stand a chance when he's in one of his tempers. And right now he's pretty pissed off even by his volcanic standards."

"I don't blame him."

"Don't worry. Something will sort itself out… And is he really going to be the nastiest teacher in the school?"

"You… you were listening around the corner?"

"No, I guessed from what you said about your friend's teeth…. Oh, okay. Yes. I was listening. There – you've found out your old mum's a terrible snoop."

Harry grinned and leaned into her hug.

Like walking into the Great Hall on the first day back at school, it was like coming home.

ooOOoo

James shuffled through the door, looking like he was expecting to be hexed. He cast a guarded look at Lily.

"Well?"

Lily, face coolly impassive, said, "Harry and I have come to an agreement."

"Oh?"

"You're the biggest prat in the world, James Potter."

"Oh." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess I already knew that. Um. Can I come in, then?"

"Only if you're going to show you've got better manners than the ones you were born with."

"Uh, I'll try."

"Good. Because this is our son. He's from the future. He's not told me one lie as far as I can spot it, and … and if you do one more thing to upset him you'll wish you were answering to the headmaster instead of me."

"So he's really…?" James trailed off, frowning. "How can you be so sure?"

"You mean apart from the whole 'Professor Dumbledore says he is' thing? He's got my eyes and your hair. Hopefully not your sense of fair-play."

"Definitely not," Harry said. James was here because Dumbledore said so. It didn't mean Harry had to like it.

"And _I know_." Lily said.

James stood very still, watching Lily. Then he nodded (still a little doubtful) and met Harry's cold stare levelly and not without curiosity. "So," he said. "I'm dead, am I?"

Harry bit his lip. And James' face suddenly crumpled as he looked at Lily. Harry, glancing sideways, saw that she had her lip caught in her teeth, too.

"And Lily – she's dead, too?"

It was like one of those Muggle 3D pictures. Harry had tilted James and suddenly seen him change into someone completely unexpected.

"Yes."

James glared at him. "Then do something to change that."

"I can't."

"Can't, or won't?" James drew himself up to his full height, hands on hips, and glared down at Harry.

"James!"

"Both," Harry admitted. "But if I could – or were allowed, then I would. Even you – you're an arrogant, bullying git, but I know so many people like that and most of them I wouldn't want dead."

"Huh. That wasn't the impression I got from you earlier."

"It's true," Harry said simply, thinking back to that night in the forest with Draco. And realised Lily was right: people could change. Draco could, of course, change back, but in the meantime Harry would hope for a miracle. "I'm not like you."

"So you've got lots of Slytherin friends, do you?"

Ouch. James had a point. He was a mean, arrogant bully, but it didn't necessarily follow that he was stupid. It was like dealing with…

"What?" James said as Harry's scrutiny went on too long.

"I was just thinking how much you're like Lucius Malfoy. Except he's more discreet in his sadism."

James' nostrils flared. "So he's your Slytherin friend, is he?"

"James! Back to the topic… James, you were asking if Harry had many Slytherins as friends…?"

Harry gave way. "I'm learning to. And they aren't precisely friends – not like I've got with two Gryffindors, anyway, since I haven't exactly gone out of my way to make friends with any of them before this year, and, um, they kind of hated me since some of them have Death Eater parents who blame me for Voldemort temporarily snuffing it." What had he been saying, again? Oh yes. "But yeah. I've got some Slytherin friends. One of them is Lucius Malfoy's son and I don't know how the hell I'm going to save him from his father when Malfoy senior gets through the barrier…" _I just don't know how long I'll have any of them for. Hopefully longer than I had Severus as a friend._ "More Slytherin friends than Hufflepuff, for that matter." Which made him wonder about Houses – what was the point of dividing up students into automatic cliques as soon as they walked into the castle? Divide and conquer? Who had told him that? Trudi, vague memory supplied. But why would the Founders want to divide the wizarding world? To stop anyone getting too large a power base? Ah – now he was thinking like a Slytherin. Draco would be proud. In a sneering, supercilious way, of course.

"I suppose you're even best buddies with Sni- Snape."

Harry blinked and lifted one corner of his mouth. It wasn't a smile. "Thanks to you he did everything he could to make my life at Hogwarts a living hell. Or get me expelled."

James' face twitched between outrage and a grin.

"…and if you try telling me that you'll go and beat him up for me, no thanks. That kind of started the whole thing."

"How do you know how the whole thing started?" James snapped. "What puts you automatically on his side?"

"So did he do something to you, or did he just look funny?"

James scowled down at his feet. "Yeah. Well. We were just first years."

"And now you're sixth years and he and Remus nearly died. And you still can't admit that you might just have done something wrong."

His knuckles were turning white again, and he consciously forced himself to relax his hands. That was what really bothered Harry: the fact that his father was incapable of learning from his mistakes. It terrified Harry to think that there were mistakes he, Harry, had made and been too arrogant – just like Snape said – to learn from. He didn't want to be like James. He didn't want to turn people into Death Eaters. "I think we've pretty much finished our father-son talk. God!" he exclaimed. "I can't believe I always wanted to… to talk to you. To do stuff with you. And all I've done is practise self-defence _against you _and this talk has only shown that not only are you incredibly immature, you probably never would have grown up even if you'd lived to Dumbledore's age!"

"Harry…" Lily murmured from the side.

"No. He needs to hear this. He needs to know that what he does has real impact on the outside world. On people's lives. That because of him people might make really, really dumb decisions because they don't feel like they have any other options. He's going to go on wrecking people's lives and, and, and, you know what? You know what, James Potter? I'm GLAD you die! I'm GLAD you're dead in my time, because being raised by people who hate me is still better than being raised by YOU!"

The only sound in the room was Harry's harsh breathing.

James was white. "You – you're terrified you might have been like me." He looked at Lily for guidance, but her face was drawn and immobile.

Harry took a deep breath that rattled his ribcage and let it out again. "I'm terrified I am like you," he whispered. "I'm terrified that if I hadn't had the crap kicked out of me while I was growing up – with my parents murdered and… and the only thing I can remember about them is my mother's screams" (James flinched) "whenever Dementors come near me – if all of that doesn't happen then I'll be Voldemort's biggest de facto recruiter… just like you."

James looked like Harry had slapped him. "Lily…? What do you mean – I'm going to work for Voldemort?"

"No. But there is a war coming. And it will come again. And in it there will be two sides. And because of you – and people like you – those who would have chosen our side will choose the other because they're sick of having the so-called good guys tell them how worthless they are… and Voldemort may be many things, but he's not completely stupid and I bet he knows how to take people in and give them the, the, um…"

"Validation," said Lily, whose eyes suddenly looked older… almost as old as Harry's eyes when he saw them in the mirror after Cedric's death.

"Yeah. Validation. I bet Voldemort knows when to use it. Like he knows how to get people killing each other." Harry took another deep breath and rubbed his hands on the knees of his robes. His palms were wet. Outside the window it was a beautiful day. Everybody was probably at Hogsmeade by now. Hopefully Rosier would remember to get Severus some chocolate frogs.

What if those chocolate frogs were the reason Severus became a Death Eater? Harry felt ill and told himself to stop second-guessing himself before he made himself sick. Or ended up in St Mungo's or something.

"Snape becomes a Death Eater?" James asked. "I always pegged him as one, you know."

"Well, that just goes to show how stupid you are," Harry said mildly. "Because he was planning to get the hell out of this country and go somewhere where he can, I don't know… just be without being hassled."

"And you'd know this how?"

"He told me. And he likes Muggles."

"Holy shit. He likes Muggles?"

"Well, not indiscriminately. But he thinks they have a lot to offer the world. And shouldn't be treated like animals."

James looked angry. Then he sat down on the other bed. He moved slowly, as if he had just had his hundredth birthday. "How many others did I fuck up?"

Lily blinked at the swearing. Harry had heard worse from Severus, though. "I don't know. Maybe you should take a survey. Maybe if you'd not demonstrated to so many people how bloody you are, you…" He couldn't finish that. Even as much as Harry hated James, he wouldn't tell him _you were responsible for that whole 'defying the Dark Lord three times' rubbish, and that was why you and Lily die. Lily dies because she marries you._

"Lily… you… they kill you because of me?"

Harry closed his eyes. That was raw. And he hadn't thought James could hurt him again – certainly not through empathy.

Lily said in a sensible voice that only cracked a little, "If those Death Eaters are as fanatical as the newspaper said last week, then I think they'll happily kill me just for existing. And it sounds like they kill us to get to Harry. Those Purebloods – the Nazi variety – they wouldn't think twice about knocking off a Mudblood and her Half-blood spawn."

James squeezed his eyes shut. "Don't say that."

"And if you think I want you to die for me, then that just shows how little clue you have about me," Harry said, but it didn't come out as harshly as he'd intended. James already looked razed hollow. Lily, raw pain etching lines around her eyes, stood next to James and laid a hand on his shoulder tentatively, as if not sure about its welcome.

After a moment, James covered it with his own.

_He loves her,_ Harry thought. He'd seen evidence of it all along, but it had seemed more possessive than anything else. Not like love – or not like love as he knew it from Ron and Hermione. But now he had to admit that James really did seem to love Lily.

He still had that gut-deep anger, but now it was cooled by this: his parents had loved each other. That much was true.

Then James rolled his head back to look up at Lily and said in an attempt at humour, "Well, I thought you were never going to marry me, anyway."

Lily didn't smile. "I wouldn't marry an arrogant, big-headed bully. It's this little thing called 'self-respect' that I have. I won't marry someone who's an emotional drop-out."

They held each other's gaze for a moment then James nodded: just a fraction. Or maybe it was the sun going behind a cloud for a moment that made his expression seem changed.

There was a pad of note paper on the bedside table. James picked it up and took a self-filling quill out of his pocket and scribbled something down.

He tore it off the pad and handed it to Harry.

"I know I'm going to be Obliviated, but do you think Dumbledore will let this one slip through?"

Harry read the note. It read:

_I, James Potter, will cease and desist being an arrogant, big-headed bully. And grow up._

Lily laughed softly.

Harry looked up. He couldn't quite read his father's expression, but there was something there almost like terror.

"I guess we can ask."

The terror didn't quite disappear, but it was offset by something else. Harry thought it looked a little bit like hope.

ooOOoo

Chapter 34: Possessed Books? Ho Hum

Remus was studying his book again. It was right-way-up this time, but Harry didn't think he was really concentrating on it. Not with the floor show going on in front of him.

Arms folded across his chest, greasy hair straggling over his face, Severus was at his bristliest as he argued with Dumbledore. Harry knew that stubborn expression. Dumbledore was being remarkably patient in the face of it.

"I need to go and get it."

"Mr Snape, I simply cannot allow it. And that is absolutely the end of the matter!"

Or not.

Severus looked up and scowled at Harry, Lily and James, the scowl deepening to intense loathing when it met James. "Lovegood. Or Potter – whatever you want to call yourself. I need to see that Potions book again. You know the one. Now that I know where – when, I mean – you're from, I need to make a couple of additions."

"What, and set a trap to kill him?" James countered, stepping between Harry and Severus.

Harry rolled his eyes. "This doesn't concern you, James," Harry said. "Thank you for the thought, but now stay the hell out of it."

James couldn't have been completely stupid. He stepped out of the way as Harry walked forward. Lily put her hand on his arm and James' shoulders relaxed a fraction.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"I mean that the spells I wrote down were for trans-dimensional resonance. So I added in some extras that will be the opposite of helpful when you use them in the future."

"Oh."

"Don't trust him, Harry."

Luckily Lily elbowed James in the ribs and Remus coughed meaningfully before Harry could hex his mouth off. He was impressed by James' love for Lily, but it didn't mean he suddenly liked him personally… or could forgive him for how he'd treated Severus. _And you'd think he would have taken something out of that room – like, not making a complete git out of himself when he's around Severus. _"I guess some things aren't worth the paper they're written on," Harry whispered to James, who looked down and sighed.

"No, Harry, don't trust me," Severus said, mimicking James to a nicety – and making a mockery of any nobility of purpose. "After all," he continued in his more normal silky sneer, "I might just as easily slip something in that will smear your sorry carcass through twelve dimensions."

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"I know I can trust him," Harry said, thinking back to the end of the whole Goblet of Fire fiasco when they confronted Fake Moody. Although the poisonous words Severus spat at him stung like, well, like poison, Harry remembered that time. "I suspect that, other than Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape was the person on staff you trusted most."

"Heartwarming," Severus sneered after the moment when his expression was far too open, "but hardly relevant. Your time is running out and the headmaster is about to Obliviate the lot of us. Badly, I expect. No-one can wipe group memories with the precision you need for this situation. Before anyone turns our brains into scrambled eggs you need me to see to those spells… and you know it."

Dumbledore raised a white eyebrow mildly in Harry's direction, not taking umbrage at the slur against his abilities.

Harry nodded. He'd wondered about the spells – at least one of those written in the book in his time had been the dry potion to fix the temporal spell. Severus hadn't written them all yet: he certainly hadn't written the dry potion. Harry had been at the point where he'd considered faking Severus' handwriting and writing the spells and potions himself. "You can write up a temporal dry-spell potion?"

"Oh? It was a dry potion? I guess it would have to be, though."

"Yes. Can you write it in the next seven hours or so before I go back?"

"Seven hours? No."

Harry guessed maybe he'd broken so many laws by now it wouldn't matter if he told Severus how to make the potion… except that, when he tried to remember, he came up short. Sweat prickled around his hairline as he realised he'd done something wrong, and now he'd mucked up things so that Severus wouldn't write the book up properly, because Harry should have told him from the beginning so that –

"It'll take me fifteen minutes," Snape said, smiling that mirthless, triangular smile.

ooOOoo

Reluctantly, Dumbledore allowed Harry and Severus to leave for the library. They replaced Harry's disguise again to the relief of everyone, including Harry. Lily's eyes had gleamed as Severus demonstrated the spell. "You'll forget it in a minute," Severus said spitefully. "The headmaster will see to that."

"Oh, that reminds me," James said. He pulled the note out of his pocket. "Can I keep this?"

Dumbledore's white eyebrows raised as he read the note. "If you can't take your own advice, who can you turn to?"

Severus, trying to read the note over James' shoulder (while pretending he didn't care), scowled as James folded it with a snap and popped it back in his pocket. "Stop being _nosy_, Sn-ape."

"Now would be a good time to take that note's advice," Lily said sweetly, "and stop being such an arrogant, big-headed bully."

James rolled his eyes. "Thanks." He might have said something nastier to Severus, who was smirking, but caught himself just in time. "What are you looking at, Snape?"

"I could say 'an arrogant, big-headed bully,' but I think I'll hold onto the moral high ground a little longer."

Lily laughed and led James away to sit with Remus, who had said nothing during this. The young werewolf looked even paler. Harry wondered what Dumbledore and Severus had said – actually, he could guess. It had probably run along the lines of: 'Severus, promise not to reveal Remus as a werewolf.' 'No.'

"Don't worry," Harry heard Lily say. "Everyone will have forgotten this in a few hours."

"Huh," snorted Remus. "Do you really think so?"

Severus was staring at the floor again and so missed Remus' mournful look in his direction. "Are you going to make me forget the werewolf?" he asked. He looked up and glared defiantly at Dumbledore. "Because I think I'm going to keep seeing _it_ in nightmares." (Remus winced again, and Lily bent over to ask him about the book in an obvious attempt at distraction.) "And then I'll go and get those nightmares analysed. No Obliviate can be disguised from a trained headologist. And then the real story about _it_ will come out."

("Oh," said Lily. "It's metamorphic. I didn't realise. Fancy that." And Remus gave her the sort of exasperatedly fond look only occasionally given to well-meaning people who try very hard against the odds and deserve more joy than they get, while James was successful in resting his hand on the small of her back without getting it batted off.)

Dumbledore sighed. Severus' threat wasn't particularly well-concealed. "No. Harry said that you will remember. As will I. But some aspects of the event will be altered." He pulled out a small fob-watch. This one had only the one hand. "Hogwarts says that Harry doesn't have that much time left. I suggest the both of you go now. I shall keep these three company until you return. And then we shall call down Mr Black and… deal with matters. Harry – you said it is remembered that James rescued Severus?"

Severus actually bared his teeth at Dumbledore. "Don't even think it!"

Harry grabbed his arm, and was shaken off. "Come on. Time's running out. Severus!"

"Don't talk to me, you… you traitor!"

Severus stalked out, his robes managing a better approximation of the billow they would get with time, tailoring and finer fabric.

Dumbledore quirked an eyebrow at Harry. "Yes," Harry whispered, feeling like a traitor. "That's what is remembered."

"Of course. Why, young Mr Potter, do we create such complications? Well. There seems little point in worrying about 'what-ifs' when we have a 'what-a-to-do' on our hands. Go on." He raised his voice a fraction so that it would reach Severus, who was hovering just inside the door. "Do what needs to be done. Harry – both of you – you realise how much I am trusting you?"

"Yes. And you know both of us can be trusted."

Severus had that odd look on his face again, the one Harry had only seen briefly when he'd mentioned about how trusted he would be in the future. It was odd seeing him guardedly wistful rather than bitter. Snape had worn bitterness like knights of old wore armour; like James wore his certainty the world owed him for the grace of his existence; like Remus knew that one day he would be alone again and constantly kept himself braced for that day. Then Severus shook his head slightly and lank strands of hair fell over his face.

Harry trailed after Severus all the way to the little storeroom, where they got the book and (after Severus' threatened tantrum) the Sickle, which they kept wrapped in a cloth. Severus closed the door quietly and turned, his face set. Harry knew then that he would never return. Not in this time. And felt even guiltier as he followed Severus on to the library. But by the time they got there he was getting sick of being ignored, even if it was deserved. He hated silent treatments. He'd had them from Ron. And he'd been ashamed of himself in retrospect when he'd given them to Hermione.

Things should have lightened up a little when a book with the dust of decades on it leaped out to the end of its chain and tried to savage Harry. Severus whacked it with his copy of _Temporal Dynamics for Dunderheads_, which sent the book zooming at him. Harry pulled out the Sickle and slashed at the book. One touch of the gleaming blade sent the book tumbling. Harry leaned down to check the title. _"Cerberus Unleashed,"_ he read. "What's that supposed to be about?"

Severus sighed irritably and eyed the hole in the shelf left by the book. "Don't let any more of them get away," he ordered, and slunk away along another aisle.

Harry was left holding the book. Some of the other books on the shelves whispered and hissed at him, rustling their pages in their bindings. It sounded threatening, but when Harry lifted the Sickle, the books sank back. It was like watching a lion, Harry thought, and knowing that as soon as you blinked the lion would charge.

Thankfully, Severus was back quickly. Madam Pince was with him. Harry hid the Sickle in his robes before she could see it.

"…the same old problem," Severus was saying.

"Tsk. I thought we'd exorcised the last of them. Honestly, they don't have the sense to know that if they pulled out the foundations, the walls would pulp them, too. Thank you, boys. I'll take care of this now." The librarian looked around, half-closing her eyes, her lips moving soundlessly.

The Grey Lady, the Ravenclaw ghost, glided through a shelf and passed through Harry's arm. Harry jumped at the cold, pressing against Severus, who shoved him back as if Harry was a leper.

Harry rubbed his arm where it had banged against a shelf. "What happened?"

Severus ignored him and stalked off back to their table.

"Possessed books," Pince said. "Again. They've got this thing for mischief. Old pixie spirits, or so I'm told. They tend to pull in some of the trickier monsters from mythology for help." She waved _Cerberus Unbound_ as emphasis. "Well done stopping them – I thought they'd been dealt with and haven't been checking on them as often as I should."

Possessed books should have been a fail-safe opening for a discussion. But Severus, who was bent over several open books like a particularly literate vulture, told Harry to get back to his own research. And to kindly shut up so that Severus could concentrate on writing down the spells correctly. Harry went along with that for a while, but it was too uncomfortable to continue with.

"So…"

_"I'm working."_

Well. That was definite. And if that scowl got any fiercer, the little potions book was going to burst into flames – and paradox the future out of existence.

Harry managed to get a glimpse of what Severus was writing – but only a brief glimpse before Severus ran his fingers along some of the pages and sealed them shut. That was right – Hermione had needed to unseal some of them. But it would have been comforting for Harry to read them first.

That reminded him that he was going to see Hermione soon. And Ron. And Luna. That cheered him up. Oh, and Malfoy. That… didn't stop him from feeling cheered up. And it meant Severus was going to be dead. Harry, feeling like he'd just volunteered someone for a suicide mission (and hadn't he? Hadn't he effectively 'volunteered' many people by not warning them of their futures?) chewed on his lip. "Look. We need to talk. I'm sorry. It's important you know that, because –"

Severus slammed a book on the desk and snarled, "What the frigging use is 'sorry'? All apologies are are useless words! 'Sorry' means _nothing._ All the good 'sorry' does is to let the apologiser feel like he's actually made things better. Well, he _hasn't._ And if you're going to wallow in guilt, then good. Because if anyone deserves to get hell from their conscience, then it's you, you ungrateful little get of a syphilitic hound. And if by some infinitely slender chance you actually got your mother's good conscience in the genetic lottery, it sure as your father and his toadying friends deserve to go to Tartarus won't have come from that mangy, pus-ridden sack of writhing maggots which sired you!"

Harry wasn't sure what else he might have said, because Pince threw them out at that point. Even though they were the only ones in the library.

Breathing so heavily though his nose that he sounded like the Hogwarts Express with a full head of steam, Severus swept outside with Harry in his wake. Harry wasn't sure about the wisdom of going out into the open as there mightn't be any teachers or prefects to protect him from an enraged junior Snape (and, should Severus turn really nasty complete with wand, he didn't think defending himself and putting Severus back in hospital would be any more acceptable as apologies went).

Severus sat in a courtyard and scribbled in the potions book. Occasionally he would hiss a question at Harry and sneer if Harry couldn't give a precise enough answer. Harry sat on a low wall getting more and more miserable. Finally Severus snapped the book shut in one hand. "There. And don't you dare say 'sorry' again."

Harry, who'd been considering ways of rephrasing 'sorry', closed his mouth again and waited.

Severus went on, slightly more calmly (not that it reassured Harry, who'd seen Snape calm right before he erupted): "You're going and I'm going to have my memory wiped. So it doesn't matter what you say."

Harry winced. "It matters to me. And I don't want you to forget Harry Lovegood. I want you to remember that he was your friend."

Oops, here came that volcano.

"But he wasn't," Severus hissed, hunched over the book, his black eyes shooting sparks. "And he never even existed. Why, Junior Potter, is it so important for you that I should believe otherwise, hmm?"

"Because I'm tired of having lies pinned to me. All the time I've been at Hogwarts you've believed one thing or another about me. You've always believed I was some carbon-copy of my father. But you've never seen the truth. And now I'll go back and, and I won't be able to say to you, 'Hey, try and remember what happened in the past – what you did for me was really amazing and I'm really grateful and I want you to know what a good friend you were. And that I really wished I could tell you the truth but I was too scared to, because you would have crucified me.' But I can't do that…"

"…Because I'm dead…"

"Yes. Because you're dead, and even if you were still alive, you'd still hate me because, well, because you're you and you stopped needing any excuse to hate me some time in my first year."

"Why would I stop needing an excuse to hate you?"

"Because… because I'm a Gryffindor. I'm James Potter's son. And… and I'm like an allergy to you. And, truth be told, I couldn't stand you either. And if anyone had told me I'd ever incredibly and…and… and deeply regret the fact you were dead, I'd… I'd've told them to go visit the hospital wing for some dried frog pills. And… and right here and right now I've got the chance to tell you the truth."

"That you hate me and I hate you. That I can believe."

Harry buried his face in his hands and moaned in frustration. "Merlin, Severus, you're so set on the idea that hate is the easiest way out of everything… Why is it so hard for you to see that it's possible to actually have people who consider you a friend?"

After a moment's silence, Harry looked up. Severus was staring down at the book. "Because friendship is expensive. And it tends to come at a cost I would rather not pay. And because friendship is only a temporary truce between people who will one day use the weaknesses they discover about each other to find the best place to slip the knife in."

He stood.

"The headmaster is expecting us. The Sickle is an artefact of truth, Potter. You can't move it through time. The headmaster will have to deal with it – and he'll need it to make the best adjustments to our memories."

Harry looked up at him, but Severus didn't meet his eyes. "You're wrong about friendship."

Severus picked a fleck of lint off his robes. "And you're naïve. You'll find out the truth one day." He stalked off.

Harry's lips pressed together as he realised that trying to convince Severus of his sincerity was like bashing his head against a wall – the wall, in this case, being Severus' conviction that the world was incapable of holding any genuine tenderness. It was so frustrating... "At least I'm not a coward," Harry flared.

Severus' back stiffened. "At least I know what courage is," he breathed without turning to face Harry. "As opposed to mindless Gryffindor bravado."

Wisely, Harry decided not to argue.

That in itself might have been a form of courage – knowing when the battle was lost.

Knowing and dreading what was to come, Harry followed Severus back to the hospital wing and Dumbledore and memory spells and time travel and the end of any chance of making it right between himself and someone who had briefly been his friend.

This was absolutely the last time he volunteered for time travel missions.

ooOOoo


	34. Chapter 34

Disclaimer: see chapter one. And pretty much every other chapter if you want to know who these characters belong to. As for the Golden Sickle, when it's not being stashed in crazy trees by Helga Hufflepuff it belongs to Getafix.

ooOOoo

Chapter 34: Possessed Books? Ho Hum

Remus was studying his book again. It was right-way-up this time, but Harry didn't think he was really concentrating on it. Not with the floor show going on in front of him.

Arms folded across his chest, greasy hair straggling over his face, Severus was at his bristliest as he argued with Dumbledore. Harry knew that stubborn expression. Dumbledore was being remarkably patient in the face of it.

"I need to go and get it."

"Mr Snape, I simply cannot allow it. And that is absolutely the end of the matter!"

Or not.

Severus looked up and scowled at Harry, Lily and James, the scowl deepening to intense loathing when it met James. "Lovegood. Or Potter – whatever you want to call yourself. I need to see that Potions book again. You know the one. Now that I know where – when, I mean – you're from, I need to make a couple of additions."

"What, and set a trap to kill him?" James countered, stepping between Harry and Severus.

Harry rolled his eyes. "This doesn't concern you, James," Harry said. "Thank you for the thought, but now stay the hell out of it."

James couldn't have been completely stupid. He stepped out of the way as Harry walked forward. Lily put her hand on his arm and James' shoulders relaxed a fraction.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"I mean that the spells I wrote down were for trans-dimensional resonance. So I added in some extras that will be the opposite of helpful when you use them in the future."

"Oh."

"Don't trust him, Harry."

Luckily Lily elbowed James in the ribs and Remus coughed meaningfully before Harry could hex his mouth off. He was impressed by James' love for Lily, but it didn't mean he suddenly liked him personally… or could forgive him for how he'd treated Severus. _And you'd think he would have taken something out of that room – like, not making a complete git out of himself when he's around Severus. _"I guess some things aren't worth the paper they're written on," Harry whispered to James, who looked down and sighed.

"No, Harry, don't trust me," Severus said, mimicking James to a nicety – and making a mockery of any nobility of purpose. "After all," he continued in his more normal silky sneer, "I might just as easily slip something in that will smear your sorry carcass through twelve dimensions."

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"I know I can trust him," Harry said, thinking back to the end of the whole Goblet of Fire fiasco when they confronted Fake Moody. Although the poisonous words Severus spat at him stung like, well, like poison, Harry remembered that time. "I suspect that, other than Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape was the person on staff you trusted most."

"Heartwarming," Severus sneered after the moment when his expression was far too open, "but hardly relevant. Your time is running out and the headmaster is about to Obliviate the lot of us. Badly, I expect. No-one can wipe group memories with the precision you need for this situation. Before anyone turns our brains into scrambled eggs you need me to see to those spells… and you know it."

Dumbledore raised a white eyebrow mildly in Harry's direction, not taking umbrage at the slur against his abilities.

Harry nodded. He'd wondered about the spells – at least one of those written in the book in his time had been the dry potion to fix the temporal spell. Severus hadn't written them all yet: he certainly hadn't written the dry potion. Harry had been at the point where he'd considered faking Severus' handwriting and writing the spells and potions himself. "You can write up a temporal dry-spell potion?"

"Oh? It was a dry potion? I guess it would have to be, though."

"Yes. Can you write it in the next seven hours or so before I go back?"

"Seven hours? No."

Harry guessed maybe he'd broken so many laws by now it wouldn't matter if he told Severus how to make the potion… except that, when he tried to remember, he came up short. Sweat prickled around his hairline as he realised he'd done something wrong, and now he'd mucked up things so that Severus wouldn't write the book up properly, because Harry should have told him from the beginning so that –

"It'll take me fifteen minutes," Snape said, smiling that mirthless, triangular smile.

ooOOoo

Reluctantly, Dumbledore allowed Harry and Severus to leave for the library. They replaced Harry's disguise again to the relief of everyone, including Harry. Lily's eyes had gleamed as Severus demonstrated the spell. "You'll forget it in a minute," Severus said spitefully. "The headmaster will see to that."

"Oh, that reminds me," James said. He pulled the note out of his pocket. "Can I keep this?"

Dumbledore's white eyebrows raised as he read the note. "If you can't take your own advice, who can you turn to?"

Severus, trying to read the note over James' shoulder (while pretending he didn't care), scowled as James folded it with a snap and popped it back in his pocket. "Stop being _nosy_, Sn-ape."

"Now would be a good time to take that note's advice," Lily said sweetly, "and stop being such an arrogant, big-headed bully."

James rolled his eyes. "Thanks." He might have said something nastier to Severus, who was smirking, but caught himself just in time. "What are you looking at, Snape?"

"I could say 'an arrogant, big-headed bully,' but I think I'll hold onto the moral high ground a little longer."

Lily laughed and led James away to sit with Remus, who had said nothing during this. The young werewolf looked even paler. Harry wondered what Dumbledore and Severus had said – actually, he could guess. It had probably run along the lines of: 'Severus, promise not to reveal Remus as a werewolf.' 'No.'

"Don't worry," Harry heard Lily say. "Everyone will have forgotten this in a few hours."

"Huh," snorted Remus. "Do you really think so?"

Severus was staring at the floor again and so missed Remus' mournful look in his direction. "Are you going to make me forget the werewolf?" he asked. He looked up and glared defiantly at Dumbledore. "Because I think I'm going to keep seeing _it_ in nightmares." (Remus winced again, and Lily bent over to ask him about the book in an obvious attempt at distraction.) "And then I'll go and get those nightmares analysed. No Obliviate can be disguised from a trained headologist. And then the real story about _it_ will come out."

("Oh," said Lily. "It's metamorphic. I didn't realise. Fancy that." And Remus gave her the sort of exasperatedly fond look only occasionally given to well-meaning people who try very hard against the odds and deserve more joy than they get, while James was successful in resting his hand on the small of her back without getting it batted off.)

Dumbledore sighed. Severus' threat wasn't particularly well-concealed. "No. Harry said that you will remember. As will I. But some aspects of the event will be altered." He pulled out a small fob-watch. This one had only the one hand. "Hogwarts says that Harry doesn't have that much time left. I suggest the both of you go now. I shall keep these three company until you return. And then we shall call down Mr Black and… deal with matters. Harry – you said it is remembered that James rescued Severus?"

Severus actually bared his teeth at Dumbledore. "Don't even think it!"

Harry grabbed his arm, and was shaken off. "Come on. Time's running out. Severus!"

"Don't talk to me, you… you traitor!"

Severus stalked out, his robes managing a better approximation of the billow they would get with time, tailoring and finer fabric.

Dumbledore quirked an eyebrow at Harry. "Yes," Harry whispered, feeling like a traitor. "That's what is remembered."

"Of course. Why, young Mr Potter, do we create such complications? Well. There seems little point in worrying about 'what-ifs' when we have a 'what-a-to-do' on our hands. Go on." He raised his voice a fraction so that it would reach Severus, who was hovering just inside the door. "Do what needs to be done. Harry – both of you – you realise how much I am trusting you?"

"Yes. And you know both of us can be trusted."

Severus had that odd look on his face again, the one Harry had only seen briefly when he'd mentioned about how trusted he would be in the future. It was odd seeing him guardedly wistful rather than bitter. Snape had worn bitterness like knights of old wore armour; like James wore his certainty the world owed him for the grace of his existence; like Remus knew that one day he would be alone again and constantly kept himself braced for that day. Then Severus shook his head slightly and lank strands of hair fell over his face.

Harry trailed after Severus all the way to the little storeroom, where they got the book and (after Severus' threatened tantrum) the Sickle, which they kept wrapped in a cloth. Severus closed the door quietly and turned, his face set. Harry knew then that he would never return. Not in this time. And felt even guiltier as he followed Severus on to the library. But by the time they got there he was getting sick of being ignored, even if it was deserved. He hated silent treatments. He'd had them from Ron. And he'd been ashamed of himself in retrospect when he'd given them to Hermione.

Things should have lightened up a little when a book with the dust of decades on it leaped out to the end of its chain and tried to savage Harry. Severus whacked it with his copy of _Temporal Dynamics for Dunderheads_, which sent the book zooming at him. Harry pulled out the Sickle and slashed at the book. One touch of the gleaming blade sent the book tumbling. Harry leaned down to check the title. _"Cerberus Unleashed,"_ he read. "What's that supposed to be about?"

Severus sighed irritably and eyed the hole in the shelf left by the book. "Don't let any more of them get away," he ordered, and slunk away along another aisle.

Harry was left holding the book. Some of the other books on the shelves whispered and hissed at him, rustling their pages in their bindings. It sounded threatening, but when Harry lifted the Sickle, the books sank back. It was like watching a lion, Harry thought, and knowing that as soon as you blinked the lion would charge.

Thankfully, Severus was back quickly. Madam Pince was with him. Harry hid the Sickle in his robes before she could see it.

"…the same old problem," Severus was saying.

"Tsk. I thought we'd exorcised the last of them. Honestly, they don't have the sense to know that if they pulled out the foundations, the walls would pulp them, too. Thank you, boys. I'll take care of this now." The librarian looked around, half-closing her eyes, her lips moving soundlessly.

The Grey Lady, the Ravenclaw ghost, glided through a shelf and passed through Harry's arm. Harry jumped at the cold, pressing against Severus, who shoved him back as if Harry was a leper.

Harry rubbed his arm where it had banged against a shelf. "What happened?"

Severus ignored him and stalked off back to their table.

"Possessed books," Pince said. "Again. They've got this thing for mischief. Old pixie spirits, or so I'm told. They tend to pull in some of the trickier monsters from mythology for help." She waved _Cerberus Unbound_ as emphasis. "Well done stopping them – I thought they'd been dealt with and haven't been checking on them as often as I should."

Possessed books should have been a fail-safe opening for a discussion. But Severus, who was bent over several open books like a particularly literate vulture, told Harry to get back to his own research. And to kindly shut up so that Severus could concentrate on writing down the spells correctly. Harry went along with that for a while, but it was too uncomfortable to continue with.

"So…"

_"I'm working."_

Well. That was definite. And if that scowl got any fiercer, the little potions book was going to burst into flames – and paradox the future out of existence.

Harry managed to get a glimpse of what Severus was writing – but only a brief glimpse before Severus ran his fingers along some of the pages and sealed them shut. That was right – Hermione had needed to unseal some of them. But it would have been comforting for Harry to read them first.

That reminded him that he was going to see Hermione soon. And Ron. And Luna. That cheered him up. Oh, and Malfoy. That… didn't stop him from feeling cheered up. And it meant Severus was going to be dead. Harry, feeling like he'd just volunteered someone for a suicide mission (and hadn't he? Hadn't he effectively 'volunteered' many people by not warning them of their futures?) chewed on his lip. "Look. We need to talk. I'm sorry. It's important you know that, because –"

Severus slammed a book on the desk and snarled, "What the frigging use is 'sorry'? All apologies are are useless words! 'Sorry' means _nothing._ All the good 'sorry' does is to let the apologiser feel like he's actually made things better. Well, he _hasn't._ And if you're going to wallow in guilt, then good. Because if anyone deserves to get hell from their conscience, then it's you, you ungrateful little get of a syphilitic hound. And if by some infinitely slender chance you actually got your mother's good conscience in the genetic lottery, it sure as your father and his toadying friends deserve to go to Tartarus won't have come from that mangy, pus-ridden sack of writhing maggots which sired you!"

Harry wasn't sure what else he might have said, because Pince threw them out at that point. Even though they were the only ones in the library.

Breathing so heavily though his nose that he sounded like the Hogwarts Express with a full head of steam, Severus swept outside with Harry in his wake. Harry wasn't sure about the wisdom of going out into the open as there mightn't be any teachers or prefects to protect him from an enraged junior Snape (and, should Severus turn really nasty complete with wand, he didn't think defending himself and putting Severus back in hospital would be any more acceptable as apologies went).

Severus sat in a courtyard and scribbled in the potions book. Occasionally he would hiss a question at Harry and sneer if Harry couldn't give a precise enough answer. Harry sat on a low wall getting more and more miserable. Finally Severus snapped the book shut in one hand. "There. And don't you dare say 'sorry' again."

Harry, who'd been considering ways of rephrasing 'sorry', closed his mouth again and waited.

Severus went on, slightly more calmly (not that it reassured Harry, who'd seen Snape calm right before he erupted): "You're going and I'm going to have my memory wiped. So it doesn't matter what you say."

Harry winced. "It matters to me. And I don't want you to forget Harry Lovegood. I want you to remember that he was your friend."

Oops, here came that volcano.

"But he wasn't," Severus hissed, hunched over the book, his black eyes shooting sparks. "And he never even existed. Why, Junior Potter, is it so important for you that I should believe otherwise, hmm?"

"Because I'm tired of having lies pinned to me. All the time I've been at Hogwarts you've believed one thing or another about me. You've always believed I was some carbon-copy of my father. But you've never seen the truth. And now I'll go back and, and I won't be able to say to you, 'Hey, try and remember what happened in the past – what you did for me was really amazing and I'm really grateful and I want you to know what a good friend you were. And that I really wished I could tell you the truth but I was too scared to, because you would have crucified me.' But I can't do that…"

"…Because I'm dead…"

"Yes. Because you're dead, and even if you were still alive, you'd still hate me because, well, because you're you and you stopped needing any excuse to hate me some time in my first year."

"Why would I stop needing an excuse to hate you?"

"Because… because I'm a Gryffindor. I'm James Potter's son. And… and I'm like an allergy to you. And, truth be told, I couldn't stand you either. And if anyone had told me I'd ever incredibly and…and… and deeply regret the fact you were dead, I'd… I'd've told them to go visit the hospital wing for some dried frog pills. And… and right here and right now I've got the chance to tell you the truth."

"That you hate me and I hate you. That I can believe."

Harry buried his face in his hands and moaned in frustration. "Merlin, Severus, you're so set on the idea that hate is the easiest way out of everything… Why is it so hard for you to see that it's possible to actually have people who consider you a friend?"

After a moment's silence, Harry looked up. Severus was staring down at the book. "Because friendship is expensive. And it tends to come at a cost I would rather not pay. And because friendship is only a temporary truce between people who will one day use the weaknesses they discover about each other to find the best place to slip the knife in."

He stood.

"The headmaster is expecting us. The Sickle is an artefact of truth, Potter. You can't move it through time. The headmaster will have to deal with it – and he'll need it to make the best adjustments to our memories."

Harry looked up at him, but Severus didn't meet his eyes. "You're wrong about friendship."

Severus picked a fleck of lint off his robes. "And you're naïve. You'll find out the truth one day." He stalked off.

Harry's lips pressed together as he realised that trying to convince Severus of his sincerity was like bashing his head against a wall – the wall, in this case, being Severus' conviction that the world was incapable of holding any genuine tenderness. It was so frustrating... "At least I'm not a coward," Harry flared.

Severus' back stiffened. "At least I know what courage is," he breathed without turning to face Harry. "As opposed to mindless Gryffindor bravado."

Wisely, Harry decided not to argue.

That in itself might have been a form of courage – knowing when the battle was lost.

Knowing and dreading what was to come, Harry followed Severus back to the hospital wing and Dumbledore and memory spells and time travel and the end of any chance of making it right between himself and someone who had briefly been his friend.

This was absolutely the last time he volunteered for time travel missions.

ooOOoo


	35. Chapter 35

Disclaimer: No, Hogwarts and its assorted denizens aren't mine. Wish they were, 'cos then I'd be rich, rich, rich – mwa-ha-ha-haaa!

One can dream.

For those of you still reading by this chapter, well done! This little plotless story started out as a weird idea and developed a plot along the way, and it growed like Topsy (thanks in part to those of you who said, "Hey, can we see Snape in this story?").

ooOOoo

Chapter 35: Truth Behind Lies

Harry blinked at the ceiling. It was blurred and some distance above, and there was a suggestion of light diffusing through cotton sheets gently wafting around his bed.

Oh. He was in the Hospital Wing. Again. The blur was a familiar one by now, and from long practise Harry knew to reach to his left for the bedside table where his glasses would be. His fingers closed around the frames – good old Madam Pomfrey. Ouch – his right hand ached for some reason. Oh, that was right… someone's nose had hit his fist.

"About time you woke up," drawled a voice from the bed to his right. Harry didn't need to put his glasses on to recognise the speaker.

"Hnh? Nnh." Harry swallowed in a futile effort to clear what felt like carpet off his tongue and the back of his throat. "Draco," he croaked. "I see you didn't get off lightly either. Or are your eyes giving you trouble again?"

"Actually my eyes are fine. Better than fine – they're great. Back to normal," Draco added with satisfaction, sitting up and swinging his legs off the bed where he'd been lying. He handed Harry a glass of water. "And I didn't get off so lightly. I got a detention. Granger and I have to polish the suits of armour for a month. Oh – this?" He waved a hand at the bed. "No, I just wanted a quiet place for a lie-down." He grinned as Harry's scowl turned into a reluctant smile. "So… after the spell was activated… what happened to you, anyway?"

Harry paused to consider. "I… went back in time, pretended to be Jame- my dad to rescue Severus from a werewolf; considered convincing my mum _not_ to give J- my father a go –"

"Hang on, hang on… your _dad?_ And your _mum?"_

"Um, yeah. There was a slight problem" (Draco snorted) "with the spell. I only got as far as twenty-one years ago. May I continue?" Draco waved a languid hand in permission. "Why, thank you. Too kind. As I was saying – Mum still decided to give Ja- my dad a go even though he'd been a complete bastard to me and pretty much everyone else at Hogwarts… but he grew up a bit, I hope, and we bonded… well, no, we didn't really. My fist nearly bonded with his nose, though," he added thoughtfully. That reminded him of why his hand was sore now, and of the crunch when he'd broken Sirius' nose… but he didn't want to think of Sirius right now. It was like he'd come back to a stranger. Many strangers. On to happier thoughts – fractionally happier, anyway: "I met your parents. And all these junior Death Eaters. Your mum was okay. Miles better than Bellatrix, not that that says anything as your aunt's a complete maniac. But, er, I punched out your dad although he didn't know it was me and didn't even recognise me as _my_ dad. Er. Sorry. Although I'm not sorry…" He pressed a hand to his eyes, pressing until lights popped behind his retinas. "Uh… Not making much sense yet. What else? Oh, Severus and I stopped a couple of possessed books from the library from dissolving the foundations of the castle."

Draco, who'd raised one eyebrow at the mention of Harry hitting Lucius, raised the other. "'Severus'?"

"Uh – Snape." Harry didn't want to explain that. He was back in this time now – Snape had died not too long ago. Severus had died much further back in the past. Just not in Harry's past. Suddenly the room, which had been warm with spring sunshine, developed a chill.

Draco shrugged, although his grey eyes were hooded. "Eh. Anything interesting?"

Harry struggled back from memory. "Oh, that's right. We – I found the Glasshouse of Secrets and the Golden Sickle of Helga Hufflepuff."

"Ah. So you did manage to do something according to plan. Well done."

Harry pushed his glasses up onto his forehead and pressed at his eyes again, trying to forget a badger glaring up at him myopically. "Thanks," he replied, quiet to Draco's sarcasm. "But I didn't. Not really. I couldn't bring it back with me. S- someone said it was something to do with Artefacts of Truth not being allowed to shift through time. Dumbledore agreed. He's hidden it for me."

"Where?"

"Dunno. And he had to wipe his own memory because I told him too much about the future."

"Oh. Well, never mind. If he's hidden it it'll be somewhere you can find it again."

"Hmm."

"What's wrong? You got what you wanted." Draco appeared nettled by Harry's lack of reaction.

"Yeah. It's just…"

"Weird seeing dead people?"

Harry resettled his glasses and looked up, unsettled by Draco's sudden, seemingly psychic powers. "Yes. You know, you should take over Divinations. You're miles better than Trelawney."

Draco, blue-grey eyes sharp, opened his mouth to say something then paused as the door to the Infirmary opened. Soft steps hurried across the floor. "Here comes Granger – I think your personal advisor put a charm on you to tell her when you woke. I'll leave you two to your happy reunion. Got class, anyway." He was off before Harry could ask him to wait, nodding in stiff politeness to Hermione as he passed her.

"Granger."

She slowed to incline her head just as formally. "Malfoy." Then she hurried forward again to Harry's bed, her robes swishing around her ankles. "Oh, Harry," she said, and Harry wondered why her eyes were a bit red.

Then he stopped wondering. Hermione had knelt down by his bed and thrown her arms around him. "Harry… You're all right?"

He patted her back a little awkwardly. "I'm fine." And then he realised: "You did it perfectly, Hermione."

She sat on the bed and wiped at her eyes carefully, trying not to let him see she'd been crying. "Really? Everyone was so cross when they found out. They seemed to think that time-travel so far back was impossible, and that you must be – I thought… I…"

"I can see what you thought," Harry smiled. "I didn't get back to the time of the Founders, but it all worked out. The spell took me to where I needed to go to find the Sickle. Everything was – everything worked out."

Hermione nodded. "Yes. I can see. You're back."

Harry turned his face aside, knowing it showed too much right now. "Yes. Um. Hermione, I, ah…"

"Need a bit of time?"

He smiled gratefully, glad that she understood. "It's just seeing all those people, some who were going to die…"

She stilled, the slight furrow between her brows the only clue that her mind was working furiously, then nodded and leaned forward to give him a peck on the cheek. "I'm late for Arithmancy. Ron's in DADA or he'd be here now… I… I'll come and see you after dinner, if that's okay."

"It's very okay." Harry was just relieved she hadn't asked anything about when he'd gone to. He especially didn't want to talk about his parents. Or… anyone else from that time.

"Okay."

They grinned at each other for a moment, then Hermione slipped away as quietly as she'd come.

Harry lay back, thinking of all he'd seen and done in the last week and the sheer surrealism of coming back to a world where classes still went on and Hermione worried about being late for them. It was so _normal._ Normal shouldn't be part of his world. Not after what he'd seen and done. The people he'd seen. The things they'd done to and for him.

His parents hadn't been the worst. The worst had been Snape, because Harry still wasn't ready for him to be dead. Getting Snape – _Severus_ – to trust him enough to help with finding the Sickle… and knowing that Severus wouldn't abandon him in that tunnel; finding out that Snape had once been a real person called Severus, who'd read Muggle literature and thought of Harry as a friend; who'd stayed with Harry when a werewolf tried to eat them…

Harry shuddered as he remembered sitting under an Invisibility Cloak (his future Cloak) and watching Dumbledore erase Severus' memory.

Dumbledore had taken the Golden Sickle and used it as the focus to rebuild memories. Severus, it turned out, was right: the Sickle was an artefact of truth. And as such it could be used to hide truth, providing the right lies were used. Lily, James, Remus and Sirius had gone first, then been taken away by Madam Pomfrey for medi-chocolate. Then it had been Severus' turn.

Severus had looked ill. Then, as he focussed on the Sickle and Dumbledore raised his wand and spoke the charms, his face went blank and Harry knew he'd been forgotten. Severus would remember back to the Shrieking Shack incident, yes, but the memory was rebuilt so that he remembered his rescuer as James Potter instead of Harry… Because Harry Lovegood had gone back to his own school without leaving an address for owls. And Harry Lovegood had just been someone Severus had shown around the school for a bit, anyway. It wasn't like they'd been friends or anything.

(Under the Invisibility Cloak Harry had clenched his hands into fists, but he couldn't argue with Dumbledore on this one. It was best Severus forget he'd had a friend called Harry Lovegood. But it was the worst kind of lie, at least as bad as the one that said James had rescued Severus.)

There was a terminal injustice built into the universe.

Harry's presence had been necessary to help with the spells, especially the one which substituted James' face for his, as Dumbledore took down and reconstructed memories. He listened as Dumbledore explained that it would be best if Severus went home for a few weeks until things settled.

_"What about Black? I suppose he's not being suspended…"_

"You're not being suspended, Mr Snape. Merely sent home to recover for a time."

It had been horrible the way this young version of the Potions master suddenly froze, his eyes blank and black and fathomless. But he nodded acceptance, and replied to Dumbledore's gentle statement of _"It is for the best, Severus"_ with a level stare that bordered on the insolent. _"If you say so, Headmaster_." The insolence faded when the headmaster _("Stay here in the Infirmary for a little while, Mr Snape, just to make sure you are feeling fit.") _left to meet up with an ex-student who had come to visit members of his old House; Severus had looked so lost. Harry, against his better judgement, had stayed, frightened but not knowing why. He'd stayed, mutely clasping his hands together until they ached, as Snape wrote a letter then tore it up and burnt it.

He'd stayed and looked around at the sound of a soft knock on the door.

ooOOoo

"Go away."

The door opened instead.

"Ah. Severus. Headmaster Dumbledore said I could find you here."

Draco Malfoy entered. Harry nearly gave himself away with a gasp before he realised it wasn't Draco. This Malfoy was older – several years older than Severus, he estimated, and wore his pale hair long and swept back from his face.

Severus stood up jerkily, nearly tripping over his feet as Lucius closed the door behind himself. Malfoy's sneer was almost eclipsed by a kindly expression as Lucius stepped forward to shake hands.

"I just wrote you a… Never mind."

"A letter? Luckily I was coming by anyway. Old friends to catch up with, you know. And I'd heard you weren't well. It's good to see you on your feet at the least."

The line between Severus' eyes deepened. "Lucius… They're suspending me from Hogwarts…"

"Now, what is this all about? You are being sent home? What nonsense is this?"

Severus looked awkward and infuriated… and bewildered, as if he knew _something_ had been taken from him but not what. "I've been forbidden to talk about it."

"What can you tell me, then?"

"Someone tried to kill me, and I'm the one being punished."

There was a brief silence.

"Dumbledore wants to send you home." Lucius rolled the words in his mouth, as if testing them for angles and edges.

"Yes. I… I can't go home. My…" He broke off, swallowing audibly as he looked down at the floor. "Lucius, you said once you could give me a place to stay for the holidays. Does your offer still stand?"

Lucius smiled, the smile of a tiger which has just had its prey handed to it already hamstrung. Harry felt like he'd swallowed an icicle and couldn't understand how Severus could miss seeing the threat standing right in front of him. But Severus was still staring at the floor.

"Of course it does. You are welcome at any time."

"Now?"

Lucius slapped Severus on the shoulder. The gesture was friendly, but there was something triumphant behind it. "Now. Get your things. Really, Severus, this is an excellent time. Couldn't be better, in fact! I have a new friend I wish you to meet, and he's staying at Malfoy Manor right now. I've told him about you and he's anxious to make your acquaintance."

Severus looked dubious, but Malfoy merely smiled. "I'll wait for you in Dumbledore's office, Severus. Go and get your things. What do you need to take?"

"Everything. When my father finds out about this he won't let me come back," he said bitterly. "I've embarrassed him for the last time."

"Well, you're sixteen now. Or is it seventeen? My word – seventeen… how time flies. You're of majority now. That makes things _much_ easier. If you wish to continue your studies I'm sure something can be arranged which doesn't include your father. My friend is very influential, and I don't see that arranging a scholarship fund for you should be so difficult." Blue-grey eyes smiled in an attempt at warmth.

"Really?"

"Really. I expect he will bring great changes into your life. For the better. Go now, Severus," he added gently, making shooing motions towards the door. "Get everything you want to take. And meet me in the Headmaster's Office."

"My parents will –"

Lucius raised his chin. His expression became so determined and chilly that the room seemed to drop a couple of degrees Celsius. "– Will not need to be directly involved. _Ever_, Severus. Go on. I have lawyers who can arrange matters so that you need never see your father again."

Severus left. Malfoy stood in the centre of the room, looking extremely pleased. Harry seethed under his invisibility cloak, both at Malfoy's presence and at the fact that Malfoy was trying to do something for Severus when Harry wasn't able to – and no-one else seemed inclined to. But there was something in Lucius' smile that alarmed Harry – he could understand a determination to do something to help a friend, but there was something possessive and ugly in there, too.

Maybe Lucius really just did want to help a friend, Harry told himself, knowing it was a lie but sick at the thought of having to leave with everything still so wrong. Maybe Lucius didn't want to –

Lucius' smile grew as he idly rubbed at the inside of his left forearm.

That was when Harry hit him.

ooOOoo

Funny – the one he really wanted to see now wasn't someone from his past. It wasn't even technically a someone.

Harry discharged himself from the Infirmary and left for the field behind the castle and the uncomplicated company of a horse.

Simon wanted to graze, but he didn't mind if Harry brushed him while he did so. Harry worked the short-bristled bodybrush over the horse's ribs and tried not to think.

Gradually the gentle breeze threading through the heather and his own hair, the smells of the trees and fresh air and healthy horse, and the sun shining from the blue sky to raise rippling reflections on Simon's sleek black hide calmed him. Simon eventually decided he'd eaten enough and stood while Harry brushed him, eyes half shut and only the occasional swish of his tail showing he wasn't asleep.

Yes, Harry thought as he began to feel the tension working out of his shoulders, there was a terminal justice built into the universe. But the universe had given other things to take away the sting.

Like a beautiful day.

Harry threw himself down on the slope and rested his head on his interlocked hands as he stared up at the sky. A shadow fell over him. He jumped, then realised it was just Simon. Did the horse take it as his duty to loom over people? Harry wasn't sure if it was meant to be threatening, but when he raised a hand Simon dropped his muzzle into it briefly before raising his head again.

Oh. Simon seemed to think he was on guard. But by the way he rested one hind foot Harry guessed Simon didn't think there was much to guard against.

That was oddly touching.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. There was always the possibility that Simon would stand on him, but he doubted it. After a moment he felt a faint, moist breeze on his forehead and the tickle of whiskers, and he smiled.

He was asleep when Luna and Draco found him. They woke him from a dream where Dumbledore was presenting him with the cup for services to the school because he'd rescued Snape. Golden light refused to stay in the cup and spilled over the brim and Harry tried to catch it in his hands but it kept slipping through his fingers and he asked Severus to help him.

Severus – the Severus of twenty-one years ago – glared hatred at him, and when Harry protested that he hadn't accepted the cup to spite him, stalked away in disgust. "I won't be part of this hypocrisy," he snarled. "It won't hold truth." Harry, trying to follow him to explain about the nature of truth, was held back by Dumbledore. "Some truths must be a part of every time," Dumbledore said. And now the cup in Harry's hands overflowed with golden sherbet lemons while Harry tried to catch them all. And in the mirror of Erised his father had green eyes while Harry's were hazel. Then there was an earthquake and Hogwarts was falling down along with the wards… those bloody books were helping Voldemort, he just _knew _it…

He was glad the earthquake was only Draco, although he had a nasty moment, looking up at the blond, that he was looking at Draco's father, about to watch helplessly as Lucius pretended to do on Severus' behalf that which Harry couldn't.

"What's the matter with you, Potter? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Harry sat up and straightened his glasses. He had a knack for going to sleep still wearing them. "Something like. Sorry. Just a weird dream." He took his glasses off and scrubbed at his eyes. The dream was fading, but something from it clung.

Then he had it.

"He hid it!" he yelped. "But not in the mirror this time. Come on!" He shot up and raced off down the hill towards the castle, ignoring Simon's snort and Draco's yelp of, "Are you mad?"

Draco and Luna caught him up in the entrance hall. Harry slowed to a quick walk, not wanting anyone to stop him for running in the corridors. "What are you on about now?" Draco hissed out of the corner of his mouth. Or tried to – he was puffing after the run, which ruined the smooth, clandestine effect he'd been aiming for.

"The trophy room," Harry whispered back.

"It's just the same as always. Trust me on this. Or Granger – she's been helping me clean the glass, too."

Harry ignored that. "I had a detention in my first year, and –"

"Really? What a coincidence. We aren't going to go trawling through the Forest for sick monsters, are we?"

Harry bit back the comment about it making a change from Draco stamping around in the middle of the Forest at midnight near where the acromantulas hung out. He closed his mouth and led them past the gallery full of suits of armour (one waved to Draco as they went by) and into the trophy room.

Even inside their tall cases (the glass was very clean, anyway) the silver cups were dusty. Some were looking a little tarnished, too; apart from Hermione and Draco, Filch couldn't have had too many detentions to supervise lately. Harry took out his wand and tapped the glass of one of the display cases. It slid open.

"There," Harry said, taking out one of the cups. It looked like it hadn't been cleaned since his first year. And neither did it deserve to be, he thought sourly, eyeing the engraving.

"So your father got a cup for services to the school. Well, lah-di-dah," Draco sneered after reading the engraving.

Harry's mouth pursed but he kept his voice low and calm as he replied, "It wasn't really him. He should have been cleaning these cups for a month and he got given a prize instead." And Severus turned into Snape, who became a Death Eater.

Luna, who had been silent so far, tilted her head and said, "The date… that's when you went to, isn't it?" She had that odd, determined look on her face again, the one that made Harry uncomfortable.

"Yeah."

"So the cup is yours?"

Luna sounded close to being angry, but it was hard to tell with her. Draco raised an eyebrow. Harry shook his head and said, "Sort of. It's a ruse, I think. Just not a very, er, tactful one… but Dumbledore said that while lies can hide behind the truth, it's easier for the truth to be hidden behind lies."

Dumbledore had said that, yes; and then he'd sat quietly with Harry until the return spell hit in twenty-six minutes later and catapulted Harry back to his own time and then, presumably, doctored most of his memories using the Sickle, hid the Sickle, and erased the last of his own memories of the incident. Harry didn't want to look inside the cup – from his first year he remembered it as hollow and didn't want to be fooled by what his eyes saw.

He closed them and reached inside with one hand.

It was slightly rough – the silver wasn't solid and the lining had some sort of spell on it which made his fingers itch. The cup wasn't more than six inches high but already his arm was in it up to the elbow. He wouldn't be able to reach much further without making his arm thinner or something…

Then his fingers touched something solid and wooden and faintly warm.

He'd last touched this a few days ago. Twenty-one years ago.

With a huge sigh of relief, Harry pulled out the Golden Sickle of Helga Hufflepuff.

ooOOoo


	36. Chapter 36

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

Warning: Harry loses his temper. Gee. Not like you've ever seen that in fanfic before. I wonder what my cliché counter is up to now?

ooOOoo

Chapter 36: Confronting Sirius

They weren't sure if they should take it to Hermione, Dumbledore or Remus. Harry and Draco settled for taking it out to Simon, and Luna decided to go and find Hermione and Ron, who should have finished their classes by now.

"What do you think, Simon?" Harry asked, holding up the Sickle.

The horse had the most perplexed expression on its face Harry had ever seen on a horse (although Simon was the only horse he'd ever actually met) as it snorted at the golden semicircle.

"Don't blow your nose on it," Draco scolded, but ruffled the black mane affectionately. "Blow your nose on Potter instead. It might teach him to carry a handkerchief out of self-defence, if not manners."

Oh, that's right. Harry had told Draco about his handkerchief problem – and he was regretting it already. "He seems to know it's special."

"Well, horses _are_ edge-creatures. Maybe it's so highly magic even Simon can sense it. I wonder if you can smell magic?"

"Huh. Maybe horses can. I wonder if dogs can?" He'd have to – to not ask Padfoot. The sun, which had been warm on his shoulders, cooled. "What about it, Simon? Does it smell like carrots or apples to you?"

"Something new, by the look of him. Definitely not peppermints."

Simon flicked his ears but otherwise ignored the boys.

Figures were approaching the bottom of the hill. Harry tucked the Sickle into his robes just in case. Simon seemed to take offence at this and laid his ears back, looking quite disgusted as the Sickle disappeared.

But it was only Ron, Hermione and Luna, who were puffing by the time they reached the gate.

"Harry! Welcome back, mate. But… you're out of the Infirmary and the first place you go is to a paddock?" Ron said in disbelief.

Harry shrugged. Ron had a point. "It seemed like the best place to do some thinking. I needed to work out where the Sickle was. And I did."

"Excuse me? The Sickle? You really did find it? 'Mione, why didn't you tell me?" Ron cut off Hermione's reply as he leaned over the fence to get a better look at Harry. "Well? Where is it?"

"Oh dear – you didn't lose it already, did you?" Luna asked.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course I didn't. I just needed to be sure you were who you looked like…"

"Well, that was sensible," Draco drawled.

Harry ignored him. "I wanted to be sure it was you, is what I mean. I'm not sure if we should be showing the Sickle to anyone. Someone might take it off us. And it's said that it could be used to destroy Hogwarts."

"Really? Let's see," said Ron.

"Sure." Harry pulled it out again.

"Well, it looks like it's made of gold, all right," Ron said at last, turning it over in his hands. "Bit small, though. Especially if you want to hack a castle to bits." He grinned.

Harry rolled his eyes again as he snatched the Sickle back. The only one suitably impressed by it had been Simon, who had gone back to standing with his head slightly lowered and staring at the Sickle as if he were trying to work out whether it was an enemy or not. "Honestly, you lot… It's the bloody Golden Sickle of Helga Hufflepuff. It doesn't matter _what_ it looks like. So long as it can cut the mistletoe and help us make the potion."

"Any idea where the mistletoe might be?" Hermione asked.

"I could find some with my gloves," Draco offered. "Which reminds me, where are they, Potter?"

"Um."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, oops, sorry, Mendeleev gloves don't take to time travel very well. They died just after I arrived." _After pointing towards Severus._ But that wasn't something he could say, because it would mean explaining too many things. While he might one day discuss it with Hermione, he couldn't bear to hear Ron's rant on the topic of greasy gits: the impossibility of friendship with. He certainly didn't want to explain matters to Draco. Draco, who'd gone out looking for Se- for Snape, wouldn't want to hear Harry's story of how Severus had become a Death Eater because Harry had gone back in time and Severus had gone down a tunnel looking for something to help Harry and found a werewolf instead. No, he most certainly didn't want to tell Draco that story.

"Oh, now that's nice. You're sorry. My bloody gloves are gone and you're sorry. Do you know how hard it is to get a pair of Mendeleev gloves?"

"Look, Malfoy, I'm sure your daddy can buy you a new pair – ouch!"

Simon had just bitten him. Then, after a moment when the horse seemed to weigh up the situation –

"Ouch!" Draco yelped. "What'd you go and bite _me _for?"

Harry rubbed his arm, which was throbbing with the promise of a bruise tomorrow. Horse teeth weren't so much sharp as designed to crush. Thankfully Ron wasn't grinning, Harry noticed. Although if Ron _did_ grin and set Draco off like a firecracker, he expected Ron would be the next one looking for a salve to heal a horse bite. After that nip to Draco, it looked unlikely that Simon was favouring anyone.

Maybe they could train the horse to mediate between Slytherin and Gryffindor.

"Because we were both arguing," Harry sighed. Speaking of mediating between Slytherin and Gryffindor, what would Robert Python say…? He forced himself to relax as he added, "And what I said was a really stupid thing for me to say, so I certainly deserved a nip. Sorry, Draco."

That left Draco visibly off-balance, as politeness from Harry always did. "Huh. Well."

"If it's any consolation, the gloves managed one last location – they set me on the path towards getting the Sickle. I'd love to make another pair…"

"Well, if you _really_ want to, I'll see if I can find the instructions," Luna said. "I've been meaning to have another go – this time I'm sure they'll turn out right and not try to suck anyone's blood." Oblivious to the others' four-way exchange of looks of dismay, she slipped through the gate and clipped a leadrope to Simon's headcollar, draped the other end of the rope over the gate and began to check that the horse's cover wasn't making any sore patches. "Professor Snape made me write everything down so that I wouldn't bother him all the time when I forgot something," she said cheerfully.

Harry went very still.

Draco was watching him closely, as was Hermione.

"Who helped you back then?" Ron asked, eyes flicking from Harry to Draco. It was easy to forget that Ron wasn't as lacking in perception as he sometimes seemed to be.

"Dumbledore, a bit," Harry said, which wasn't a lie.

"Funny how we found a potions book with Snape's handwriting in it… all about how to send someone back through time and make a potion for breaking a temporal misalignment spell," Draco said quietly. He was probably remembering how Harry had called Snape 'Severus' back in the hospital. And Hermione had already been very careful about not asking Harry who he'd met back in time. He could feel three pairs of eyes boring into him as he stared down at the ground.

Luna had Simon's cover folded back over the horse's hindquarters. Harry tucked the Sickle back into his robes again – a little too roughly, this time, and he felt something that might have been his T-shirt tear – as he walked over to the horse and stroked the satiny shoulder. Simon turned his neck around to touch his nose gently to Harry's arm. Possibly it was coincidental that it was the same spot he'd just bitten.

"Yeah. Funny. So funny I don't want to talk about it right now."

"But you will."

Harry turned to face Draco, who seemed half-angry, half-curious. "Yes. I will. But not quite yet."

"Who else did you see?" Ron asked.

Harry leaned forward. He'd missed the smell of horse. "Some people. I… It got a bit personal."

"Oh."

Ron must have developed tact some time this year – in the past he'd not have let a statement like that lie: as Harry's best friend it was his duty to know about the personal – instead he'd have seen it as his duty to know about the personal even when it was private, and thrown a wobbly over Harry keeping secrets from him because Harry thought he was famous and better than Ron or something…

Thank Merlin people grew out of their insecurities.

_Or not_, Harry thought, recalling Severus. He lifted his glasses and rubbed his hand over his eyes, remembering as he flexed his fingers why they still felt a little stiff. Lucius Malfoy had a bony face and Harry's hadn't hit him quite square on the nose… Dumbledore had needed to call Madam Pomfrey in to mend the broken nose and then call the Baron to have a word with Peeves about assaulting people.

Even the memory of Peeves being blamed for something Harry had done couldn't made Harry smile now.

"So. Anyway. We've got the Sickle. So now what?"

"We find the mistletoe, make the potion, and use it to break the barrier," Hermione said practically.

"Sounds like a plan," Harry said. "But… How do we find the mistletoe?"

"Neville's working on that," Ron said, eyeing Draco as if he expected the Slytherin to say something about this, but Draco was watching Simon, who was falling asleep again as Luna brushed him. "And Hermione thinks she's worked out the potion. We just have to find the trees."

"Two of which are outside the barrier," Harry pointed out. "Are you sure about that, though?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "While you were away I back-chained some Arithmantic formulae to work out the fundamentals of the spell."

"Oh. Two trees," Harry said, vaguely. "If you say so. Um… How do we access those?"

"Yes. That's something we hadn't managed to quite figure out yet."

"I've been working on something," Draco said. He frowned and tugged at his lower lip. "But it's not something I'm all that sure about."

"Do you need any help on it?" Harry asked.

"Probably." Draco grimaced. "Think you could talk to Hagrid for me?"

ooOOoo

Because Draco wasn't confident about his idea, he didn't want to tell Harry what it was, which was a little annoying but not hugely so. Harry was too busy keeping himself busy and not thinking by running around carrying books for Hermione to worry about Draco. He'd taken the time to talk to Hagrid, though.

Harry hadn't been sure how to approach Hagrid with the suggestion he help a Malfoy, but when he went to the hut for a cup of tea two days later, Hagrid turned out to be surprisingly neutral about the prospect.

"Ah well, Harry; young Malfoy's been behavin' himself arright lately… it's having a pet that's done it, mark my words. Amazing how animals settle a body down." He slapped Fang, who drooled happily as he eyed the uneaten rock cakes on the table. "Pets bring out the best, that they do." Hagrid sighed and took a long slurp of his tea. "Well, might as well tell Malfoy t' see me this evenin'."

Draco had been a little dubious about meeting up with Hagrid, but he'd turned down Harry's offer to accompany him.

"I'm not blind any more, Potter," he snapped.

"Then you can find your own way out there," Harry growled back, and went off to check that Simon was safe in his field for the night before he went in to face Dumbledore. And the music.

ooOOoo

Harry had finally decided to talk to Dumbledore. It had taken him those two days to think it over, but now, with the mistletoe potion looking extremely promising since Neville had just this morning located some in an oak not too far into the Forest, things suddenly seemed to be running away from Harry.

Harry had felt like that when he'd gone into the past – and it had, in one sense, been disastrous. Maybe it was time to bring in someone older for advice. With a bit of luck Dumbledore's advice wouldn't be along the lines of 'you don't know what you're doing give me the Sickle and get back to your dormitory.' He was at the base of the stairs to Dumbledore's office when realised he didn't know the password.

He could go and see McGonagall, he supposed, but he didn't want to involve her. He could…

"Harry?"

…He could forget that he was meant to be avoiding Lupin. Remus looked as tired as ever, and the lines on his face were slightly deeper. But his eyes were patient.

"Are you waiting to see Professor Dumbledore?" Lupin asked.

Harry opened his mouth to say 'yes' and wasn't quite sure why he heard himself say instead, "No. I… was just thinking about something. That's all. I should get back to Gryffindor."

"Do you have another project you're working on?"

Harry tensed.

"Come with me, please."

Reluctantly, Harry followed Lupin to his office. There was a large, black dog waiting there. It stood up, favouring one leg slightly, and woofed happily when it saw Harry.

Harry didn't smile.

The dog's tail, which had been wagging, stilled.

"Harry. Sit down, please."

Lupin closed and soundproofed the door as Harry sat in the chair across the desk from Lupin's. There was a third chair. It was taken by Sirius, who flowed back into his human form.

Sirius looked haggard and even more tired than Remus. And a little angry.

"So. Feel like explaining yourself?" Sirius said.

"Hush, Sirius," Lupin said as he took his seat. "I think we're far past the time where we need to treat Harry like a wayward child."

"Well, going off and doing dangerous stunts like that is hardly the mark of an adult!"

"What, like turning into a dog and escaping from prison?" Lupin pointed out, a smile hovering in the corners of his mouth. He wiped it away with his hand. "But Sirius does have a point, Harry. Time travel? What on earth possessed you? You were gone nearly a week – all Hermione would tell us was that you'd gone back to the time of the Founders to find some information."

Ah. So that was what she'd said. Well, he _had_ gone after information of a sort.

Lupin clasped his hands before him and went on. "Hogwarts was in an uproar. Professor Dumbledore said all we could do was wait. Poor Professor McGonagall was in a terrible state."

Harry winced. McGonagall hadn't deserved to be upset so. "I'm sorry about Professor McGonagall."

"What about us?" Sirius growled. "How do you think we felt, losing you?"

"I don't know," Harry snapped back, abruptly furious. "How should you feel? I'm not James! When you get right down to it, you'd probably not give a shit about me if I wasn't James' son! If it was Hermione or Ron, how would you feel? What if it had been Draco? Well?"

"Harry…"

Sirius shook his head. "I'd be mortified if Hermione or Ron disappeared. The Malfoy boy, well, I don't know him, so…"

"So he can rot as far as you're concerned. As can anyone else you don't care about. What if I didn't look like James?"

"Harry, stop this…" Lupin said more strongly.

"It doesn't matter what you look like!" exclaimed Sirius. "Do you think I escaped from Azkaban and spent a couple of years eating rats if I cared what you looked like? I could have been in Tahiti painting naked women, but I'm here because _I care about you."_

Harry was shaking as he drew his wand. "What about if I'd met you when you were at school? What about if you tried to send a friend of mine to be eaten by a werewolf? What about if I looked like this?" He spoke the spell and felt it settle into his skin like a hundred caterpillars were scurrying across his skin. "I bet you wouldn't care about me then!"

He didn't need a mirror to know that the spell had worked: the way Sirius and Lupin were staring at him was confirmation enough. By the dismay dawning on his face, it was Sirius who recognised him first.

"And no, I didn't go to the time of the Founders." Harry stood up and left before anyone else could say anything.

Neither man stopped him and Harry closed the door quietly behind him.

Outside in the corridor, it took two tries before the mask dissolved like burning cellophane. Luckily no-one noticed him before it was gone.

Harry took a deep breath and realised his hands were shaking.

He couldn't remember having been angry, but his heart was racing and he wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. He set off for the library instead. With a bit of luck Hermione would be there and he could distract himself by doing some research on stopping the Blockade.

At least now he didn't have any desire to complicate things by going to Dumbledore.

ooOOoo


	37. Chapter 37

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Trudi is a free spirit.

This chapter is dedicated to Zafaran (who may not even be reading this story) for pointing out in a review for "Katabatic" that there is a type of fish called a dolphin, complete with gills and not to be confused with the aquatic mammal. Hemmingway is thus redeemed and it's darn lucky I never took that marine biology job.

ooOOoo

Chapter 37: Shiny New Shoes

Hermione was glad to have some help. And if she wondered why Harry was upset, she had the sense to let him tell her in his own time.

"I wonder what Malfoy's plan is," she mused as she and Harry settled around a small table in the Gryffindor common room. "It would help to know if we're not chasing up something the other has already ruled out as an option." Harry agreed. He would have loved to find out what Draco's plans were. It might have been more useful to pool resources. But if Draco was being cagey then it was best just to stay back and allow Hagrid to keep the situation from getting out of hand.

ooOOoo

Over the next few days Hagrid seemed to be doing just that. It was odd that Draco and the half-giant seemed to be talking like they were… not enemies; odd but reassuring. Harry hadn't talked to Hagrid when he'd been back in time, mostly because he hadn't wanted to involve his friend. Back then he'd have loved to have talked to Hagrid, but hadn't dared. It would have been too easy to let something slip.

Given how much he'd told people back then he shouldn't have worried. Hagrid could have had his memory wiped with the rest of them, Harry thought sourly.

But it was still odd to spend part of a sunny afternoon sitting outside Hagrid's cottage with Hagrid and Draco and an almost silent Trudi (who still seemed to think Draco's eyes might fail at any moment, but in the meantime was enjoying being allowed to hang around with the older students), talking about simple, neutral things like horses, blast-ended skrewts and how the centaurs were doing. Hagrid was still worrying over the Forest being divided by the barrier. The Blockade was affecting more than the wizard world.

They hadn't had any letters through since well before Harry's adventure.

That was another reason Harry liked to spend time outside of the castle – he was getting sick of the tension of all the students worrying about their parents. Harry, who didn't have parents, wasn't as sympathetic a friend as Hermione and Ron needed. Just earlier he'd accidentally said something that made Ginny and Ron furious, and still didn't know exactly what it was.

Sitting out here with Hagrid and Draco (and even Trudi, who was remarkably stoic about lack of contact with her family, although Draco had confided that she was terribly worried about them) was much more relaxing than waiting for someone inside the castle to explode.

Or run into Lupin or Sirius again. Hermione had said that Sirius had been so busy patrolling the edges of the Forest lately that he hadn't turned back into his human form for two days, but when Harry had abruptly changed the topic she'd been silent for a moment before agreeing cautiously that, yes, the Chudley Cannons might have a better chance if they changed Keepers. Harry wondered sometimes if she missed hearing from Victor Krum, but then it seemed unlikely as she and Ron were now going steady.

Harry yawned comfortably. "I was riding Simon this morning when one of his feet started making a funny noise. Luna says it's because his shoes are wearing out and getting loose."

"They're metal," Trudi pointed out. "Can they wear out?"

"Apparently. Especially if you ride a horse on the road a lot, which isn't really an issue with Simon, of course. But it's more a case of his hooves growing. They're a bit like our fingernails – they always keep growing and the nails that hold the shoes on the hooves get bent out of shape, or come loose. So every four to six weeks you have to take the shoes off, trim the hooves and nail new shoes back onto them. It keeps the hooves in the proper shape, too."

He nearly missed the look that passed between Hagrid and Draco.

"What?"

"Oh, nothin'," Hagrid said. "'Nother cup o' tea, Harry?"

ooOOoo

The next morning Simon wasn't in his paddock. Harry went around to the field where Luna normally rode, but the field was decidedly empty of black thoroughbreds, with or without riders.

Almost as an afterthought and only because it was on the way to the Forest, where he was really dreading going, Harry passed the barn where they'd first stabled Simon. The horse hadn't been inside since the vrikolaki attack, but then neither had Harry. He didn't know who'd cleaned up the mess. Filch, he hoped.

He was intrigued by the sound of metal hitting metal, and followed his ears around to the back where the sun hitting the side of the barn had made a nice warm spot. He was pleased to find Simon and Hagrid there. The horse looked up and whinnied softly, bobbing its head in a friendly way when it saw Harry. Hagrid looked up and around when the horse whickered, and when he saw Harry he nodded, too. Harry took a moment to realise that the boy hammering the arc of bright metal on an anvil was Draco Malfoy; as if the sight of Draco doing something that looked like hard work wasn't enough, Harry was even more astonished by the sight of Draco wearing trousers and stripped to the waist. Draco's pale back glistened with sweat in the sun. For some reason this seemed to be quite fascinating to the three young Slytherin girls sitting quietly along a makeshift bench by the side of the barn. Harry shook his head, amused.

"Hi there. I wondered where Simon had got to."

Trudi gave him a small wave when he nodded to her. The other girls (two third years, Harry guessed) looked displeased, but didn't frown at Harry like they would have a few weeks ago.

Draco straightened and wiped the sweat off his face. "Hey, Potter. Sorry – I told Luna I was going to bring Simon down so that Hagrid could show me how to shoe him. She mustn't have passed on the message. I hope you weren't too worried."

That was terribly polite and thoughtful – Malfoy was definitely trying to impress his fans.

Rather than let Draco see him smile, Harry ran his hand along the horse's crest. Always on the search for sweets, Simon turned to sniff at his pockets. He was in luck: Harry pulled out the peppermint he'd brought to catch the horse. Simon's whiskers and velvety muzzle brushed Harry's palm briefly and the peppermint was gone.

"I hope he'll still be my friend when Hogwarts has run out of peppermints."

Draco grinned. "We'll just have to plant some carrots." Despite the manual labour, he seemed to be in an excellent mood. Maybe Hagrid was a good influence. More likely it was having his own set of groupies that did it.

"So this is your grand plan for defeating Voldemort? New shoes for Simon?"

Draco glared at him. "The Sickle gave me an idea. I'm working on some metallurgical spells. Hagrid's been teaching me how to do some basic work with a forge."

Harry smiled inwardly. "So how is it going?"

"Well, I've taken the old shoes off. I've trimmed the feet – that was tricky, I can tell you. And when I say 'I', I mean 'Hagrid', because Hagrid ended up doing most of the levelling. I just don't have the eye for it."

"Ah, it's summat ye'll develop wi' practice," Hagrid said, his thicket of beard twitching. Simon was scratching his head on Hagrid's arm – anyone not a half-giant would have been knocked sideways, but Hagrid smiled down at the horse and gave him a gentle (by Hagrid's standards) pat on the side. The horse shook itself off after it got its balance back. It was good to see Simon didn't think of Hagrid as such a threat any more. "Lucky he's no shorter than he is," Hagrid added. "Otherwise we'd'a had to tip 'im upside-down fer me to see to 'is 'ooves. An' I doubt he'd take that kindly."

Harry agreed that no, Simon probably wouldn't take to being tipped upside-down kindly, and pointed out that maybe Draco had it a little easier, being so much shorter than Hagrid.

Draco sniffed. "Not on your life, Potter. My back's already protesting. And I haven't even begun to nail the shoes on yet."

Harry frowned. "And will Simon just… let you stick nails in him?"

"Providing I don't stick them in too far – the hoof isn't all hoof. There's bone and blood vessels and all sorts of interesting things in there – you don't want to get any nails in too far."

Funny what a Malfoy thought was interesting. "How do you know if it goes in too far?"

"Ah, well, that'll be the bit where Malfoy gets kicked in th' head," Hagrid beamed. His smile faded as Draco looked up at him in horror. "Not that I think ye'll do anything wrong, a'course… but horses aren't th' sort to mull things over and give a body the benefit o' the doubt."

"Great." Then Draco brightened. "While you're here, Harry…"

"No."

"But…"

"But I'm pretty sure this is _your_ project," Harry said firmly, crossing his arms. "Up to and including the getting-kicked-in-the-head bit."

"Thanks," Draco grumbled. "Let's have another look at that diagram, Hagrid."

Hagrid passed him a thin book. "If'n you think you'd better not, I can do it," he offered.

"Thanks, but I think I really should do this myself," Draco conceded reluctantly.

"Oh, righ'. That'll be ter set the…" Hagrid looked around guiltily as Draco glared at him and Harry gave them both a puzzled look. "Oh, now. Here comes Luna. Ain't that good timing!" he finished in relief.

"It is, actually," said Draco. "If I get the nail in the wrong part of the hoof, maybe she can get it out before I get trampled into the ground."

"Simon wouldn't really hurt you, would he?" Trudi said, brow furrowing.

"Er… Simon's a horse and horses don't really think too hard about what's hurting them – just the fact that they're hurting and they need to stop it now," Draco said. "But I'm pretty sure he'd know it's me, and he wouldn't deliberately kick me."

"He's bitten you," Trudi pointed out.

"Well, that was different."

"How?"

"Because… um… Hi, Luna. Just in time."

"I know."

Draco tilted his head. "You… do?"

"Yes. It's so hard to be late when time is all one big place and there's no other thing you can be but in your time. You can ask Harry if you don't believe me."

"Rrright… I'll do that some time. Anyway. I'm going to try and nail some bits of metal to Simon."

"Sounds good."

"Glad you think so. But I'm a little worried that the nails will go into the wrong place and hurt him."

Luna smiled mistily. "Oh, you won't do that."

"You seem very sure."

"Well, you must know that if you stick nails into the sensitive parts of Simon's feet he's going to stamp you into the ground."

"Ah. Yes. That's what concerns me. So that's why I want you to keep your wand ready to stop him from kicking me… and to get the nail out of his foot. He trusts you with a wand – in fact you're still about the only one he does trust with a wand."

"Oh, okay. When do you want to start?"

"Well, I still need to fire up the forge… I was going to cold shoe him, but Hagrid says that hot shoeing makes the shoes fit better."

"Hot shoeing? Yes – it scorches the hoof into shape. And it's easier to hammer the shoes into the right shape while they're hot, too. But you don't need a forge."

"No?"

"No. Ready?"

"No. Hang on…" Draco picked up a shoe in a pair of tongs and slid a hammer into the pocket of his trousers. He tied a couple of pieces of dragonhide around his legs. He dithered for a moment about where to keep the nails, which looked a little vicious, then held them between his lips.

Where was Colin with his camera, Harry wondered. Draco looked like a painting he'd seen of a Muggle blacksmith from a couple of centuries ago.

Unaware or uncaring of his new look, Draco picked up a front hoof and, standing looking towards the horse's tail, tucked the foot between his knees. He held the pincers with the shoe in them gingerly as he looked up at Luna.

"You sure that's one for a front foot?" she asked.

"Yes. Round. More of a diamond shape for the back feet," Draco said shortly, mumbling around the nails. "Now let's get on with it. My back's going to be killing me by the time we're finished."

"That's true," Luna said with the happy certainty of someone whose back _wasn't_ going to be killing them by the time things were finished. "Well, here we go." She waved her hand and the air above the shoe began to shimmer as if heat waves were rising through it.

Draco turned the shoe over and, careful of the placing, put it down firmly on the hoof.

There was a hiss and a small cloud of black smoke rose. It smelt a little bit like burning hair. Putting his ears back, Simon raised his head but didn't pull away. Draco lifted a hand. It was hard to understand what he was saying through the nails, but it sounded a lot like, "Oh, bloody hell."

"Forgot your gloves?" Luna said cheerfully.

"Well, I'm hardly about to hang onto a red-hot shoe with my bare fingers," Draco snarled around his mouthful of nails.

Luna smiled and patted Simon before he could give the bending Draco a bite on the backside.

"Normally a farrier would put the shoe somewhere to cool for a bit. But I've got a better idea. _Adhaero._ There. It's very light and won't hold if you drop the hoof, but at least now you can bang some nails in without worrying about fiddling around keeping the shoe in place. Oh – _refrigesco_. Try that."

Draco touched the shoe tentatively then with more confidence. "Oh, well done. Much better," he mumbled. He dropped one nail, which Luna picked up.

"Can't leave these around for someone to stand on," she said. "Now… as for the nails going into the hoof, I've got a spell for that, too."

"Have you done this before?" Harry asked.

"No. But I've been thinking about it. Especially after that loose shoe yesterday. I'm glad you're doing the hard work, though, Draco. I wasn't looking forward to shoeing Simon."

"Uh," Draco said, as if that was as good an answer (and probably more polite) than anything else he could say.

Luna drew a line of pale yellow light around the hoof Draco was holding. It wavered for a bit, then resettled more firmly in place about a thumb's width up the hoof from the shoe.

"There's a start," Draco said, nodding. "Now I put – how many nails, again?"

"Six or seven should do it," Luna said. "But preferably not right by the old nail-holes – the hoof might be a bit weak there. I think. I'm not altogether sure about this…"

"Ah, well, don't look at me," Hagrid said, shrugging. "I've never done this. Just read up on it a bit."

"Yes," Draco sighed. "And those books were over a hundred years old and written by a wizard."

"So why didn't you use something more modern?" Harry asked.

Draco, who'd been going red-faced from bending over holding a hoof for so long, reddened further. "You may not have noticed this, Potter," he said as acidly as anyone could while holding nails between their lips, "but Hogwarts is slightly less than well-equipped with books on equine maintenance."

Simon's muzzle wrinkled a little and Luna patted the horse on the neck. "It's all right, Simon; Draco's just a little upset that he's not sure how to do the best job for your feet."

"I'm a bloody horse podiatrist now," Draco grumbled, sounding less tetchy. Whether that was because he really was less tetchy or because Simon might deliver a strategic bite was up for debate.

"Um… let's try this." Luna cast another spell. The yellow line around the hoof sparkled and divided into little points of light. "There. Aim the ends of the nails for the stars."

"Okay. Here goes nothing…" Draco picked up the smaller of the hammers and took a nail out of his mouth.

ooOOoo

It took less time than Harry would have thought, thanks to Luna. She knew a good spell for cutting metal, and the ends of the nails were neatly pinched off a little way above where they emerged from the hoof, bent over, and flattened against the wall of the hoof so that they were flush with it.

The only nasty moment was when a fly bothered Simon right when Draco hit a nail into a back hoof. Simon flexed his hind leg. The nail went too high. But instead of kicking Draco, as everyone had feared, Simon simply shoved Draco aside with that back hoof and shook it. It was obvious that the horse was in pain, but a great relief Draco hadn't had his head smashed. Luna bravely grabbed the kicking foot just above the hoof (and nearly gave Harry a heart-attack), took out the nail quickly and healed it with another wave of her wand. Trudi was tending to Draco, whose hand had been gashed by a nail that hadn't had the point pinched off it. Simon had pulled his foot back quickly and without taking account of any of the nails sticking out of it other than the one hurting him.

Luna offered to finish the job, but Draco, somewhat paler from the sight of his blood, and flexing his hand to make sure all the tendons were working properly, insisted he wanted to keep doing it himself. "I haven't completely destroyed my back yet," he said wryly. "Besides, I don't want Simon thinking I go around stabbing him with nails on a whim."

But Simon didn't seem to harbour any grudges, although he was initially reluctant to let Draco pick up that back foot again.

The rest went smoothly.

"Thank God that's over," Draco groaned as Luna finished off the nails for him. Simon stood with his head curved around to watch with interest as the last nails in his front foot bent themselves over and flattened against the outside of the hoof. "My back may never recover… I'll live out the rest of my days as a hunchback."

"How's your hand?" Harry asked. He'd been impressed by Trudi's quick spell. Not bad for a first year.

"Good. Thanks, Trudes – that's another one I owe you for."

Trudi blushed happily and tried to look like it was nothing. The other two girls arched their eyebrows as if it really had been nothing. Jealous, Harry recognised.

"He might want to stretch his legs now," Luna said. Simon yawned, back to being World's Most Relaxed Horse now that there was no danger of sharp things being stuck in the tender parts of his feet. "_Accio_ tack."

They didn't have to wait long for the saddle and bridle to come flying down from Squirrel Hill. Luna tacked the horse up quickly and Simon's eyes brightened at the prospect of getting some exercise. Then Luna looked up at the sun, frowned and slapped the saddle. "Oh, blow. What's the time, Hagrid?"

"Getting on to ten," Hagrid replied after consulting a fob watch he pulled out of his moleskin coat.

"I've got classes. Charms, or I would stay here. Harry?"

"I've got a free period."

"Me, too," Draco said. "What about you lot?" he said to the trio on the bench.

"I've got class, but it's Transfiguration. I might as well skip it," Trudi said. Then seemed to realise Hagrid was there. "Oops, sorry, Professor Hagrid. I mean…"

"Oh, I guess I never heard you say anything about class," Hagrid said, beard twitching into a smile again. "Perhaps you're down here helpin' me with the animals fer yer next lesson…?"

Trudi smiled up at him shyly. "That must be it."

"We could help you, too," said one of the other Slytherins cautiously. Hagrid still wasn't someone Slytherins were sure about. "It's only Potions, and we already know everything for that. Everything we could learn from one of the teachers filling in, anyway."

"Aye… well, I never heard that, either. Did you, Harry?"

Harry wriggled his little finger inside his ear. "What? I've been a little deaf since I got out of the Infirmary."

"So if I called you a…? Never mind," Draco finished with a smirk. "Even if Hagrid didn't get cross, Simon might." He slapped the horse on the shoulder. "Well! Pony ride, anyone?"

ooOOoo

It didn't take much persuasion to get Trudi on Simon's back. Simon, who had gone back to being half-asleep when Luna left for her classes and it looked like he wouldn't go for a run after all, seemed a little surprised by this new rider at first, but waited patiently with Harry at his head as Draco helped Trudi into the saddle. And then while Draco readjusted the stirrups.

"Just hold on to the front of the saddle," Draco instructed.

Trudi, a little pale around the mouth, obeyed. "Don't I need to hold the reins? How do I stop Simon if he starts running?"

Simon looked about as ready to start running as Fang, who was stretched out in a sunny patch behind the anvil, out of the way of anyone who might stand on him.

"No. If you get a fright and tug on them you might hurt Simon's mouth. And then… well. Just best not to. Don't worry. I won't let go of him."

Trudi managed a watery smile, already looking like she was regretting this, but refusing to back down in front of Draco or the other Slytherins who were looking on, perhaps in support, but probably to see what could go wrong to someone stupid enough to get up on a Muggle animal that even Dumbledore had implied should be avoided because it was completely bonkers.

"Just relax," Harry said reassuringly, handing the reins over to Draco. "Simon knows you. He won't hurt you."

"That's right," Hagrid said. "Ah, look at 'im. 'E's just an old softy."

Trudi squeaked and clutched at the saddle. The other Slytherin girls grabbed each other in terror, probably thinking that the horse was about to grow tusks and gore them to death. Harry couldn't blame them. Aragog was an old softy by Hagrid's standards. But apart from waking up from a light doze and flicking his ears in mild astonishment at Trudi's terror – and the fact that there was nothing visible to cause it – the horse didn't move or do anything to startle the girl. And Draco had to tug on the reins firmly to get him moving.

Simon yawned and grudgingly followed, head at Draco's shoulder.

Harry walked by Simon's side, just in grabbing range of Trudi's ankle should she begin to slide. He kept his wand in his pocket – he trusted Simon not to do anything stupid, but this was Hogwarts and stupidity seemed to be something people acquired along with magic, he privately considered in his more pessimistic moments. Best not to forget Colin and his camera.

"How are you going up there, Trudes?" Draco asked.

"Um. Okay." Trudi's knuckles were white as they gripped the pommel.

"Want to go faster?"

"No! Um. No. Not just now."

Draco nodded. "He's got long strides. First time I tried cantering I got seasick."

"Really?"

"Well, nearly seasick. I imagine a camel would be about as rocky as that."

Simon didn't take offence at this slander. He kept plodding along in the large circle Draco led him through the thick grass. Draco was careful to keep them in sight of Hagrid and the other Slytherins.

"Malfoy's exaggerating," Harry said. "Simon's not that bad."

"Ridden lots of camels, have you, Potter?"

"Loads. We graze them in Surrey and train them up for the Camel Derby. Didn't you know?"

"What?"

"He's joking, Trudi. Come on, Simon. Let's see how your new shoes hold up. Want to try a trot, Trudi?"

"What's that?" she asked nervously.

"Sort of like a slow run."

"No!"

"All right. Just a walk. If this old nag doesn't fall asleep on us." Draco patted Simon's nose. "Keep an ear out for snores, Potter."

Harry grinned. "Sure thing. Funny how relaxed he's become."

"You may not have noticed this, but no-one has attacked us lately. I guess he thinks he's on holiday."

"Well, not in your 'lately'."

"Oh, right. Keep forgetting you're working on a different timeline to the rest of us."

"So…"

"Sew, a needle pulling thread. What?"

"So… everyone knows you've got your sight back now?"

Draco smirked. "Oh, yes."

Glancing upwards, Harry noticed Trudi trying not to grin. "So everything's settled, then?"

"For now."

Trudi laughed.

Disgruntled at being excluded, Harry supposed it was a Slytherin thing. He'd have to ask Hermione if she was up on the gossip – begging Malfoy for information seemed weak, somehow.

Was this the first part of it? The old powerplay between him and Malfoy, right back to square one because Malfoy wanted to be Mr Exclusive again, guarding information like a dragon guarding treasure, lording it over Harry when he knew something Harry didn't?

Harry, feeling a nasty sinking feeling like he was about to watch another friend turn away from him, kept his tone light as he said, "Oh – a Slytherin thing?"

Draco shrugged. Harry, knowing that he hadn't been able to expect anything better from Malfoy, told himself he was a naïve idiot, just like Severus had accused him of being.

And then was taken by surprise when Draco replied, "Pretty much. It's a little hard to explain to someone who doesn't know all the dynamics. But… let's just say that all Slytherins are ambitious for one thing or another – and only you Gryffs think we're all about fame. Pansy wants power. Not that that's unusual. But she wanted power through me. She thought she could ally herself to the Malfoy name. You following?"

"Is this what you were meaning by 'long term' – thinking of a wife or a husband?" Harry said carefully.

"Exactly." Draco nodded. Harry noticed their circle was taking a slightly longer loop away from the barn so that the others couldn't hear. Presumably Trudi was safe, then. "The Parkinsons have known my family for ages. It's been accepted between our families for years that Pansy and I would be strong candidates for tying the names together. But when I went blind, well…" Draco smiled. It wasn't his usual smirk. Harry had seen Lucius smile like that, once: it was the predatory smile of someone whose prey was being handed to him on a plate. "It was very interesting to see who stood where."

"I… haven't seen Crabbe or Goyle around with you for a bit," Harry said, wondering if he'd pushed it too far.

Draco shrugged, but not before Harry had seen a brief flash of genuine pain. "No. For the best, really. I might forgive them eventually. When they give me enough cause to. But they're always going to know now that I'm only keeping them for hired muscle, as it were. They can't expect me to trust them." His mouth twisted in a smile. "Funny how Hufflepuff loyalty is considered so boring. It's an integral part of forming social networks."

"And when you know you can trust someone then it's easier to give them more power," Harry mused.

Draco looked around, surprise and amusement equally mixed on his face. "Now you're thinking like a Slytherin, Potter! Yes. It's all about power at the end of the day. Which brings me back to Pansy. She wanted more power in Slytherin. But the others weren't sure she'd proven herself – she moved too quickly. She might have wanted to be leader, but she hadn't shown herself strong enough. And then she tried to array others against me, possibly to keep me weaker in case our parents did make us marry, because she'd then be assured of a greater influence over the Malfoy money and any heirs. So she wasn't _stupid,"_ (he ignored Harry's look of horror at Draco's matter-of-fact appraisal of married life) "just hasty. And not sure of her facts. And there were a few others who didn't appreciate that she was moving so fast to take power. Remember that one, Potter – people are suspicious of the new."

"Huh. They're suspicious of anything the bloody Ministry tells them to be."

"Yes." Draco's brow furrowed. "That's true. Something needs to be done about that. But that's beside the topic," he added hastily, as Harry shot a sharp look at him. "Let's make a long story shorter than it takes to get back to the barn. Pansy was trying to push me around. She didn't know my sight was coming back. Dumbledore did – I'd gone to see him, ha ha, to get my wand back. And Trudi. Oh, and I'd let Milli' know. But no-one else. Luckily.

"Pansy thought she'd score points by lording it over me a bit. There was some, ah, tension, shall we say, between her and Millicent. Milli's taken it upon herself to keep things under control now that Snape's gone and even the seventh years hadn't shown any inclination for taking charge."

"Good for her."

"Hmm. Putting her head up like that may rebound on her. She's taking power of a sort, even though she doesn't want to use it against people. But there'll always be someone suspicious of that, especially in Slytherin. We're not used to altruism."

"Is that what Bulstrode's doing?"

"Sort of. But really what she's doing is storing gratitude for a future time. Not that that's a negative thing – it's what keeps the world turning."

"I… think I understand." And Harry did. But it was alien. Doing good deeds to store up future favours was, well, it was a bit sneaky. Underhanded. Human. And very Slytherin, now that he considered it. He had a flash-back to Severus: _What's in it for me?_

"Yes. Well, we'll see. So there was Milli', being a rock, and there was Pansy, worrying about Milli' becoming the next power. So Pansy decided to test Milli's resolve on matters. She couldn't use one of the younger ones as a Quaffle – that would have looked really bad – so she decided to hex me instead. If Milli' defended me against Pansy, that would have made me seem weaker than Milli', which would have been disastrous as far as she was concerned… Milli's been banking on me getting my sight back, you see."

Harry, who didn't understand how Bulstrode defending Draco against Pansy could be seen as being weak, nodded anyway.

"We have Milli', wand in hand, wondering what to do. She's not a fast thinker, unfortunately. Deep, yes. Fast, no. And in the other corner we have Pansy, in front of half the house, saying she was going to practise all the lovely little hornet hexes on me until I acknowledged her as my superior."

"But you had your wand." Harry could see where this was leading. He grinned. "What did you do?"

"Nothing much."

Trudi was giggling. "It was so cool. He stuck that cow's tongue to the roof of her mouth. The old peanut-butter jinx."

"I've never heard that one."

"No. It's an old one. And then Draco told her he'd had enough of her posturing and told her to be someone else's breeding stock. She was going _purple_ trying to curse him, but the jinx wouldn't let her say anything. And Pansy couldn't lift it, because hardly anyone's seen it and so hardly anyone knows the counter-curse. Even Professor Flitwick didn't know it. And they couldn't get Draco to lift it…"

Draco, smirking, broke in, "…Because she couldn't tell anyone it was me who did it. There were over a dozen witnesses who said Pansy had brought it on herself."

"Which was true," Trudi pointed out.

"Just not accurate as to the point of truth they wanted to know."

"So things are back to normal in your House?"

"As normal as things ever are. This is Hogwarts." Draco sobered and shrugged. "Some of the teachers look in on us a bit more often. Luckily they're not as obsessive as, um… but then it's stopped Milli' from getting too controlling."

"Milli-tant Bulstrode," Harry said, to cover the awkward moment left over from when Draco had nearly mentioned Snape.

Draco laughed. "Not half."

Harry was still grinning as they reached Hagrid and the others.

ooOOoo


	38. Chapter 38

Disclaimer: Check out the first chapter. That should give you a clue.

ooOOoo

Chapter 38: Tell Me Again: Which Ones are the Stupid Ones?  
  
"There, now. That was well done," Hagrid said as Harry and Draco helped a smiling Trudi down from the horse. "'E's a different horse to the feral beast yez found in the Forest." He gave Simon a hearty slap on the rump and got a dirty look in return that suggested the feral beast could make a come-back at any moment.

Simon decided to keep with the placid old nag act as Draco and Harry used him to give pony rides to the other two Slytherins – and again for Trudi. And then Hagrid's class of second-year Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors showed up and Harry and Draco had to give pony rides to them, too… and then to the third-year Slytherins and Ravenclaws who had Herbology but had successfully planted out their Screaming Mimis and needed some peace and quiet out of the greenhouse…

Draco, Harry and Simon all needed some peace and quiet after that. But Draco had a Charms class to attend. Like Luna, he didn't want to miss it. Especially now that he could smirk at everyone who'd thought his blindness was permanent. Harry had Charms, too, but he still didn't feel like going to a class where everyone would pass him notes asking what he'd done to end up in the Infirmary this time…

"Right, I think that's enough," Harry said as Draco picked up his things preparatory to going up to the Castle to get cleaned up for class. Harry had just spotted Hooch's flying class (first year Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, by the looks of them) coming around from the Quidditch pitch and Hooch had a determined look. It was a good bet that her class wanted pony rides, too. Harry frowned. "I think I'd better take Simon somewhere else before he bites someone."

Simon had been looking progressively more sullen in the last quarter hour. It was a drawn-out version of his 'I'm about to bite someone and that someone could be _you'_ look Harry was unhappily familiar with.

"He was looking at some of those last Ravenclaws a little suspiciously," Harry commented.

"Well, that was because one of them had Mimijuice on her hands and she tried to wipe it in his mane."

Harry's jaw firmed. "Oh, really? Point me at her."

"She's gone. To the Infirmary." Draco winked. "It's a amazing how badly horse hair reacts to Mimijuice. I can't see those boils coming off any time soon."

Harry calmed down. "Seems like a bit of a coincidence." Especially given the subtle malice in Draco's thin smile.

"It does, doesn't it? Funny old universe. Well, can't stay chattering over metaphysical matters. Must go. Let me know if those shoes give any trouble. Or do anything strange."

"'Strange'?"

"Yeah."

Harry darted a look at the shoes. They gleamed. Iron shouldn't gleam like that. "They're silver."

"Um. Maybe a little bit."

"How much is a little bit?"

"One hundred percent…"

"Where did you find enough silver to make a set of horse shoes?"

"And the nails, don't forget the nails… and it was just lying around the place. It's only metal, all right? Look, just keep an eye out for loose nails or something. If Simon starts limping that's a definite sign we should check them more carefully. Just in case a nail went too high. But they should be fine. Toodles." Draco slung his satchel over his shoulder and sauntered off, whistling through his teeth. "Coming, Trudi?"

Trudi stopped scolding the first year Ravenclaw who'd asked if horses were edible, and stalked after her Housemate, levelling a final glare back at the Ravenclaw, who muttered something about Slytherins who –

"What was that?" Harry barked.

The Ravenclaw jumped. "Er. Nothing." He scurried off before Harry Potter, who should have been badmouthing the Slytherins like a decent Gryffindor but was obviously unhinged by all the time he'd spent in the Infirmary, started foaming at the mouth. "Mental…" Harry heard him say to his friends as he joined them. Unfortunately not out of earshot of Hagrid, either – Hagrid docked Ravenclaw five points for bad manners.

Harry darted a glance at Simon to see if Harry's tone had upset the horse, but apparently putting snotty Ravenclaws in their place was understandable. Harry put the reins over the horse's head and gathered them up in his left hand, getting a good handful of mane as he did so. There was the usual undignified but mercifully brief hopping scramble as he got one foot in the stirrup and clambered into the saddle. Luna didn't use a log to stand on, so Harry would mount from the ground, too.

The transformation of the horse was astonishing. From bored nag about to get stroppy, Simon lifted his head and pricked his ears, swishing his tail as he pranced sideways. Harry, incredibly aware of how little experience he had with horse riding, very carefully did not jerk on the reins to stop Simon from running. That, Luna had warned him with great care and at great length complete with diagrams, would be suicide. Some of her diagrams had been graphic and messily splattered with red. But a gentle pull on the reins combined with Harry leaning back just slightly, sitting down firmly in the saddle and thinking strongly about how he did _not_ want to leave just yet seemed to convince Simon that he could wait another three seconds. "Hey, Hagrid! I'm going to take Simon for a run. Is that okay?"

"Aye. Go up onto the hills behind the castle. That's where young Luna's bin takin' him. Follow the sheep and cattle tracks. They won't take you anywhere dangerous. Or out o' sight o' the castle, fer that matter."

Harry was grateful for his handful of mane as Simon leaped sideways. "Argh! Stop that, horse! Better go, Hagrid!"

Harry loosened the reins and leaned forward a little. And Simon took this as the sign that this meant he was finally going to go for a run. Harry kept the reins just tight enough that the horse stayed at a canter while they passed Madam Hooch and her class of disappointed first years.

Draco was right. It _was_ a little like riding a camel. A ship of the desert, a ship of the sea or – in this case – a ship of the meadow. The big, rolling strides didn't actually mean that Simon was moving forward that fast. In actual fact he and Harry were moving on the diagonal. Harry wouldn't let Simon go too fast until he was sure they wouldn't run over any students, and Simon seemed to think that until then, the best tack was to canter sideways rather than straight ahead. This crab theory used up the maximum amount of energy for the allowable velocity. Harry had seen him do this with Luna, who insisted that the horse not get into the habit of bolting as soon as a rider got on his back. Harry thought this was a marvellous thing for a horse to know – especially right now.

"Steady there, old chap. We can't have Luna thinking I'm letting you develop bad manners." _And if she sees you running around without a rider because I've fallen into some gorse, that's not going to help my image any.  
_  
But then they were past the Quidditch pitch, cantering around the castle and up the hill past the gate of Simon's paddock (where Simon slowed, not sure if they were stopping or not until Harry gave him a nudge with his heels and the horse charged forward again with a snort of approval), and up onto the rolling hills and moor which stretched away for miles.

This shouldn't be too hard. All he had to do was stay on. Harry relaxed his grip on the reins and leaned forward.

It was almost like the first time he'd ridden the Firebolt. The acceleration shoved his breath back between his teeth. And, as the ground began to shoot past beneath him, Harry suddenly realised he was sitting on top of nearly half a ton of muscle and bone that everyone except Luna and Draco said was quite possibly insane and might charge over a cliff. His centre of balance suddenly rocketed up to sit in his chest and Harry lurched out of the saddle.

"Merlin!" Harry pulled on the reins a little harder than polite, but Simon, tail twitching in annoyance at the cowardice of his rider, slowed before Harry could panic. Snorting, the horse bounced to a stop.

Harry, who'd somehow managed to end up sitting in _front_ of the saddle thanks to the jolting halt, carefully worked his way back off Simon's neck before Simon could put his head down to eat the grass. "Ohhhkayy… Yes, I'm a spineless git. And I shouldn't have pulled on the reins so hard. But I kind of forgot that you're the kind of horse that's designed to run really fast." And he _had_ forgotten. Which was stupid. He had the biggest baddest wizard in generations (and the followers of that wizard) out for his blood. He couldn't afford to forget basic facts. He took a double handful of mane, carefully threading the reins through it and his fingers so that he could (with a bit of luck) control the horse and not fall off.

"Right. Let's try that again. While remembering the basic facts. Like fact number one: you're meant to run. But that's balanced by how you're probably not crazy enough to run over a cliff. I hope."

Simon pawed the ground.

"Okay, let's go."

This time Harry was careful to remember the basics: heels down, toes up, keep the horse between you and the ground…

Simon shifted straight into a canter, which was fine as far as Harry was concerned: trotting on a horse wasn't all that comfortable. Then he felt those powerful hindquarters bunch up like Buckbeak's did when the hippogriff was about to fly; Simon's neck stretched as Harry let the reins lengthen, and the horse flew forward like an arrow.

ooOOoo

Harry was still smiling as he walked into the castle. After Simon had worked off enough energy they'd settled into a canter which lasted all the way out to the barrier (and probably would have kept going for another mile if he'd been able). He walked Simon all the way back to the paddock to make sure the horse wasn't still sweating when he put the cover on. Someone (probably Hagrid) had left a nice big pile of hay in the paddock, which Simon was pleased to tuck into while Harry brushed him and checked that the shoes were still in place. The shoes were fine. Although it seemed a bit ostentatious to have something so grand as silver made into shoes for a horse. Simon didn't seem to mind, though. Maybe it was just Draco, trying to prove that nothing was too good for a Malfoy or a Malfoy's horse.

Harry made a mental note to tell Draco that the silver had held up all right when he saw him next – oh, and that Simon wasn't Draco's horse. He left Simon to the pile of hay (Simon didn't seem to notice when Harry left) and strolled back to get cleaned up for lunch.

He lost his smile as soon as he straightened up from the half-crouch needed to get through the door into the Gryffindor common room.

There weren't many people there. Mostly seventh years. But everyone turned to stare at him. No 'Welcome back, Harry, glad to see you's. Flat, level stares as if he'd done something weird. Again.

_Oh yeah. That time travel thing._

From the way everyone was staring at him Harry thought maybe he should have stayed more than the few nights in the Infirmary Poppy Pomfrey had insisted upon.

"Look, I didn't go to the time of the Founders," he said loudly.

There were mutters. Then someone said, "We heard you went back to the seventies."

Someone else said, "Why didn't you just stop You-Know-Who while you were there?"

Harry took a moment to calm himself down so that he could speak rather than strangling everyone in the room. "I don't know… maybe because that might have been tampering with time and it would have screwed up the universe?"

He stomped up the stairs to his room.

He should have stayed in the Infirmary.

Huh. If he kept getting stupid questions from his stupider classmates, maybe he'd just ask Dumbledore to put an extra room onto the little barn and move out to live on Squirrel Hill.

ooOOoo

He could have settled into his sulk for the rest of the day. Madam Pomfrey would have allowed him to go back to the Infirmary if he'd claimed a headache or weakness. And it was the first time Harry had been tempted to pull a sickie. But the Infirmary didn't hold many good memories at the moment, so he forced himself to join the rest of the school for lunch.

Ron was scowling. Harry gave him a level stare. "What?"

"Huh?" Ron seemed genuinely surprised.

"I guess the rest of the school has convinced you I'm the next worst thing to Voldemort."

Ron gave Harry an ancient look. "Well, I didn't think that until you came in here with the attitude. You're correct about the rest of the school – somehow they found out you went back to a time where you could have stopped Lord Thingie _maybe_, but somehow they didn't quite make the connection between going there and you having an opportunity to knock the bugger off. Or that whole issue of not meddling with the past. I'm not mad with you, if that's what you're asking – or I wasn't until you came and sat down like a candidate for dried chocolate frog pills."

"Oh. Right. Sorry. I'm a prat."

"Yes. We already knew that."

"Thanks. Now, why were you looking like someone had just eaten all the sausages without leaving you any?"

Ron snorted and waved his fork at his plate where half a chop was sitting in mashed potato. "Funny you should say that. Pork chops just aren't the same. Blame Dean. Make a nice change for everyone to blame something on someone who's not you. Um…" He grimaced at his plate.

"Ron… I know what people are saying. It's okay."

"No it isn't."

"It is," Harry argued, "providing it's not you or Hermione who're saying it, too."

"Honestly, how thick do you think I am? I mean, Hermione, she's bonkers, but…"

"What?"

"Um, 'Mione… didn't see you there…"

"Obviously." Hermione squeezed in between the boys. "Budge over. Ron, did you eat all the sausages, again?"

"No, Dean's the greedy guts."

Dean, who was well within earshot, waved and ate the last chunk of sausage on his plate. "Mm. Sausages. Last one, too, Ron. Yum."

Ron groaned.

"Aren't you vegetarian?" Harry asked Hermione.

"Huh. I was, but we ran out of protein. It's no good being moral if you're dying of malnutrition. For some reason it doesn't inspire others to support your ethical stance."

"What happened to Lentil Surprise?"

"No lentils. Surprise," Hermione said morosely. She jabbed her fork into a pork chop and sighed as she lifted it onto her plate. "No sausages, either. I expect these are the last of the pork chops." She wrinkled her nose as she chewed. "Tastes like it."

"What? I thought it was just Dean making a pig of himself! No offence, mate."

"I'm not taking offence, Harry. I got to eat the last of the sausages. That's better than being on the moral high ground," Dean replied affably.

"Harry… it's all right…" Ron said. "Do you… do you want a paper bag to breathe into or something?"

"I'm not hyperventilating," Harry growled, although he'd taken several deep breaths. Being short of food was too close to being back with the Dursleys. Hogwarts wasn't meant to be short of food – Hogwarts was meant to be the one place in his world where he could eat as much as he liked. Hogwarts denying him food was a Hogwarts haunted by Dursleys.

"Could have fooled me."

"What's wrong with the house elves?"

Hermione pursed her mouth before she could take another reluctant bite of her chop. "Oh, that's right… blame it on the house elves."

Harry sighed. "I'm not. I just…" he lowered his voice "…I just didn't know we were getting so short on food."

"I doubt most people have realised that," Hermione replied darkly. "I think the teachers are trying to stop everyone from panicking. But Professor Sprout has been teaching the younger students to – get this – to grow vegetables."

"What kinds of vegetables?"

"Cabbages, carrots, beans, peas…"

"Magical carrots, magical cabbages, magical beans…?" Harry said, interrupting.

"Only to grow faster. Not to find a way of breaking through the Blockade."

"What about climbing over the barrier, like in 'Jack and the Beanstalk'?"

"That was a fairy-tale," Hermione said, rolling her eyes at Ron who looked blank. "Muggle story for children, Ron. Fairies don't tell stories."

"What, like Hogwarts is a fairy tale?"

"_No, _Harry. And I wondered about the magical beans, too. I asked Professor Sprout."

"And?"

"And she very nearly patted me on the head and told me what a dear girl I was, having an imagination like that. She said I should write children's stories. Huh."

"So how do we get more food?"

"Well, apart from growing it ourselves and what Hagrid is finding in the Forest… don't ask and don't eat any stew they serve up… there's not much to do."

"Someone said we could eat the horse," Ron said through a mouthful of mashed potato.

There was a ringing in Harry's ears. "Who said that?" His voice came out calmly. But Hermione took one look at his face and said quickly,

"We didn't really see who it was. One of the younger ones, I think. No-one who'd say it as anything other than a joke."

"Uh-huh." Blood pounded behind his eyes. Harry grimly forked a couple of pork chops onto his plate and dropped a spoonful of mashed potato so hard onto his plate that some splattered onto Hermione's sleeve.

She had the sense to wipe it off without making an issue out of it.

"Hey, Potter… didn't you even bring back a souvenir?" someone from the Ravenclaw table cat-called.

Harry ignored her.

"Do you ever wonder if people are worth it?" he asked his plate.

"Ahem." Hermione cleared her throat in a very pointed manner.

"Sorry, 'Mione – I meant all the stupid people."

"How would you separate them out?" Ron asked. "And would I be in that group?"

"Dunno. Uh – that is, you wouldn't be in the stupid group, and I don't know how to separate them. That's the trouble."

"Besides, we can't go grouping people into those we want to save and those who we want to go to hell. That's what Voldemort does," Hermione pointed out.

"So maybe he's not completely thick," Harry said. And scowled. And drummed his fingers on the table until he realised he was drumming them in a dollop of mashed potatoes. He wiped his hand on his jeans.

"Yuck, Harry."

Ron was shaking his head, too.

Harry bristled. "Look, I'm not turning into Voldemort. So just drop it, okay?"

Hermione shrugged. But she was obviously upset.

"It is worth it," Ron said quietly. "Because otherwise there'll be more kids who are left without their parents. There will be other people murdered. Good people. Like your parents."

"Like my mum."

"Um. Yeah." Ron jumped as if Hermione had kicked him under the table.

"It's worth it just so that you can have a normal life," Hermione said.

"I'm not going to have one of those. I'm surprised there wasn't a ruddy prophecy about it… 'When the moon is in the seventh house and Jupiter aligns with Mars… then the Boy Who Lived will try to settle down, but that's not in the stars.'"

Ron rolled threw his knife and fork down. "Right. That's it. Harry, snap out of it. There might be a lot of people in the world who're dafter than brooms, but there are those of us who are, er, less daft than brooms, and we'll keep an eye out for you. And when things are finished we'll still be your friends and we'll help you out as best as we can… in between fighting off Rita Skeeter's slander about our good selves because Hermione's going to be famous for being… whatever she wants to be, and I'll be famous for… um… being her husband, I guess."

"Oh Ron! I thought you were never going to propose! Although I wasn't expecting pork chops and mashed potato so much as of moonlight and bended knee… Oh, sorry… I was just joking…"

Ron had gone scarlet. He began to choke.

Harry and Hermione slapped him on the back for a bit.

"Stop it," Ron wheezed. "You two will be the death of me…"

"Sorry," Hermione and Harry chorused.

"Shut up. And pass me the pumpkin juice."

Already cheered, Harry's mood was only improved further when Dumbledore announced that Mr Filch was hot on the trail of the kleptomaniac troublemaker who had stolen several of the larger pieces of silver from the kitchens, the silver frame from a signed photo of Mumfred the Magnificent, the embossed badges from the winning Morris dancer team of '58 (as well as the team's entire set of bells), one of the two matching silver candlesticks donated by Salmonius Parkinson, and the cup for services to the school which had been awarded to James Potter.

"I don't suppose those bells and the badge from the Morris dancers were made of silver by any chance?" Harry asked, trying hard to keep a straight face. Draco had been very busy.

Ron's brow furrowed. "We have a Morris team?"

"They meet every Thursday," Hermione said. "It's been a Hogwarts tradition since 1405, when Mike Mangle and his Motley Morrises defeated Sylvester's Psychopathic Sicilian Stranglers in a thirty-eight hour full-on Morris-a-thon. It's been nearly six years since we started at Hogwarts. Honestly! Haven't _either_ of you read _Hogwarts, a History_ yet?! Harry? Are you laughing at me? Harry!"

ooOOoo


	39. Chapter 39

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

A/N: I was going to try to stay away from angst for a bit. And cut down on the waffle. Well, I guess it's a case of "it's the thought that counts."

Morris dancing is a type of folk dancing I tend to mentally classify as being part and parcel of Ye Olde English medieval fairs. Google the subject for more info (and info that is more accurate). I'd been reading Lords and Ladies by Pratchett. I couldn't resist writing in something about Morris dancers after that – it's not integral to the plot of this story, though. Be glad I didn't include the stick and bucket dance.

Eating horses: it's not illegal in NZ as far as I know – a restaurant tried putting "Mr Ed" burgers or something similar on the menu. It took them off the menu pretty quickly after (or so I am told) significant public pressure. Funny how in NZ it's okay to turn horses into catfood or sell them to the French but people start frothing at the brain if horses get served up as the meat with the three veg.

ooOOoo

Chapter 39: If

Harry smoothed Hermione's ruffled feathers before she could take offence and storm off which, even he had to admit, made a change from everyone trying to smooth his. He decided it couldn't hurt to go with them for double Potions that afternoon. Draco was there, and his eyes gleamed when Harry told him that the shoes had lasted up to a gallop across the hills on soft turf and harder track.

"Excellent," Draco said.

Harry supposed that it was fair enough for Draco to be so pleased. He'd worked hard, after all. Harry was going to ask why Draco had decided to use silver – was it easier to work or just classier, or had Draco put in some special spells? – but Remus, who was the fill-in teacher for that afternoon, called their attention to the front of the class where he was demonstrating the correct procedure for skinning exploding puffballs.

Harry, who had decided to ignore anyone being a prat, was having trouble looking at Lupin. That seemed to be fine by Remus, who managed to ignore Harry for almost the entirety of the class. The only time Harry got any recognition was when Neville's puffball went ballistic and tried to burrow into Harry's ear before it exploded. Lupin twitched his wand and the puffball zoomed into a cauldron which in turn had a lid smartly slammed onto it. Lupin held the lid down as the puffball banged at the sides: it sounded a great deal like popcorn popping before exploding with a muffled _whumph!_

"Another try, Neville?" Lupin panted.

Neville, not used to having a Potions professor not tear him into confetti over a mistake like that, nodded mutely.

If Harry had been able to convince Severus he hadn't lied about being his friend, would Snape have been a nicer person and not terrorised poor Neville? He waved Neville's apologies aside with an "It's fine, Neville, honest," even though his right ear was ringing and he wished Neville had been paying more attention and not cut the stalk before making the incision into the crown in the manner Lupin had demonstrated.

Harry mulled it over after class before deciding that it wasn't his fault. He was just trying to make new ways of feeling guilty for himself. Whatever Severus had thought, Snape had been a grown man and a teacher. He'd had no right to treat Neville like he had.

But somehow it made the gap between the two – Severus and Snape – that much more defined.

How much of a step had it taken for Severus to turn into Snape?

And had it been Harry who gave him the push in that direction?

"What's bothering you, Harry?" Ron asked as they took the stairs up to the common room.

"Oh, nothing really." He didn't know how to say it. And he still didn't know what exactly it was that was bothering him. On top of that, the subject involved Severus so there wasn't really any way he could have a dispassionate discussion with Ron. Besides, Ron had to go and attend a meeting with Hermione and the Ravenclaw prefects. After Ron hurried off, worrying about being late, Harry was still distracted with his own thoughts when Luna slipped through the crowd. She'd been sitting alone at lunch, not wanting company even when Harry had asked her to join him, Ron and Hermione. "Harry… do you have a moment?"

Someone behind her, annoyed that she was holding up traffic on the stairs, shoved past. "Move it, Loony," they sighed.

Harry's first reaction was to shove the person back down the stairs. But he was a fourth-year and Harry wasn't comfortable with the idea of bullying anyone, especially after meeting his father. So he let them go past. Feeling off balance, Harry held the door open for Luna to step through.

There were groans.

"Honestly, Harry – isn't it bad enough you're hanging around with Slytherins; now you're inviting Loony Lovegood into Gryffindor space?" Parvati called out. She was seconded by the fifth years who were huddled over in one corner and wanted a distraction from their homework.

"Yeah, at least bring someone welcome here…" said one of the seventh years.

"Calm down," Harry said. "She's not staying." Why did people make such a big deal over visitors? "Luna…?"

But Luna had already backed outside. "It's okay, Harry," she said. "I'll see you later. Or not."

She closed the door behind her quietly.

Harry rounded on his housemates. "You… what the hell is the matter with you lot?" he roared.

Parvati and Lavender blinked at his rudeness. Lavender folded her arms and pursed her lips. Snape – even Severus at his most spotty – would have looked threatening. Lavender just looked constipated. "What's the matter with us?" she snapped. "What's the matter with _you? _We don't go around inviting other people into the common room. You know that!"

"Why not? Whatever happened to hospitality? Or common courtesy, for that matter?"

"Oh, come on, Potter," said Seamus, who had been sitting over on a sofa playing chess with Dean. "Stop acting daft. It's just Luna. And if we let you let her in, then who next? Malfoy? You-know-who?" To his credit he hadn't been one of those telling Luna to get out – but he hadn't told them to lay off, either. Neither had Harry, Harry thought guiltily.

Anger flared up. It was easier to deal with than guilt. "To hell with the lot of you. The next time Voldemort shows up I'm giving him the password into here. About time you bunch of arseholes learned what really matters in the world – and stopped expecting everyone else to shelter you from it."

The chess set exploded as Harry stormed out, but he barely noticed as shrapnel went whizzing around the room, sending people diving for cover.

He was at the bottom of the stairs by the time he noticed anything more. And it was only the sight of Draco and the recollection that he hadn't asked him about the source of the silver for the shoes that snapped him halfway back to sanity.

Draco turned with an uncannily bland expression that should have warned Harry.

"Hey, have you s-" Harry didn't finish the sentence.

WHAM!

There was a blinding pain shot through with stars so bright they bounced off the backs of his eyes.

When they died, his face ached and he could see Draco and Neville, who had their wands on each other. Where had Neville come from? Oh – he'd stayed behind to talk to Lupin. He must have just been coming up from the dungeons when Draco had –

"Wha'd you hit me for?" Harry demanded, cupping his cheek gingerly with one hand.

Draco bit out the sentences as if he was too angry to try anything complicated: "I just saw Luna going outside. She was in tears. I asked her what had happened. She said 'Harry'. Want to tell me why I shouldn't have hit you?"

Harry prodded at his cheek and took his fingers away much more quickly when pain flared again. "Neville – put your wand down. Draco… has a point."

Neville boggled at Harry. "Are you crazy? He'll –"

Whatever he thought Draco would or wouldn't do wasn't said. Draco hit Neville with an expelling hex that sent Neville's wand flying. Then Draco, carefully and deliberately keeping eye contact with Neville, put his own wand in his pocket. Neville calmed down at that.

"Well?" Draco demanded.

"Um… she wanted to talk to me. Some people got rude when I tried to take her into the common room."

"Well, it's hardly unknown for Gryffs to lack manners," Draco sneered. "She must have noticed that. What, specifically, did _you_ do?"

"I, ah, I didn't do anything…" Harry admitted, flushing with shame. "Not until after she was gone."

"Oh. A bit late by then."

"Yeah."

"What did you do?" Neville asked, as if expecting the castle to start burning from some inferno Harry had left behind.

"Nothing much… just swore at them a little bit. And…"

"What?"

"I might have hinted that if Voldemort came along I'd give him the password for the common room so that _they_ could try dealing with him for a change…" Harry mumbled quickly.

"What?" said Neville, just out of earshot.

But Draco had heard. He snorted and shook his right hand. The knuckles were pink and must have hurt. Harry hoped they did. His whole face was beginning to ache. "You won't be sleeping there tonight," Draco pointed out.

"No. No chance of Slytherin giving me a bed?"

"Don't push your luck. Even if I could, Pansy might poison you. I wouldn't try Ravenclaw, either. Even they wouldn't ignore how Luna was treated. I should hope."

Harry scratched the back of his neck. "Hufflepuff?"

"Not if they think you're giving passwords to the Dark Lord," Draco said happily, warming to the prospect of Harry's being booted out of the castle. "I don't recommend the barn. Too many nocturnal monsters."

"Yeah. Great." Harry thought fleetingly of the small room Severus had used. He hadn't been back there – when he'd come back to this time it had been in Dumbledore's office and he still wasn't sure who'd taken him to the Infirmary. Dumbledore, he suspected, although he hadn't seen Dumbledore since he'd woken up in the Infirmary. But something in him twisted at the thought of going back. There were ghosts there, and not of the easy-to-deal-with everyday incorporeal spirit plus dripping ectoplasm kind. "Let's worry about that later. Which way did Luna go?"

"What way do you think?"

"Right." Harry set off up towards Squirrel Hill. "You don't have to come."

"No," Draco replied, when it looked like Neville wasn't going to reply. "But it's another half hour until dinner."

"And I need to make sure you don't kill each other," Neville said.

Draco smirked. "He's got a point."

Harry rolled his eyes. Then wished he hadn't as his face throbbed. It wasn't like he could wince, either – any movement threatened to burst his eyeballs. Lucky he didn't feel in the least like smiling.

ooOOoo

Luna was busy brushing Simon. Even the horse looked bewildered by the ferocity with which she used the brush. And after every few strokes of the body brush, she would draw it across the wicked metal spikes of the curry-comb with a vindictive expression on her face.

Dust flew.

Harry had never seen her this angry. He stopped at the gate. Not even Simon's pleading whinny would get him into the paddock.

"Hey, Luna," Draco said. "How are the shoes holding up?"

"They're fine," Luna said. "You did a really good job. I'd love to know what spells you used to strengthen the silver." Her voice was mild – completely counter to her expression. Harry swallowed.

"Luna, we need to talk."

Luna paused then, resting the brush on Simon's glossy back as she stared at Harry with uncharacteristic focus. That tension in her upper lip was there as she stared at Harry like he had suddenly become boot-scrapings. Her pale eyes flashed and gave Harry a nasty moment of déjà vu. "No. We don't. We needed to talk ten minutes ago. There is absolutely no need for us to talk now. I know exactly what you say. Why would you need to talk when I know what people say?"

Harry winced a little.

"Do you really know what he said?" Draco put in unexpectedly. "Apparently he told the entire Gryffindor common room that he'd give Voldemort the password because it was about time they learned to take care of their own messes."

Neville paled. "You wouldn't do that, Harry?"

Luna put her head to one side. "Would you? Some days it must be a temptation. I've heard what they say about you, too. I wouldn't have thought you'd be so stupid as to encourage it."

Harry's eyes bugged. "I wasn't ENCOURAGING them!" he shouted, making Simon snort in surprise. "I was taken by surprise! I… I never thought they'd be that bloody cold to you! I mean, me, yeah, they periodically go through phases when they treat me like something the kneazle sicked up… God, even _Ron_ has treated me like that! But I didn't realise they'd treat someone else like that!"

"No? Where have you been?" Draco drawled. "I thought you had a ringside seat for the whole 'Let's put Malfoy in a pen with a rabid monster' show?"

Harry tripped over his own anger. "What?"

"Or what about the whole 'Treat Longbottom like rubbish because… because you're the sort of person who gets off on that' thing?" Neville said, pointedly glaring at Draco.

Draco shrugged. "Yeah, well, it's not like I do that any more, is it?"

"Well? Did you ever…" Neville took a deep breath, his face reddening, "…ever _apologise?"_

Draco gaped at him like Neville had just sprouted a second head. "Didn't know you wanted one. Well, for whatever use an apology is, I apologise," he said.

"Thank you!"

"You're welcome," Draco said, still sounding wary. "I don't have to pay you money or anything, do I?"

Neville blinked. "Why?"

"I guess it isn't a Gryffindor thing. Never mind. I apologise most whole-heartedly and won't do it again," Draco said quickly as if he'd just got off without some terrible punishment he'd been worrying about. "Okay?"

"Oo-kay-yy," Neville said slowly, as if wishing he'd remembered to bring a lawyer but didn't know why he needed one.

"Would it help if I apologised?" Harry said to Luna. When had the conversation become about Draco and Neville?

Luna's upper lip tightened further. "All apologies are are useless words," she said quietly.

Draco nodded sagely, then stopped as Harry glared at him.

"I don't know how to let you know how much I want to make things right," Harry said. It sounded weak but it was as honest as he could find words for. He opened the gate and walked through, followed by Draco. Neville thought better of coming closer when Simon snorted uneasily and stamped a foot.

"Er… I'll just stay back here, shall I?"

"That would be best," Luna said. She wasn't looking at Harry, but he still burned from the glare she didn't have turned on him…

He took a deep breath. "Can we start again? Like maybe from the bit where you wanted to talk about something, and then stop right before other people got involved and I turned into the leading candidate for the Git of the Year award?"

Luna bowed her head and Harry was reminded of another time he'd completely messed up with someone. A flying tackle hadn't worked on Severus – and if he tried one on Luna, Simon would trample him like a Vrikolaki.

But he wouldn't let Luna go the same way as Severus.

"I think it worked out for the best," she said quietly. "What I wanted to talk to you about was something that didn't really concern you. It certainly doesn't concern Gryffindors. No offence, Neville – it's just the truth."

Neville, leaning on the gate, shrugged, but then he was used to Luna. "None taken."

Maybe, Harry thought wretchedly, Neville would lose interest in Ginny and take up with Luna. She deserved someone as steady and loyal as Neville. And it ate at him like a fire and for a brief moment he hated his friend.

"You want company for a bit?" Draco asked.

Luna twisted her mouth into a wry attempt at a smile. "Just Simon, thanks. Humans are a bit too complicated some days."

"Tell me about it. Try Slytherin politics some day."

Luna did smile at that, and the fire burned more fiercely in Harry that Malfoy could make her feel better and _he_ couldn't.

ooOOoo

"I wonder if it concerns Slytherins?" Draco mused when they were approaching the Infirmary. Harry's face felt to be swelling up like a pumpkin, and Draco's knuckles ached. He'd remarked earlier that it was probably the reason why wands had been invented, and even Neville has smiled.

At that point it was obvious that Draco and Harry weren't going to rip each other's throats out, so Neville left them at the doors and went off to, as he said, do some damage control. "Doesn't everything concern Slytherins?" Neville called back over his shoulder.

"Didn't realise he had a sense of humour," Draco commented as they waited for Madam Pomfrey to finish unwrapping a mummy who turned out to be Hannah Abbot who'd overdone an acne charm.

After Hannah left (and only after she'd promised Pomfrey that she wouldn't take any more advice from Moaning Myrtle), the medi-witch quickly healed Harry and Draco and, rolling her eyes in disbelief at their claim they'd both been attacked by the same suit of armour, told them to wait while she went to check on another patient and get another diagnostic spell to check Harry wasn't suffering from concussion ("Which you must be if you expect me to believe a tall tale like that!").

"I s'pose that was payback for me breaking your dad's nose," Harry said eventually, more to put a hole in the silence than anything else. The Infirmary had the heaviest silences of any part of the castle he could name. Although Madam Pomfrey had warned them sternly not to start fighting and upset the patient in the other room, which made a conversation with Malfoy a little tricky, Harry didn't like the silence. In this setting especially, it smacked of ruin. Even talking about Lucius Malfoy should be better than the silence… but come to think of it, that was a bad start to a peaceful conversation. Still, it was too late to go back now. Harry wondered glumly if he was developing a knack for regrets into an art form.

"You didn't really tell me what happened for him to deserve it," Draco replied calmly, scrutinising his knuckles which were painted yellow with an iodine-based potion.

"Yeah."

The silence settled in again, heavy and unwelcome as smog.

Draco stared out the window, which had a good view of Squirrel Hill. "She'll calm down," he said eventually.

"She might not," Harry pointed out gloomily.

"So who's this friend of your who didn't forgive you?"

Harry's eyebrows lifted. "I swear you should take over from Trelawney…"

Draco shrugged. "Was it Snape?"

Harry leaped off the bed. "How the hell did you know that?"

Draco gave him an old-fashioned look – if cynicism had ever gone out of fashion. "I put two and two together and made five. Arithmancy, not Divinations. So. Are you going to tell me? You said you'd tell me sooner or later…"

Harry took a deep breath and sat back down.

"I didn't tell him who I was. Well, I told him I was from another dimension, not from the future. He would have hexed me into another dimension for sure if he'd found out I was James Potter's son."

"Yeah. I heard a few things about your dad and his friends at school," Draco said evenly, as if ancient history didn't affect him. "Sort of your quintessential Gryffindors."

"They weren't. They were awful."

"Like I was saying."

"Huh." Harry stared down at his hands. "Severus put a charm on me to disguise me, and I got to know my dad and his mates better. I wish I hadn't," he added darkly.

"Mm."

Harry looked up. "Is this the point where I say 'oh, I guess you know all about that'?"

"Not if you want to live," Draco replied smoothly. "My family is not your concern. Not unless someone from it is threatening you in some immediate way."

Well. That was a line drawn if ever there was. Harry could probably test it by saying how Lucius was a fairly immediate threat. But Harry didn't think Draco meant it in a threatening way – from hints Draco had dropped, he thought it meant that Draco needed to sort things out himself, especially without the do-gooding help of Gryffindor bunglers who didn't know when to leave well enough alone. And besides, Lucius wasn't a threat until the Blockade was ended. Or not a threat Harry could counter until then, anyway. So maybe it was best not to point that out to Draco just now.

Robert Python would have mentioned the need for space and respect for another's personal boundaries at this point, Harry thought, trying to think back to chapter 3 of _The Horse Mutterer._ Especially with a sick person in the next room who needed the sort of peace and quiet a magical duel wasn't renowned for bestowing.

"So are you going to tell me or not?"

Harry shrugged. It was Draco who'd gone out looking for Snape after the Potions master disappeared. Draco deserved to know, even if Harry didn't feel comfortable telling him the story. "I went back in time. Snape found me."

"You called him 'Severus' just before."

Bloody, damnable Draco – he had to pick up details like that. "Yeah. We got to be friends. Sort of."

"Don't tell me he was friends with the son of someone he hated… no, you said you'd come from a different dimension…"

"Yeah. I told him I was called Harry Lovegood."

Draco sniggered.

Harry ignored that and continued, "He… I don't know why he believed me. But it helped when my dad tried to hex me in the library and I bounced it back at him. Of course everyone tried to blame me and Severus. I found out later that there was a lot of, um, I guess you'd call it Gryffindor chauvinism."

"Reality bites, doesn't it."

Harry frowned. Maybe it had been like that back then, but… He quickly reconsidered his argument as he remembered the Slytherins lined up outside the Great Hall, watching McGonagall taking points of Millicent Bulstrode. "It wasn't helped by the Head of Slytherin…"

"Father said the man was a buffoon… and that thanks to his neglect the Dark Lord recruited a lot of people he wouldn't otherwise have been able to attract."

"I noticed. I had breakfast with a whole lot of them. I kind of liked Evan Rosier…"

"You wouldn't have liked what he did later on," Draco mused. "I heard a few stories about him. Very… fixed ideas about mixed marriages, he had."

Harry didn't want to know what that meant. He'd rather hold onto the idea of Evan Rosier at the same age as Harry, not yet morally deformed by a cloak and a white mask. "I didn't like Bellatrix. Or her not-yet-husband."

"Dear Aunt Bella. She was quite gorgeous when she was younger. Was she mad as a hatter then?"

"If she wasn't born that way, I expect your grandparents dropped her on her head several times. Oh, I met your mum. She was okay. Severus didn't hate her, anyway."

"Usually a good sign." Draco smiled. "So what did you get up to then?"

Harry rattled off a list, including the Shrieking Shack (Draco already knew about Remus), the disaster in Potions (and the image of Professor Boggle hurtling out of the class made Draco laugh), the note from Dumbledore which took points off any students who 'impeded research' and Severus' reaction to it (which had Draco rocking back and forth with laughter), as well as the finding of the Golden Sickle (Harry kept his voice down as he related that, not wanting any of the portraits to hear). Harry didn't tell Draco about the Muggle items or the old storeroom Severus had taken as his own because he didn't feel safe in Slytherin, because he felt it wasn't something Severus would want him to share, but he did tell Draco about the disastrous revelation about Harry's identity… and how Severus had worked it out and been beyond livid.

"Can you blame him?"

"No," Harry agreed. "But I wish he'd believed me when I told him that… that I hadn't just been using him."

"That you were his friend."

Harry hadn't actually said that, but he nodded.

Draco stared up at the ceiling. "Mr Forgiveness he was not."

Harry nodded again.

"It's annoying that we have the magical ability to travel through time and we still can't use it to make things right, isn't it? Makes you wonder if it's a gift or a curse."

Harry, not able to comment on that, looked out the window. Dusk was falling and it must be getting cold out there; dark clouds were rolling in from the west. There hadn't been rain for a while now – Hogwarts was overdue for some. Hopefully Luna wouldn't be out there when it started. Simon had his blanket on, which would keep the worst of the weather out if the horse decided not to shelter in the barn. Luna had climbed on Simon's back and was now lying face down using him as a mattress. She seemed to have her ankles crossed over his rump and was resting her head on her arms, which were folded over the horse's withers. Enough warmth should seep through the blanket to keep her from catching a chill, Harry hoped. Simon had his head down and was grazing, moving slowly one foot at a time as he followed his mouth. Harry frowned, but not just from worry that Luna was taking a risk in the way she insisted on treating the horse like a big cuddly toy. "It is annoying."

Draco was also looking out the window. "Isn't that Lupin's dog? Funny how a werewolf owns a dog…"

Harry bristled automatically, but then realised Draco was just remarking on something he found odd. It wasn't politically correct, but then neither was Draco. Harry smiled as he considered that if Draco ever went into politics he'd have to learn a lot about tact. He stopped smiling as soon as he realised Draco was correct about the identity of the dog – it was Sirius, wandering through the meadow up towards Squirrel Hill. Harry tensed.

"I've seen him up there a few times," Draco said. "While you were away, and then again when you came back… when you're not up there, though. Seems like an all-right sort of dog, although he growled when I tried to pat him. Probably he's a guard dog rather than a pet."

"Sounds like a bad-mannered mutt," Harry growled.

Draco shot him a sideways glance. "You're really down on Lupin at the moment. It wasn't his fault about trying to kill you and Snape in the Shrieking Shack. Black set the three of you up. And we all know now that Black is quite happy with the idea of murder." He paused at Harry's tight-lipped glare, then continued as if finding something curious, "It's strange how people change. You wouldn't have liked what your friend Severus was like when he was a Death Eater…" Draco scowled at Harry's glare as if he found the naivete behind it personally insulting. "Oh, for Merlin's sake… I don't know that much, but I heard a few stories of what he and others of my father's associates got up to. I used to think they were really… let's say… good role models.

"But then I had some time to myself to think and I considered what my so-called good role models actually did in terms of human pain. And I no longer agreed with what they'd done. I realise how didactic this sounds, but what I'm really getting at is that people change. Severus became a Death Eater who in turn became Professor Snape (whom you loathed, need I point out?) and a spy for Dumbledore's side. And died trying, perhaps, for forgiveness. Which all sounds revoltingly melodramatic but is illustrative of how one person changed… He may not have changed in essence – I bet he was always bad-tempered and borderline sociopathic – but how he chose to affect the world altered. What you couldn't forgive in someone in a time gone past is no longer as relevant – the pain is not forgotten, perhaps, but it becomes no longer quite so pertinent than it was; certainly not when weighed up against the possibilities of the future."

Maybe Harry was concussed. Something had left him mildly stunned, anyway, and he didn't think it was a simple case of Draco's fist. "You… you're saying that you've changed?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "I think that's obvious. Although I need to make it much less so if my father ever gets in here along with his master." He spat the last word out distastefully. "I was talking about your desire for forgiveness contrasted with your inability to actually give it when it matters."

"You mean for Lupin."

"If Professor Snape walked in here now and started taking points off Gryffindor because you breathe wrong, I bet you'd get over your guilt like _that,_" Draco said, snapping his fingers. "Why don't you look at Lupin the same way? He's not the same wishy-washy fool he was back then. Well, not completely… Well, okay, maybe he still is. But he makes an effort these days to do the right thing rather than overlook it because his friends might be peeved with him for ratting them out as the fink-bastards they are. So maybe you need to work out who he is now rather than brood over what he was then."

So he shouldn't carry on a grudge against someone who'd annoyed him because that person suddenly wanted to be a better person? _Draco_ was advocating that? Draco, who hated Weasleys because they irked his father, said that?

Maybe Harry hadn't gone back in time to a different dimension, but the evidence was stacking up in favour of his having returned to one. Harry shook his head. Things couldn't be that simple, he thought with a small, private smile. And Draco seemed to be carrying on a rambling conversation with him and talking about something along a parallel line; what he was really saying was something else the Slytherin must have been thinking about privately and deeply for some time now, but without actually putting down any clear formula of wisdom that Harry could follow. Perhaps Draco was using this conversation to find that elusive formula. Yes, Harry decided: Draco was merely thinking aloud, but framing his thoughts within Harry's difficulties.

Was that supposed to be reassuring?

Harry decided to hazard a wild guess as to the root theory: "So what you're saying is that people are fickle and only take issue with what's right in front of them?"

"You could interpret it as such." Draco grinned as if Harry had completely missed the point and it amused the hell out of Draco that he was so thick. "Now there's something that could be capitalised on if you use the media right."

Harry shook his head again, giving up on trying to work out what Draco wasn't saying. "You're going to rule the world one day, is that it?"

Draco said with a shrug, "I'd do a better job at it… well, once I get some things worked out. I'm too young and my ideas may be a bit radical right now."

"Oh?" Harry was definitely concussed. Or maybe Malfoy was. "What needs to be worked out?"

"Getting rid of the Dark Lord for starters. That's your job, I believe," he added, nodding regally to Harry, who snorted; "then remove Fudge and all his useless cronies." His gaze refocused somewhere far beyond the wall and beyond current pessimistic reality. "I've had a few ideas about setting up a more global framework to stop national crises getting out of hand the way things have here… I believe the Muggles set something up after the Grindelwald war… the Muggles were even worse off than we were, I found out. Apart from the sheer volume of deaths, the per capita horror was even worse. So they tried to set up an organisation to stop that sort of nonsense happening again."

"The United Nations."

"Catchy title. Is it any good?"

"I don't know. I don't know much about the Muggle world. Given all the wars that have happened since World War Two, maybe not. Or maybe things would have been even worse. So are we going to have a war to make us come around to the idea, too?"

Draco curled his lip. "Absolutely not… which in one sense makes things harder. It takes something appalling to shift people out of their acceptance of mundane dangers. But I've been wondering about a more peaceful way to bring things around – there _must_ be a peaceful way to bring people around to… What?"

Because Harry had smiled.

"Mahatma Malfoy."

"What?"

"I'll find you a book on him. I think they made a movie… There was a man called Gandhi who used peaceful resistance to help get rid of our lot – the British, that is – who were ruling in India. I'm not sure what happened – like I said, I don't know much about Muggle stuff, but he became pretty famous for what he did. I think he ended up ruling India himself."

"Well done him." Draco turned his attention back to the window. "Speaking of changing personalities, I think the dog is learning some manners, anyway. He was almost friendly to me the other morning. Maybe Simon kicking him when he growled at me taught him a lesson. Not exactly peaceful educational techniques, but it seemed to have done the trick in that case."

"Simon kicked him?"

"Not too badly or the dog would be dead. But just enough of a knock to let him know that he had to behave himself. A bit of force to teach him the error of his ways."

So much for Draco the pacifist. Come to think of it, Sirius _had_ been limping when Harry'd seen him in Lupin's office. "That was while I was back in time?"

"Yeah. But he's been much better since then. Maybe he missed you. You were always Lupin's favourite."

Harry didn't want to think that. It complicated things too much. "Lupin was a prefect. And he stood by and let too many things slide."

"So you said. And it's not like it doesn't happen now. I've done it. Your friend Weasley tried it before Granger set him right… I've seen him try to make a second year give up a good seat because he wanted it," he added as Harry gave him a shocked look. "And yeah, I know I've done much worse. I've done it, and I can see what I've done, and I can decide not to do it any more because I know that it's counterproductive."

"So because Lupin was an arse when he was a prefect, he might be a better person now? That's like saying Voldemort is going to go around fundraising for Muggle charities because of all the atrocities he's committed!"

Draco leaned on his elbow and gave Harry one of his 'I'm so much better than you' glares. "You're not listening, Potter. I said that it was a decision. And maybe Lupin can make a decision on what he learned from screwing up other people's lives. Snape did, after all."

"You're not possibly saying I should tell Lupin all is forgiven?"

"You're the one who's been worrying about forgiveness. You tell me."

Ouch. That was low. Harry glared at the other boy who glared back. Not wanting to admit that Draco had a valid point, Harry watched the shaggy black dog trotting up the hill towards the paddock.

ooOOoo


	40. Chapter 40

Disclaimer: Still not mine. JKR's.

ooOOoo

Chapter 40: The Knack of Being Alone

Padfoot slid under the lowest rail and approached Simon, who put his head up and pricked his ears. Luna, too, looked up as Simon's attention shifted off grass. Her mouth was moving, although it was impossible from the distance of the Infirmary window for Harry or Draco to tell what she was saying. Padfoot's tail waved as he looked up at Luna, and he touched noses briefly with Simon, who snorted at the indignity, his chin jerking back towards his chest. Luna seemed to laugh. Padfoot's tail wagged a little harder, and the dog strolled off along the fenceline. Luna put her head down again and, as far as Harry could tell, went back to sleep. Simon's head lowered and he rested one back foot on the point of the hoof. He, too, looked to be asleep.

"What are they doing out there?" Draco said.

Harry wasn't sure if Draco meant Luna and the two animals, then he saw three boys creeping around the side of the hill. They were in sight of Simon, but the horse merely twitched an ear at them to show he knew they were there and, although he wasn't too happy at their odd behaviour, wasn't so put out by it that he cared to properly wake up. Draco had his hands cupped around his eyes to help him see better as he leaned close to the glass. "Hey… aren't they the ones who dumped me in Simon's pen?"

Harry squinted. "Um – two are. The Ravenclaw and the Hufflepuff. The other one is… Who is he?"

"Fifth year Slytherin. One of Pansy's supporters," Draco said darkly. "Come on."

"Too late..." said Harry, as Simon leaped sideways and Luna slid off his back.

They heard the loud bang after the few moments it took for the sound to travel to the window. By that time Simon had pranced to a halt and seemed to have remembered Luna had been on his back. The horse swung around and trotted back to Luna. Luna was lying on the ground and not moving.

Then Harry could hear faint barking – Padfoot had a good, loud bark, so the bang must have been very loud indeed. It was amazing Simon hadn't gone through the fence. The dog was hurtling down towards the three students with its long teeth bared ferociously.

_"Accio _Firebolt," said Harry, echoed by Draco's "_Accio _Nimbus."

Harry's broom arrived first, flying through the window Harry opened just in time. A few small glints of glass were stuck in the bristles. The broom must have crashed through the dormitory window.

"Damn," Draco said. "Mine's locked in the dungeons."

"Get on," Harry said, and Draco climbed behind him.

They shot out the window just as Madam Pomfrey opened the door and shouted "What do you –?"

They were halfway down the tower when Draco said: "Er… can your broomstick carry two?"

"I don't know," Harry said through gritted teeth, trying futilely to get the broom to fly higher. "I always thought they could, but I never tried. Think light thoughts."

"The Dark Lord is a bad person, the Dark Lord is a bad person…"

"That wasn't what I meant." While they weren't losing altitude quite so rapidly, they were still travelling very fast and the ground was bumpy. If they hit it they would be in trouble.

"On the contrary, now is the perfect time for levity."

They reached Squirrel Hill by crashing into it just down from the fence. Padfoot could be heard barking loudly now. There were angry shouts from the students who were weighing up the consequences of hexing Professor Lupin's dog against being bitten (the main thrust of the argument being that an immediate bite from an enraged dog was better than a future bite from an enraged werewolf), and a whinny of relief from Simon when he saw Harry and Draco. Harry rolled onto his feet, checked his Firebolt was intact, fished a cursing Draco out of the bracken, and pulled out his wand just in time to counter the first hex thrown by the Ravenclaw.

"I was hoping for happier circumstances to get some vengeance done," Draco said between jinxes. "This will have to do."

It was over quickly. The other three students were respectively stunned, frozen and flopping on the ground like a paralytic fish in seconds. Harry hadn't realised his spellcasting had got so good. What was disturbing was how ready Draco was to cast some of the nastier spells: the Ravenclaw had been frozen rigid as a plank by a spell Harry had learned to counter in DADA – but not a spell he'd learned to cast. Probably best if he didn't know where Draco had learned rigor vitalis. The Slytherin student had been hit with multiple spells, one of the set a spray of spells which were quite vindictive from what Harry knew about them, and he now lay twitching in the patch of heather he'd tried to use as shelter.

The black dog was still barking. He backed towards the paddock as Harry and Draco approached. It was the first time Harry had seen him up close in days: Padfoot had lost weight and looked shabbier since Harry and Sirius had talked in Lupin's office. Maybe the food shortage was affecting the dog, too, although someone had mentioned that Padfoot had taken to patrolling the edges of the barrier at all hours. Harry and Draco followed him through the fence and ran over to where Luna was still lying. She was very pale and her eyes were shut.

Simon, who was still standing over her although he'd shifted about during the duel, bobbed his head and whinnied unhappily as Harry and Draco approached. The dog hung back, correctly interpreting the flattened ears when Simon looked at him. The dog was tolerated only when Luna allowed it, it would seem.

"Go and get Lupin… and Madam Pomfrey," Harry said to Padfoot. It was stupid that he and Draco hadn't thought to tell her before leaping out the window.

The dog sped away towards the castle.

"Smart dog," Draco remarked. "Ick." He squirmed, trying to reach down the back of the neck of his robes to pull out some bracken. "Damned stuff." He peered at the now distant dog. "He seems to know exactly where to go."

"Don't say anything you don't want Lupin to know around him," Harry advised as he dropped to his knees. Luna's eyelashes were fluttering. "Luna? Can you hear me?"

Luna frowned, then opened her eyes. She shut them again as if the light of the sunset was too strong. "Is that Simon?" she asked.

"Yes," Harry said.

"Oh, bugger," she sighed, squinting up at the horse. "Poseidon. Poseidon, you stubborn horse."

Simon lowered his head and touched his nose to her hand briefly before lifting his head again to make sure there was nothing dangerous on the way. His ears flickered as he saw something Harry, crouching over Luna, couldn't.

Luna sighed, "Poseidon…" and closed her eyes again.

Draco and Harry looked at each other. Had Luna finally taken that last step into insanity?

"Luna?"

She cried out when Harry touched her shoulder. If Draco hadn't been quick to grab Simon's headcollar, Harry would have been hurting, too.

"I'll just back him off a bit," Draco said, pushing Simon a few steps away from Luna. The horse objected, tossing its head up and down and trying to shove Draco aside, but Draco adjusted too quickly and never stayed off balance. Simon settled a few steps back, ears flicking nervously and tail a-swish, occasionally bobbing his head up and down and whickering unhappily to Luna, who was telling Harry,

"Don't touch me. Okay? I think I broke something…"

"Right," said Harry, who had come out in a cold sweat when Luna screamed. He was pretty sure he'd felt something move that oughtn't when he touched her shoulder.

There was a bark from down the hill. Draco craned his neck to see over the crest.

"That was fast. Lupin and Pomfrey are coming now."

"She must have seen us from the window. It's okay, Luna… Madam Pomfrey is nearly here."

"Don't let her touch me."

"I won't. I'll… made sure she knows your shoulder is broken. She'll immobilise it before she takes you anywhere."

"Ah… Harry…"

"I'm here." And although his shoulders ached from trying to somehow magically take over Luna's pain, there was nowhere else Harry wanted to be.

"Don't leave."

"I won't."

"It's…" Luna frowned, puzzled. "I lost the knack."

Or your mind, Harry thought unhappily, wishing Pomfrey would hurry. "Of what?"

"Of being alone."

"Oh. You don't need to keep that."

Luna closed her eyes again. "It's best that I do."

Harry looked up at Draco for help. Draco was standing with one arm wrapped around Simon's nose: he might have been comforting the horse, but it seemed more like he was the one taking comfort. He shrugged as he made brief eye contact with Harry before looking away again, but the faint crease in his brow suggested he was just as concerned as Harry. "They're coming."

Harry nodded.

The big black dog slipped under the fence ahead of Lupin and Pomfrey, who were both puffing. Lupin looked particularly bad, as if he'd been recovering from an illness. Harry had lost track of when the next full moon was due, but he thought it was at least a week away. Maybe one of the classes had gone wrong and he'd been on the way to the Infirmary when Pomfrey and Padfoot found him. He absolutely did not want to consider the possibility Lupin had been the sick person in the next room and thus might have overheard a certain sensitive conversation between Harry and Draco…

Pomfrey and Remus took the more civilised method of coming through the gate. Lupin stayed back, especially after Simon gave Padfoot his patent-pending evil eye. While the horse didn't display any overt nastiness towards Lupin, Harry decided it was best if the horse wasn't provoked. It had taken against the werewolf just before Harry's trip into the past – he wasn't sure how strongly Simon carried a grudge and now wasn't the time to carry out an experiment to find out.

"She's broken her shoulder," he said, standing up as Madam Pomfrey hurried over with her bag hovering along behind her. "Don't touch her, please… she wanted me to make sure you wouldn't."

Madam Pomfrey knelt down next to Luna, uncaring of the dirt staining her white apron. "Hmm. Luna? Miss Lovegood, can you hear me?"

"Don't touch me, please."

"It's all right, dear, I won't. Can you talk to me, please?"

Luna could, although she kept answering some of Pomfrey's questions wrongly. Sometimes she thought it was the morning. Then she was sure it was the afternoon. She was surprised to see Simon. "Why is he with Malfoy?" she asked Harry, then answered her own question, "Well, I guess it makes more sense that way."

Which made no sense at all.

Pomfrey diagnosed concussion (which even Harry had worked out) and put Luna under a sedative spell as well as dripping a few drops of a pain-killing potion into her mouth. Then she conjured up a stretcher and took Luna back to the castle, her bag floating along behind her. Remus conjured extra stretchers for the three students who had been hexed by Harry and Draco and took them away without asking any questions, and Padfoot licked his nose uneasily and followed after Harry glared at him.

As he put Simon's rug on, Harry was glad Lupin hadn't spoken… and that Padfoot was gone. Up close the dog looked even tattier than he had from a distance, and Harry didn't think it right that _he_ should feel guilty.

"Did that dog growl at you, too?" Draco asked.

"Sort of." Draco didn't know about Sirius. Or maybe he did. "Ever met someone called Peter Pettigrew?"

Draco frowned at the apparent veer in the conversation. "Er, the ratty little chap with the silver hand?"

"Yeah."

"The one who resurrected the Dark Lord, then."

"Yeah."

"He was supposed to have been murdered by Black."

"Yeah."

"I guess it means that Black didn't sell your parents out. Pettigrew did."

"Yeah."

"Oh. I'd wondered about that. So Black is innocent."

"Yeah."

"Of that, anyway."

"Y- What do you mean?"

Draco shrugged. "I heard a few things about what he was like at school. Mother said that he and Bella were quite similar."

"Hm." Harry frowned, his hand resting for a moment on the crest of Simon's neck. "I hadn't actually seen it until you mentioned it, but you're right." Disturbingly so. Why had his father been best friends with a psychopath who'd send someone to be killed by a werewolf who just happened to be another friend?

"So is there a point to this?"

"Um. Maybe."

"Is Black really your godfather?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, we're back to slurred monosyllabic responses, are we?"

"Yeah. Uh, that was a joke," Harry added as Draco's face clouded over with irritation. "Yes. He's my godfather. And he didn't betray my parents. Pettigrew did. But I met him back in time and he was awful. Even worse than my father."

"So…. Are you in contact with him in this time?"

"Sort of."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Harry shrugged.

"It's hard when the people you admire or love turn out to be monsters."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. It was too close to the bone. He turned his attention to Simon and mentally crossed his fingers that Draco wouldn't say anything else that sliced so deeply. Draco didn't, but he didn't say anything at all, seemingly as wrapped up in his own thoughts as Harry was. Before the silence could become any more uncomfortable, the cover was in place and he unbuckled Simon's headcollar. It was getting dark, evening insects were emerging and kept settling on his cloak, and dinner was probably already on the table. Giving Simon a last pat on the rump, he followed Draco who was already out the gate, thankfully having not pressed the topic of Sirius Black, which Harry was already regretting having brought up.

The first drops of rain hit Harry's glasses just before they got to the castle; Harry and Draco ran up the last part of the path.

"It's not nice having people you rely on surprise you like that, is it?" Draco remarked quietly. They'd washed up outside Hagrid's rather than going back to the castle and facing the angry mob Harry was expecting, and right now Harry was appreciative of how Draco was going to walk into the Great Hall with him.

On the other hand, he didn't appreciate Draco turning into Mr Sensitivity. It was just too uncanny. At least he hadn't said it loudly enough for anyone to overhear, although there were only a pair of third years who eyed the older boys doubtfully before they scurried into the Hall.

Maybe Draco had run across the human (or Harry Potter specific) equivalent of _The Horse Mutterer._

Harry shook his head. Some things – Draco turning into a psychologist – didn't bear thinking about. A knowledge of psychology could end up putting Draco in charge of the universe.

ooOOoo

Dinner was pretty much as bad as he thought it would be. Everyone carefully turned away from him when he walked in. Almost everyone, that was. Ginny and Neville weren't there. Hermione and Ron, who were there, stood up, ignoring the other Gryffindors, and walked down to meet Harry and Draco.

"I heard about Luna…" Hermione began.

"I haven't seen her since she was brought in," Harry said.

"I saw her going in to the Infirmary." Trudi. Who had approached in her typically quiet Slytherin manner.

"Yes – Madam Pomfrey didn't want her to have any visitors," Ron put in, unexpectedly nodding in a friendly way to Trudi. "So I waited with Trudi until Professor Lupin came out. He said Luna's going to be fine. Broken clavicle and a mild concussion… she'll be in the Infirmary all night, but she's going to be fine. Apparently she kept asking where you'd gone, Harry."

Harry had told her he wouldn't leave. "Would they let me…?" he asked, feeling utterly wretched.

Ron shook his head sympathetically.

"I asked," Trudi said. "But Professor Lupin said Luna had to rest. No visitors."

"Sorry," Ron said.

Harry shook his head. "Thanks. I'm just glad she's all right. Do you know what happened to the other three Draco and I fought?"

Ron glanced uneasily towards the head table, where McGonagall was watching this little meeting. "Er…"

"I don't suppose anyone wants our side of the story?" Harry sighed.

"Professor Lupin is talking to them," Hermione said.

Draco shrugged. "Harry was the only Gryff involved and he was against them, so I guess we'll be let off."

Hermione looked affronted by the insinuation, but was cut off by Harry, who had had something bugging him on the walk back to the castle. "Where was Lupin going after class? He wasn't looking too well in class. I know he stayed to talk to Neville…"

"I wanted to talk to him, too. But he had to go up to the hospital wing… I walked up with him. What's wrong, Harry?"

Harry had his eyes shut, thinking that there was never a wall around when you needed one to bang your head on. "Nothing. I'm fine. What's Lupin's problem?"

"Er… It's the new Wolfsbane potion," Hermione said. "I don't think the balance is right. Now that Professor Snape is gone…"

"The ironies just keep piling up, don't they?" Draco said mildly. "Who's making the Wolfsbane?"

"I don't know. I think Professor Sprout might be helping Professor Lupin. But it's a difficult potion to brew."

"Can Sprout brew?" Harry asked.

Hermione shrugged.

"She can do some of the basic potions," Trudi said. "She wasn't too bad when she took my Potions class."

"Wolfsbane isn't basic," Harry said. Unnecessarily.

ooOOoo

They ate dinner at the end of the Gryffindor table. No-one dared object to the two Slytherins sitting there. Not after Seamus frowned meaningfully at Harry, Draco and Trudi… and the milk jug exploded.

Harry didn't even mean to do it. He'd just felt the magic build up behind his eyes and… and the milk jug had exploded.

Maybe he could talk to McGo- No. Flitwick, he decided, seeing the grim line of McGonagall's mouth as she surveyed Seamus and Parvati dripping with milk and the shards of pottery littering the Gryffindor table. This was twice today he'd managed to do wandless magic.

Maybe Flitwick would tell Harry he was an amazingly powerful wizard who only needed to blink in Voldemort's general direction for the Dark Lord to kick the bucket.

More likely he'd tell Harry he was completely off his rocker, and 'random bursts of magic' was the last box that needed to be ticked off for admittance to St Mungos.

Harry told himself he had enough to worry about. He and Ron had a brief battle with forks over the last lamb chop. Even though he didn't win, it was simple fun and drew him out of his dark mood.

The Slytherin table had the best dessert. They gravitated there afterwards. The Slytherins weren't exactly welcoming of the Gryffindor trio but took their cue from Millicent, who ignored them except for politely asking Ron to pass the jug of cream. Possibly to get it away from Harry – Harry couldn't be bothered telling her he wasn't in the habit of exploding jugs.

Neville and Ginny were in late for dinner. Harry nearly laughed out loud when he saw how their eyes bugged to see him, Hermione and (especially) Ron sitting with the Slytherins. Draco didn't invite them over. He didn't even seem to notice them as he dug a spoon idly into his pudding.

Harry wondered if Draco's silence meant that he was embarrassed by the presence of the Gryffindors, but something about it suggested the blond Slytherin was busy observing his housemates rather than building up resentment.

So Draco was up to something.

Hardly anything new there.

ooOOoo

Harry, Ron and Hermione retired to the library after dinner. It was nice to spend time, just the three of them, the next best thing to a family Harry would probably ever know. Thinking of family, he realised Hermione hadn't once mentioned her parents since… since Christmas, Harry hazarded, which was around the time Voldemort had begun the Blockade. Neither had Ron, now that Harry thought of it. Harry didn't worry about the Dursleys, of course, but he could respect the love in his friends' families. If there was some way he could help them by taking their minds of things, Harry would do so. He hadn't been taking enough care of Ron and Hermione recently – not like they deserved. The last thing he needed now was a rift opening between them because he'd been insensitive to their own problems. As for Draco, the Slytherin had made it plain he didn't care to discuss his family at any great depth, and after dinner claimed to have things to take care of in Slytherin House. To be honest, Harry was pleased to have some time with his best friends. He couldn't relax properly around Malfoy the way he could with Ron and Hermione. And Draco didn't seem to want to talk, anyway. There was nothing unfriendly about it, just Draco not wanting to spend time with Gryffindors.

Moody Slytherins.

Huh. Harry didn't want to spend time with any more moody Slytherins anyway. It wasn't like they were inviting him in to shelter in their dormitory now that his own Housemates had taken against him.

He dreaded the coming curfew. But time couldn't be stopped – how well Harry knew that – and all too soon it was time to retire to the dormitory. He'd talked quietly in the library with Ron and Hermione, just normal, daily stuff, like how Charms class was going, how the three students had frightened Simon and hurt Luna and what McGonagall would do about it, and how it was a nerve the way Sprout had loaded them down with homework for Potions when they had so much else to do… It was good just to talk about things that weren't dangerous or could knock scabs or open old wounds. McGonagall still hadn't called Harry and Draco to account for what had happened earlier, although she had stopped by the Slytherin table after dessert to tell Harry and Draco to come to her office tomorrow morning before breakfast. An odd time, but Harry supposed she wanted Luna to be present and, as Pomfrey had folded her arms and stridently declared she wouldn't allow Luna out of the Infirmary earlier than sunrise tomorrow (which was what Ron reported, who had been there in his role as Prefect and unofficial back-up to McGonagall), before breakfast was the earliest opportunity for her to get things sorted out. Harry felt a bit rotten telling Hermione and Ron about his problems with Luna, but his friends pounced on the story with sympathy and, perversely, delight.

Harry guessed it was nice to be distracted from your problems by how someone else was doing even worse. He just wished it wasn't always him who came up trumps in the 'poor ole me' stakes.

To think he'd started out the evening determined to make good to his friends by being sympathetic to _their_ problems…

Hermione and Ron walked with him into the common room. Harry was glad for the support. He'd had worse times here, times when everyone had hated him and been afraid of him, so shouldn't he have been used to it? For some reason he wasn't. And he'd reached the point where he didn't want to be here for the simple reason that he hated everyone here.

Well, almost everyone, he amended, realising Hermione and Ron were with him. And Neville and Ginny (both with some heat in their cheeks) stood up as the trio walked in, glaring at Seamus who abruptly shut his mouth on whatever he'd been saying (and Harry could guess the topic). Oh, and there were a few students over _there_ he didn't hate. And Colin, who was helping his younger brother Dennis with homework… well, the Creevey brothers didn't warrant punishment for anything a little common sense wouldn't cure. But other than that, he didn't want to stay here.

"Oh, look who's back," Parvati said acidly. "Did we have fun, drenching me in milk?"

"You owe me a chess set!" Dean huffed.

"Consider it an exchange for the apology I'm owed," Harry snapped back, stamping up the stairs to his room.

Standing there with his hands on his hips, Harry made a quick decision. He didn't want to stay here tonight. And he wasn't going to. It was just like the time he'd inflated Aunt Marge. With that welcome thrum of adrenaline he got whenever he took control of his life, he grabbed his invisibility cloak just as Ron came in.

"Going for a walk?" Ron asked, folding his arms.

"Yeah."

"I'm a prefect. You're not allowed to go wandering around after curfew."

Harry swung the cloak around his shoulders. "You never saw me."

Ron's gave him an old-fashioned look – or gave an old-fashioned look to where Harry had just been standing. "Hardy-har. Look, I'm going to go and check the corridor to see if anyone is out there and has forgotten their password. And you're not going to go outside the castle. Okay?"

"Okay."

Harry followed at his heels. Ron ignored the comment of "Has our resident Drama Queen calmed down?" although Harry could see his ears turning pink. For some reason it didn't affect Harry – but then Harry was escaping. He smiled a little, though, as he heard Hermione begin her warm-up to a rant he knew was bound to rattle the castle.

There was no stopping Hermione when she was in crusading mode. Gryffindor wouldn't know what hit it.

Ron opened the door a little showily, checking the corridor while standing aside just enough for Harry to slip past. And then Harry was out in the dark corridor and the door was closing behind him and he didn't know which way to go.

He went left.

ooOOoo

He considered the Infirmary – there were plenty of beds in there – but Luna was there and she probably wouldn't be pleased to see him. Pomfrey certainly wouldn't be pleased to see him bothering one of her patients.

There was the Room of Requirements… but too many people knew about it now. And after the DA it was too obvious that Harry would go there. Harry didn't want to be found.

He could always go up to Squirrel Hill and visit Simon, but he'd told Dumbledore he wouldn't leave the castle without supervision at night. And he'd just told Ron he wouldn't, which was more binding. On top of that, if he got caught outside he didn't need Dumbledore asking him questions – that might lead to Harry giving answers he didn't want to give – answers about a certain Golden Sickle now tucked away in the bottom of Harry's trunk.

Besides, it was raining.

He found his feet made the decision for him. Mrs Norris prowling one corridor and Peeves drawing anatomically improbable graffiti in another didn't stop his feet from taking him along one corridor, down some stairs, up some more, and along through an ill-lit part of the castle no-one used any more.

Harry soon found himself standing outside the small wooden door of a storeroom.

There would be blankets in there. There was a book he hadn't finished. He might even be able to remember the spell to play the records. He'd be safe for a while. No-one would find him. He could break the wards on this room – he knew the ones which had been used.

Harry stood there as the night moved past him, dimly aware of the distant hammer of rain.

He could go into the room.

He couldn't work out why he wasn't going into the room. After a bit he snuffled and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve, which made him laugh for some reason, thinking what Severus would say about people who were incapable of the simple act of using a handkerchief.

Harry sat down with his back against the door and wrapped the cloak around him to keep out the cold draught sliding along the floor. He put his head down on his knees and tried to think about nothing.

The gentle click of claws on the floor was the first hint he wasn't alone. Then there was the gentle shift of air as something changed form.

A hand rested on his shoulder – clumsily at first, as it wasn't sure where the actual shoulder was, then more surely. It squeezed gently.

"Harry."

Harry pressed his face against his knees and for a moment pretended he wasn't there. But he had to admit that was childish – wishes like those certainly didn't work in the real world. Or, if they did, it wasn't by using a form of magic he'd managed to master. It was easier to make chess sets and jugs explode. "Go away."

There was a sigh. And the hand fell away as someone slid down to door to sit next to him shoulder-to-shoulder. Harry could feel the warmth of the person through the cloak.

"Are you deaf?"

"No, just stubborn."

"How'd you find me?"

"Dogs have good noses."

Harry pushed back the hood – glares weren't effective unless they could be seen – and lifted his head. "Are you going to tell me I shouldn't be wandering around the castle at this time of night?"

"No," Sirius replied mildly. "Remus might. But giving good advice isn't really my department."

"No. Treating people like they only exist for your personal entertainment is."

Sirius stared into the darkness. "So I've been told," he said evenly. "I'm sorry for how I treated you. I was out of line."

"You're only sorry because I turned out to be James' son."

"That's part of it," Sirius said with disarming honesty.

Harry rallied in an effort to make Sirius go away. "Someone said you're a lot like your cousin Bella."

Sirius' jaw tightened, but his voice remained unnaturally level. It was as if he'd had Remus' temper magically grafted onto him. "Really? Who said that?"

"Narcissa."

"Ah. You're on first-name terms with Mrs Malfoy, I see."

"No. Just her son."

"He was talking about me?" Sirius' eyes sharpened. "Why?"

"Relax. He doesn't know you're here if that's what you're worried about. I told him about what happened when I went back in time."

"About how I hexed you."

"About how you tried to kill Snape. And me and Remus by association."

Sirius flinched, which gave Harry a little satisfaction, but not as much as he'd hoped for. "Really? And what did my young cousin say to that?"

Feeling vicious, Harry didn't hesitate. "Draco said it's hard when the people you love turn out to be monsters."

Sirius' face froze. There was a long pause when he didn't even breathe. The shoulder next to Harry was rigid as Sirius contained himself. Harry felt himself tense, too, and couldn't understand why the words had cut him along with Sirius. "Well. I suppose he would know," Sirius said finally, his voice faint but carefully level. But he didn't leave. Harry was beginning to wonder what it would take. Would he have to hex Sirius?

"Take your friend Severus, for example," Sirius said, his voice almost not giving away his distaste as he uttered the name. "I suppose you know all about what he got up to as a Death Eater?"

"No. But Draco hinted it wasn't knitting socks for orphaned children in Mongolia."

"No. Although he may have contributed to the creation of a few orphans."

"Do you know this as a fact?"

Sirius looked down. "No. I don't. How would you feel about him being a creator of orphans?"

"Not very good. How would you feel about being the creator of Death Eaters?" Harry growled.

Sirius leaned his head back against the door and closed his eyes. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "We all make our own decisions in life."

"Meaning that it's purely because of how evil he was that Severus took the Dark Mark?"

Sirius remained silent.

"You've had your memory wiped," Harry told him. "But I haven't. And I remember sitting in a room with an Invisibility Cloak on – this one, in fact – watching Lucius Malfoy invite Severus over to Malfoy Manor for the duration of his suspension… remember how he was sent home after you sent him to the Shrieking Shack? No? A poor memory makes for a restful night's sleep, I've heard… Well, he never made it home. Malfoy took him to meet Voldemort, who, no doubt, told him how valuable he'd be in making the sort of world order where people like you weren't allowed to kill people like him. Kind of ironic, knowing Voldemort as I do, but then Severus didn't know anything about Voldemort except that people like Dumbledore – who'd just effectively sent him off with the impression that it was okay to kill people if they weren't Gryffindors – people like Dumbledore said that Voldemort was bad. Voldemort's many things, but he's not completely thick. He would have known exactly how to play Severus."

"For a sucker."

"Yes." Harry sighed. "And then Severus worked out that maybe things weren't quite as simple as he'd thought: Voldemort was just Sirius Black with a better sales pitch. And he made a decision."

Sirius didn't say anything to that. But he didn't leave, either. "This room smells like it's been shut up for ages. Are you going to go in, or does this doorway hold some sort of significance?"

Harry leaned his chin on his knees and scowled along the corridor. "It's none of your damn business."

"I could open the door…"

"Don't touch the wards," Harry growled.

Too late. Sirius already had his wand out and was tapping at the invisible strands of magic with a slight frown. "Feels familiar. But old… Snape set these spells. Huh. I can break these like dry twigs…" He lifted his wand.

"Damn it, Sirius, can't you leave anything alone?" Harry hissed. "Everything's a bloody joke to you. Even when someone's dead you can't leave them in peace!"

Sirius lowered his wand, frowning. "What did you two get up to in here…?" His voice was low, dangerous.

Harry gaped at him for a moment before he realised what Sirius was implying. "You… God, I can't believe the nerve you've got! We ate meals in here. Severus let me stay here when I was ill after the time travel spell. We talked about magic and… and all sorts of stuff. We slept in here and he kept me _safe_ in here from sadistic Gryffindors and psychotic Slytherins while I spun a pack of lies about how I was from another dimension… And you, you think it was about sex or something… God, Sirius, can't you get your mind out of the gutter for half a minute? Or at the very least consider the remote possibility that you didn't know anything about Snape, and that he was in fact someone interesting and loyal and brave and a good friend to someone who didn't deserve it and ended up betraying him as badly as you or my f-… my f-… or James or Dumbledore or Lucius…" Harry gulped for breath. The door at his back stood like a silent accusation of how he'd failed. He wrapped his arms around himself. He wouldn't cry in front of Sirius. He'd said too much already.

He was barely aware when an arm reached around his shoulders and Sirius pulled him close.

"I understand about betraying your friends, Harry," Sirius said hoarsely.

He held Harry for a long time, rocking him gently. Then he handed Harry a handkerchief.

"What?" he asked, when Harry managed a croaky laugh.

"Why does everyone manage to have a handkerchief except for me?"

ooOOoo

In the darkness Sirius was less afraid of being discovered. He and Harry walked the corridors of Hogwarts well into the early hours of the morning, not saying anything, just walking. It was safest not to talk. They stood for a while at one of the windows halfway up Astronomy Tower doing nothing but listen to the rain hiss outside. At last Harry was swaying on his feet with tiredness and they were dangerously close to being caught by Filch due to their own inability to spot the dangers before the dangers spotted them. He didn't resist when Sirius led him to Remus' quarters and took him inside. He tucked Harry into a bed in the spare bedroom. The bed smelled of dog. Harry blinked sleepily as he remembered to take his glasses off, and saw Padfoot turning around on the mat by the bed, just like a normal dog getting ready to lie down for sleep. Harry was still angry, he knew that at an intellectual level, but it was an anger he would deal with later. When he was feeling less tired and more inclined to rational thought.

It was all Draco's fault, Harry determined grumpily with a yawn – all his talk about forgiveness. Harry wondered if the Slytherin believed half of what he'd said.

He doubted it. It just didn't seem like Draco.

Still, Draco had surprised him on several occasions.

ooOOoo

He was having a nightmare about lying on a couch while Draco Malfoy, complete with beard, glasses and Austrian accent, asked him about his mother. One of Ron's spiders was tap-dancing out in the hall, but Doctor Malfoy dismissed it as Jungian clap-trap, and refused to see this as anywhere near as important as Harry's dreams.

Harry was just trying to convince Herr Doktor that his strange dreams about people trying to kill him were real and weren't just symbolic of his maturing sexuality and he really did like girls no matter what his godfather had been saying, when he woke up.

It didn't help that he woke up in a strange bed, and he couldn't remember why it was wrong to be glad that it was Sirius who'd woken him from the nightmare.

"What's real, Harry?" a rumpled and groggy-eyed Sirius was asking.

"Draco is turning into Freud," Harry said, and promptly fell asleep again as Sirius snorted.

ooOOoo


	41. Chapter 41

Disclaimer: What, we're at chapter 41 and I still need to tell people that these characters aren't mine, they belong to JKR and Warner? Well, okay… if it helps…

ooOOoo

Chapter 41: Recipes for Revenge

"Harry, wake up or you'll be late for breakfast."

Sirius. Harry smiled. He'd finally moved out of the Dursleys' and in with Sirius. Then he remembered the Blockade and travelling through time and Sirius being a complete prick –

And McGonagall wanting to talk to him and Draco before breakfast.

"Hell."

"You can stay and have breakfast here," Sirius said, his face neutral.

"Can't." Harry leapt up and pulled his robes over his head. As he did up the laces of his sneakers, he explained, "I've got to see McGonagall…"

"Oh, right." The muscles around Sirius' mouth relaxed a fraction.

"Bye." Harry sped out, hoping he wasn't too late.

Obviously not: Draco was sitting outside McGonagall's office, arms folded, eyes shut as if he resented every moment of being awake when it involved mornings but precluded breakfast. Harry sat down on the bench next to him.

"So… are we in trouble?"

Draco opened one eye just long enough to ascertain it was Harry. "Eh. Maybe she'll take points off Slytherin." He yawned. And smiled. "It's quite good not being tied into the points system any more."

Harry supposed it would be. "Less competition?"

A shark-like smile. "Not in the least," he drawled slowly, relishing each word and making Harry smile back. "But competition more appropriately applied than that silly House Cup nonsense."

Harry supposed this had something to do with Draco turning secretive this past week. Best not to ask – if Draco wanted to tell, he would in his own time.

ooOOoo

McGonagall wasn't foolish enough to try taking points. But she did want Harry and Draco to explain why they would have attacked the three boys in such a vicious manner. One of the boys had needed his head removed and reattached before Madam Pomfrey could get the hexes out.

Harry, noting that Draco turned sullen in McGonagall's presence and didn't seem inclined to give their side of the story, explained it. He included how the Ravenclaw and the Hufflepuff had been two of the three who'd tried to use Simon to kill Draco.

"Is this true, Mr Malfoy?"

"Well, being blind I hardly saw their faces, but I knew their voices."

"Why did you not come to a teacher about this?"

Draco's pale brows drew together. He might have merely been thinking, but Harry recognised someone battling to hide their scorn. By the slight twitch of McGonagall's nose, so did she. "Professor Snape was dead."

McGonagall stilled for a moment before saying carefully, "There are other members of staff who would have sorted out the matter."

Draco blinked slowly. "Of course. I was remiss. Perhaps if two members of staff hadn't left me in a barn overnight I might have remembered to do so."

Professor McGonagall closed her eyes for a moment, perhaps praying for strength from above.

"Please don't concern yourself, Professor," Draco said smoothly. "I'm quite capable of taking care of myself."

"Oh, aye. That's what I'm worried about," she said grimly.

Then there was a knock at the door.

"Come."

It was the three boys, closely followed by Luna, who was escorted down by Madam Pomfrey.

"Thank you, Poppy. Come in, you four. Take your seats."

Luna took a seat by Harry. He smiled at her hopefully. She smiled back, but it was her misty trademark smile, with no real meaning behind it. His own smile died on his face. He turned just in time to see Draco's pity, which quickly blanked out. Draco wasn't someone who wanted a reputation for pity. Harry scowled down at his hands. He didn't want pity anyway, and he didn't give a flying fig about Malfoy's reputation. He wanted a genuine smile from Luna.

The other three shifted uneasily in their chairs, the leather seats squeaking.

McGonagall folded her hands. "Now. Perhaps you tell me the story again. Beginning with your putting Mr Malfoy into a pen with an animal Headmaster Dumbledore had told you was potentially dangerous and should be avoided…"

ooOOoo

The meeting didn't reach a satisfactory conclusion for anyone, to Harry's mind. The Ravenclaw and his cohorts hadn't meant to harm Luna – just give her a bit of a fright. It was just a joke. They thought all this was overkill. And what was the point of making a fuss over a Muggle animal, after all? McGonagall's frozen expression should have warned the Hufflepuff against adding that last comment and the Ravenclaw's elbow came too late. It earned the three boys extra time with Hagrid cleaning up after CoMC.

Harry would have liked to have talked to Luna about it, to see if she thought justice was done, but Luna slipped out the door first, off to the Ravenclaw dormitory to get her books for her first class. Madam Pomfrey had made her eat breakfast in the Infirmary.

Harry could see what McGonagall was concerned about – that the students were reaching the stage where they would become unmanageable. He could see how worried she was about the Slytherins especially in that regard. The knowledge that the three boys would be punished above and beyond detention with Hagrid (Filch, who was bored, had some ideas he wanted to test out) for their endangering of Luna mitigated Harry's discontent only a little. It was easy to see that McGonagall was worrying about lapsing discipline, but Harry didn't see that she was doing anything to correct it. And Draco seemed to be even more firmly set on his own course, whatever that might be. He wasn't interested in bringing up any old grudges about being thrown to dangerous animals. Not before McGonagall, anyway.

It was more likely he had his own revenge planned out.

Harry asked him about it afterwards, as he and Draco went in to see what the rest of the students had left from breakfast.

"What, you think I'm planning some underground war?" Draco sneered. He'd managed to cobble together a sandwich of sorts out of toast, cold scrambled eggs and a slice of ham.

Harry was making do with the last of the strawberry jam and toast, which wasn't a third as nice when it was cold and the butter refused to melt. He cast a warming spell on the toast, but it only improved things slightly… and didn't do much good for the butter. He licked melting butter off his fingers and said, "Maybe. I know McGonagall is. As for me, I'm just trying to keep informed of things. Call me paranoid, but I like to know who's out to stick a knife in me. And if you start fights with people they might try to get back at you by hurting me. That's what happened with Luna and Simon, I think."

Draco eyed him. "Fair enough. I'm pretty sure that was why they involved Luna and my horse, too. And I hope you understand that I can't let that lie."

"Absolutely." Harry swizzled the knife around the bottom of the jar and around the sides, trying to get enough jam to make the toast palatable.

"Good. Because if people think others can get to me by damaging something I own or someone who's been helping me, then I lose credibility. Going to go back to your dorm to get your stuff?" he said before Harry could ask what he meant by credibility. Or what he had planned for the three who'd hurt Luna.

"Not like I have a choice." Harry sat back, giving up on the jam and losing his appetite at the thought of his housemates. "I can't believe they were so mean to Luna. I mean, what's she ever done to them?"

Draco gave Harry a cold, reptilian look. "Apart from being a bunch of stuck-up gits, you're forgetting a basic tenet of human nature."

"Which is?"

"Scapegoats. When something goes wrong – crops failing, wars, a two-headed calf, a siege running on so long that, for example, the inhabitants of a certain castle are running out of food and worrying about their families – people need something to blame. Someone to blame is even better."

"So because they feel crappy they take it out on Luna?" Harry could feel his face heating. He'd do more than explode Dean's chess set…

"Pretty much. Luna's an easy target."

"Like hell she is," Harry growled.

Draco nodded. "But this is what they think. It's not pretty, but it's perfectly human. Look at the Death Eaters – they think the world isn't quite like it should be, so maybe things would be better if they took it out on Muggles and Muggle-born wizards. It's human nature to make yourself feel bigger by stomping on someone else and making them smaller."

"In that case human nature stinks."

"Doesn't it, though. Which reminds me – can I borrow your horse muttering book again? But the thing about human nature is that you can use it once you know where all the levers and buttons are. The Dark Lord does it brilliantly. Oh, don't get huffy… you know he does. Otherwise he wouldn't be out there and we wouldn't be stuck in here."

"But… Lavender and Parvati aren't Death Eaters…"

"So? 'Death Eater' is just a label. They're acting stupidly and they're frightened. People hurt other people for lots of reasons, not just because they want to take out their frustrations on someone who can also feel pain. Sometimes they're genuinely malicious. Sometimes they don't understand what they do. Sometimes… I don't know all the sometimeses…":

"Sometimes someone just exists," Harry said hollowly, remembering a memory in a pensieve. "And that's enough reason to torment them."

"I guess," said Draco guardedly.

Harry realised Draco thought Harry was talking about him. This was suddenly getting far too deep – what the hell had Draco seen in the darkness of his blindness? "Look, if you've got anything planned to get back at them for what they did to Luna, I think you should check it with Luna first. Especially to see what she thinks is justice for them involving Simon. And then I'd appreciate it if I was involved." He told Draco about how the Ravenclaw had warned him not to say anything when they dumped Draco in the pen with Simon.

"Hm," was Draco's response. He grinned. "Burns, doesn't it?"

Harry shook his head. "Yeah. It did. Does. I don't like people telling me to do something I know is wrong."

Draco shrugged. "Welcome to adult life. Just the same as childhood, but you're expected to swallow your bitter medicine without complaining."

Harry coughed on a crumb. When he had his breath back, he asked, "So, the revenge thing is still on?"

"It was never off." Draco's brow furrowed. "Um, have you any idea what a Klingon is?"

"Nope. Why?"

"Well, Professor Snape mentioned them once. I think they're a group of people. Maybe from South East Asia. He said that there's an ancient Klingon saying: 'Revenge is a dish best served cold'."

Harry didn't have any idea what Klingons were. "Mongolian, perhaps? Genghis Klingon?"

"Dunno. What's a Genghis?"

"I'll ask Hermione."

ooOOoo

He asked Hermione. She laughed. And laughed harder when he said it was Snape who'd told Draco about the Klingons.

"Honestly, Harry, haven't you ever read _Star Trek: a History_?"

And she kept laughing and wouldn't tell Harry why.

ooOOoo

He told Ron about it. Ron twirled a finger next to his head. "Girls. They're all crazy. And our Hermione's top of the list."

"Huh. Tell me about it."

"What's up with Luna?"

"Well, you know the whole fiasco in the common room yesterday…"

ooOOoo

Luna found him that evening after dinner. He was up with Simon, who was sulking in his shelter because the rain hadn't let up. By the stringiness of his mane and the damp curls of the hair at the back of his ankles (feathers and fetlocks, Harry reminded himself) Simon hadn't been inside too long. Hunger was a big drive in a horse, and Harry had read somewhere that horses needed exercise to help stop them getting bored and keep their guts in good order. Why exercise should help digestion was a mystery, but horses had very finicky digestive tracts.

As _Potter's Horse Dictionary_ had shown in lurid and occasionally pulsing detail.

Simon was a lot prettier from the outside. And better company than most of Hogwarts, even when he was sulking. Harry patted Simon's shoulder, pleased that the rain hadn't soaked through the blanket. Someone – probably Hooch or Dumbledore – must have waterproofed it. They'd done a good job. Simon gave up scowling at the drizzle and turned to whuffle at Harry's hand.

"No peppermints, sorry.

Simon sighed as if he'd just heard Christmas had been cancelled, and turned back to stare gloomily at the rain.

Harry slung his arm over the horse's back and looked out at it too. He didn't like a day without sunshine, but at least inside Hogwarts he could distract himself with Hermione and Ron, but today Ron had gone off on some errand of his own rather than go to the library with Harry, and Hermione had organised a meeting with some of the younger Gryffindor students who had suddenly become very homesick indeed. Harry had told Draco about it, who had asked Harry an odd question: did Harry ever want to contact his godfather? Harry had shrugged, then Draco had waved a hand and said that it was a daft question, trying to contact a criminal on the run… and stalked off to sort out a dispute between two third-year Slytherins and a Hufflepuff.

Harry stroked Simon's neck. He should put the rug back on. But the horse was nice and warm and solid to lean up against and smelt of health and honesty and a living being that was utterly divorced from the pettiness inside the castle; just having another living creature allow him to share in its space and warmth was better than any mood-enhancing potion Harry could name. The horse lowered its head a little and the eyelashes of the eye Harry could see drooped. As did the lower lip. Simon was falling asleep standing up. Harry always found that impressive. If only he could do that sitting – in History, for example…

He rested his head against the withers and tangled his fingers in a strand of mane, drinking in the twined smells of rain and horse and fresh hay. "I guess the rain isn't so bad when you've got a friend with you. Do you ever get lonely up here on your own? Horses are meant to live with other horses. That's what all the books say. Maybe we should get you a pet." Harry smiled. "Maybe I should get a sleeping bag and come up here… might be the best option if my so-called Housemates don't pull their heads out of their backsides and stop acting like bargain-basement Death Eaters. It wouldn't be so bad having me around, would it? I knew someone else who wasn't comfortable sleeping where there were other people. He let me stay with him. It could be like that – I could ask the house elves to give me some cake and apples and I could peel apples for you and we could… well, obviously you don't _read,_ but you're good company. And you even seem to be house-trained…"

This was true, Harry realised. But then Robert Python said that some stallions were picky about where they went to the toilet – part of marking out a territory or something – and so maybe Simon not wanting to poo where he slept wasn't unusual.

"I'm house-trained, too. Just like you and my godfather." Harry shook his head. He'd had some surreal conversations before, but this one had to be in the top ten.

"Glad to hear it."

The voice made him jump. It made Simon, who'd been dozing, jump, too. Harry moved quickly before the surprised Simon's hoof came down where his foot had been.

"Luna?"

"I thought I had the monopoly on odd conversations with yourself," she said as she manifested out of the darkness. Harry had never thought about her name in that context before, but it was like seeing the moon emerge from behind clouds.

"Um."

Luna tilted her head and peered at him. The wide eyes reminded him obliquely of Simon being presented with something new. "Um," she said, but it didn't seem like Luna to mock anyone, so Harry guessed he was being teased.

Harry raked his fingers through his hair. "Um… why don't you come in? You must be getting wet out there." And could have kicked himself. _Duh. Me say obvious thing._

Luna nodded. "That's true." She stepped under the roof, ducking her head and wincing as drips ran off the eaves and down the back of her neck. A flick of her wand and her hair frizzed out like Hermione's before settling into its normal smooth lines, although now it looked slightly less lank than usual. "Hello, Simon. I'm sorry – I didn't mean to startle you." She gazed at Harry as she stroked Simon's nose. "I always expect him to know where I am."

"You took a chance yesterday going to sleep on him," Harry said, and wished he'd kept his mouth shut. Accusing Luna of stupidity wasn't going to help matters.

But she surprised him by nodding. "Yes. I trust Simon… but I shouldn't have forgotten that we're on Hogwarts grounds and there's always some prat…"

"They weren't after you, exactly, if that's any comfort," Harry said.

"No, but they involved me. And they could have injured Simon." She leaned her forehead against the horse's and shut her eyes. Simon accepted the contact as he did everything with Luna – calmly.

"Mm. Has Draco talked to you?"

"About what?"

"Suitable punishment."

Luna opened her pale eyes and rolled her head sideways, still leaning against Simon. So much for learning not to trust blindly in a horse. "What about their detentions?"

"Draco said that the real target was himself. Because you're a friend of his…"

"I am?"

"I think his definition of 'friend' is more like mine of 'ally', but yes."

Luna smiled. "That's still nice. I've never had a friend before."

Harry felt something clench in his chest. The edges of his vision shimmered. "Yes, you have," he said huskily.

Luna's gaze was focussed somewhere out in the darkness. "Monologues with horses don't count. Even house-trained horses." She tilted her head and combed Simon's forelock straight with her fingers. "I came up because Ron said you were upset. You don't need to be."

"I do, actually."

Luna gave him an owlish look. "No, you don't. Thank you for getting angry with the Gryffindors, but I wish you hadn't. Now you've got to make up with them. Besides, it worked out for the best for me."

"They're a pack of… I wish I could remember that word Severus used… I don't want to make up with them. They can make up with me, if they like, but only after they've apologised to you for treating you so horribly. You deserve to be treated like a…" Harry paused and itched at his scar. How should Luna be treated? With gentleness and respect for her bravery and loyalty to people she thought didn't really care about her… and Harry didn't want to lose another friend through misunderstanding. "You wanted to talk to me…"

"…About things that don't concern you. Maybe the Mobian Fury isn't a legend after all."

"What do you meant, don't concern m- Hang on, what Mobian Fury?"

"The Mobian Fury is an incorporeal being related to Dementors. It stops you from talking about things you shouldn't, but is attracted to Dark Magic so isn't seen very often."

"Huh. I should have seen hundreds, then. And been utterly cured of this foot-in-mouth disease I've been suffering from."

Luna gave him a sympathetic look which irritated Harry – mostly because he knew he didn't deserve it.

Harry sighed. He didn't want to talk about Mobian Furies. They probably didn't exist outside the_ Quibbler…_ and saying that wouldn't help his cause in the slightest. "It's not just me not listening to you," he said. "I should have defended you against those idiots."

"Why?"

Harry screwed up his face in utter puzzlement. "What do you mean, 'why'?"

Luna shrugged. "They're your friends, Harry. You don't need to defend me to them."

"Oh, for… Luna, _you're_ my friend. Or I wish you were. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to be friends with a complete flobberworm-brain like me. They… they're just people who want me to act like I'm… I don't know…"

"Some sort of model of wizardry devoid of any personal characteristics that don't fall within their rigid social paradigm?"

"Er… yes? And… and they can take their rules of whatever and go to Hell."

"Oh. Oh, Harry… That's so sad."

"What? Why?"

"Because then you'll be like me and have no friends."

Harry wanted to shake her. But Simon wasn't so sleepy as to let him get away with that, not by a long shot. Simon would have to be _unconscious_ before he'd let Harry shake Luna… "Luna, haven't you heard anything I've said?"

"I'm Draco's friend. But he's going to get heavily involved in politics and won't want to be associated with someone like me – I'm too eccentric."

"His loss, then."

Luna stroked Simon's cheek. "Maybe."

She really thought so little of herself… or did she think so little of other people? There was that familiar tightness in her upper lip again, mocking him with its unidentifiable familiarity, and it left the lower one almost pouting.

"Um, Luna?"

"Yes?" She didn't look up.

"Um… there's something I'd really like to do."

"What is it? Another pair of Mendeleev gloves? I suppose I can find my notes, and w-"

Harry cupped her face between his hands and leaned down until his lips touched hers.

Luna didn't pull back.

Harry felt the world both sharpen and fade away around him as Luna's lips first froze in surprise then moved, soft, initially hesitant, beneath his. She smelt of the wood polish they used in the castle, and horse from where his hands touched her, and of soap and flowers, and she smelt like Luna, soft and strong and constant like the moon that everyone else thought was mutable but Harry knew was always there, always shining, always bright, you simply needed to know what angle to look at it from, and sometimes you had to drastically change where you stood to see how beautiful it was, and Luna was kissing him back, and –

– and there was a savage pain in his shoulder –

"OW!" said Harry, and –

"Ouch!" yelped Luna.

Simon was an equal-opportunities biter.

Harry and Luna separated, each rubbing where Simon had nipped them – Harry's shoulder, Luna's upper arm.

Simon glared at them.

"I didn't realise horses were chaperones," Harry grumbled.

"Did you mean that?"

"What? What did I say?" asked Harry, who had lost track of things.

"Nothing. You kissed me."

"Oh." Harry felt like he wasn't just swimming in unfamiliar waters, he was trying to keep his head above the waves over the Marianas trench, with the possibility of kraken swimming below. He reminded himself Gryffindors were meant to be brave – and surely this was the bravest thing he'd ever done? "Yes. I meant it. More than anything, Luna, I meant it. I know I haven't done anything to deserve you, but…"

He was cut off as Luna stepped forward and brushed her lips over his. Simon shifted menacingly to Harry's right, but Luna pulled back before the horse could take action. "Can I borrow your scarf?"

Nonplussed, Harry gaped at her. "My…? Sure. Of course. Here." He unwrapped it and gave it to her. "It's not the sun, the moon and the stars, but –"

Luna smiled. "A scarf is all I want right now."

She quickly used it to blindfold Simon, knotting it tightly in the curve between the horse's jaw and his throat, anchoring it in the cheekstraps of the headcollar.

Simon bobbed his head up and down uncertainly before he stilled, ears flickering.

"There," Luna said with satisfaction. "Now, where were we?"

Harry held out his hands like he was inviting Luna to dance. "Here, I believe."

Luna stepped forward, a little shyly, but Harry recognised her bravery. So he wasn't alone in feeling his way through this, then. As he wrapped one arm around her waist and curved the other behind her shoulders so that one hand cupped the back of her head, it comforted him for some reason, that she should be as uncertain as him.

"Oh yes," she said, lightly putting her hands on his shoulders. "I remember now. And weren't you kissing me?"

"I think you're right. Like this?"

"Mm."

Simon moved his ears at their voices and bobbed his head again, but when they stopped speaking the horse stilled. Perhaps he went back to sleep. If so, it went without being noticed by Harry and Luna.

ooOOoo


	42. Chapter 42

Disclaimer: What, we're at chapter 42 and I still need to tell people that these characters aren't mine, they belong to JKR and Warner? Well, okay… if it helps…

ooOOoo

Chapter 42: The Best a Man Can Be

Luna had to go to meet Ginny to do some work on a joint project for Arithmancy. Harry had to go and bust down the barrier and run Voldemort's Blockade to get to Honeydukes and buy Luna chocolates. And chocolates for Ron for telling Luna where to find him. And chocolates for Hermione so she didn't feel left out. And chocolates for Draco so he didn't feel left out either. Hell, Harry would spend every Galleon in the vault on chocolates for the entirety of Hogwarts – red and white roses, too (blue ones if Luna wanted them in Ravenclaw colours and if there were no such things as blue roses Harry would invent them on the spot), and a full-size statue of Simon modelled out of dark chocolate with matching silver shoes – if it would make Luna kiss him again. But breaking the barrier and emptying Honeydukes would have to wait: Luna was worried about Simon's blanket chafing at his chest.

Harry might have asked Luna to wait while he checked Simon and walked back with her, but she was already late and, frankly, Harry didn't want to go back to the castle yet, not when Luna was going to be busy with someone who wasn't him. So he untied his scarf from around Simon's head, waking the horse who didn't seem upset over being blindfolded, and walked out with Luna into the rain, leaving the horse in the shelter so that Simon didn't take offence at any public display of affection she might care to share with him. That was a fortunate decision, because she said, "You're getting wet," and kissed him quickly before turning and slipping away back into the darkness, leaving Harry alone in the rain with his scarf hanging from one hand, dangling unnoticed in the mud. He didn't mind about the rain so much – all of a sudden, Harry loved the rain. Rain was the most beautiful thing in the world. Luna had kissed him in the rain and rain was perfect.

"The only one who wants to kiss me these days is a Dementor."

Harry jumped at the hoarse voice, but, turning, saw it was Sirius. "You're going to catch your death out here." The Animagus jerked his head towards Simon's shelter. "Luna's not here now. Will that crazed beast of yours attack me if we go in there?"

Harry shrugged. "Possibly not."

Sirius peered into the darkness doubtfully. There was a low, rolling snort as something within peered back at him with equal dubiousness. Simon wasn't quite threatened enough to come out into the rain, however. "I've met him in canine form. He tolerated me… only as long as Luna told him to behave, though. And he went for Remus."

"That was when he was a werewolf."

"No, he was human then."

"Oh. Right." Harry had forgotten. Things before Luna's kiss were a little hazy. He cudgelled his drifting mind back into working order. "He… drew his wand. Simon thought he was attacking me."

"He didn't just think he was attacking him? It? And since when does a horse know that a wand is dangerous?"

"Simon tried to push me away from Lupin, _and_ put himself between us. And he had a lot of old curse-fragments lodged in him from the battle. Lupin tried to touch one of them, even when I told him not to, and Simon… reacted."

"Don't pull out a wand. Check. Well, no wand on me at the moment anyway… Don't prod old scars. Check. Rain turning to sleet. Check. Come on – I'm getting soaked. Wet kisses might be the best for you and that Lovegood girl, but it's bloody freezing out here."

Blushing, Harry led him into the ersatz stable.

Simon's eyes gleamed in the darkness. Other than that, the only way to make out his form was by the paler blanket covering him, which Harry needed to check.

There was another low, rolling snort as he examined Sirius. By the noticeable lack of screaming and trampling by an enraged stallion, Sirius must have passed inspection. Harry caught the headcollar and took out his wand. _"Lumos."_

The blue caught in highlights on the black hide and in Sirius' wet hair as horse and Animagus eyed each other. A flick of Harry's wand sent a blob of light slowly rising to the roof, where it hung, some five feet above Harry's head. "Doesn't seem too upset over magic."

"He knows me. But at first I wouldn't have dared come this close to him with a wand out."

Sirius frowned in the thin light.

"Don't stare at him," Harry advised. "He doesn't like that. Oh, and don't stand square on to him like that. It makes you look like you're trying to boss him around."

Sirius dropped his gaze and turned to Harry, a small smile flickering at the corners of his mouth. "Far be it for me to boss a farm animal around."

Harry snorted and let go of the headcollar to slap Simon on the neck affectionately, then unbuckled the chest strap. He relit his wand to examine the hide carefully. There was a patch of hair on the point of the shoulder that was wearing thin. Harry spelled the lining of the cover thicker and softer. That should do it, he thought as he redid the strap, but resolved to check it again tomorrow morning. No – better yet, he'd have Luna come up with him and check it. And then they could blindfold Simon again… Harry realised his attention was wandering badly and he hadn't answered Sirius. "Some farm animal. I went for a gallop the other evening – it was like riding the Firebolt for the first time!"

"Shame you're not allowed to ride your broom," Sirius said sourly. Harry could guess why he was irked – Sirius was the one who'd given it to Harry, and he'd drawn some unwelcome attention to himself when he'd made the Gringotts withdrawal.

"When all of this is over, it'll be back to Quidditch. Same old, same old…" Harry ruffled Simon's mane. The horse snuffled at Harry's pockets, ever hopeful that peppermints might magically come into being. "Sorry, old boy; no peppermints today," Harry told him. "I think we've run out. I'll see if I can find you some carrots or something next time I'm by the kitchens."

"Doesn't seem too wild," Sirius said.

"He's not. Just easily put on the defensive," Harry said, feeling a little on the defensive himself. Simon must have picked up on that, because he lifted his head and gave Sirius a harder look.

"Hmm. Do you think he'd let me pat him?"

"Can't hurt to try…" Harry quickly rethought what he'd just said. "Can't hurt if you're ready to move really fast. The only strangers he's instantly liked so far have been Luna, Dumbledore and Flitwick. He was edgy around me and Draco until he got used to us."

"Ah. A discerning breed of horse." Sirius held out his hand, palm down. "This works for me when I'm Padfoot," he told Harry with a sly grin. "For some reason if you hold your hand up it makes Paddy – me – suspicious."

Robert Python had written something similar about horses. Harry was curious to find something crossing over to dogs – even if it wasn't a real dog. He took hold of the headcollar again as Simon lowered his head just enough to touch his nose to Sirius' hand.

Sirius _humph_'d with satisfaction and rubbed his hand up and down the length of the horse's nose, scratching the broad space between the eyes and then around Simon's ears when Simon lowered his head. "Seems friendly enough."

"He's not unhappy about attention… he's just got a few issues with trust."

"Don't we all," Sirius muttered, pulling at Simon's ears. Harry frowned, wondering if Simon was going to object – or, more correctly, with what degree of violence Simon was going to object. But to his surprise Simon seemed to enjoy it. "There… I love that when I'm a dog. Might be nice as a human, but people seem less inclined to pat me when I look like this, let alone pull my ears. Although old McGonagall might be tempted to _box_ them on occasion." He flashed a grin at Harry. "Don't know why – I've a wonderful personality and it's not like I'm not housebroken."

Harry couldn't help smiling, although he wondered how much of the conversation Sirius had overheard between him and Luna, not to mention the monologue to Simon. He didn't want to relax with Sirius – there was still too much they hadn't dealt with. But it was hard to resist. Although maybe he should, given that Sirius didn't seem to know the signs of Simon about to go ballistic…

"Um. I don't know if you should do that."

Sirius was flicking at Simon's lower lip. "What?" said Sirius, tickling the lip until Simon twitched it. "Look… I could be a ventriloquist… _What is your name? My name is Mister Horse…_"

Sirius was just trying to amuse Harry, but Harry could see that Simon wasn't interested in being part of this show. He couldn't tell how he knew – there was something about the ears and a slow arching tension along the crest of the neck. There was the silken hiss of a tail being swished. "You're annoying him."

"No, I'm not. He loves it. Don't you? _Yes, I do, Sirius… I – Argh!"_

Simon bit Sirius.

Sirius drew back his fist.

With a blast of red light, Harry threw Sirius into the wall.

Simon moved in for the kill. Harry grabbed the headcollar just in time.

Almost.

Sirius moved like lightning, drawing up his knees to his chest: one front hoof struck out and thudded into the straw where Sirius' shin had been. Sirius gasped. "Merlin, Harry… that thing's a murderer!"

"Simon! Bad horse," Harry scolded. "Settle down."

Simon grudgingly stepped back as Harry tugged on the headcollar.

"Simon. No! You heard me… Behave yourself. You all right, Sirius?"

Sirius nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on the horse. "Harry, Remus was right. That beast is too dangerous for –"

"Oh, don't you start. I told you you were annoying him. But did you listen? Not a bloody hope. And now I've got to tell him off for attacking you…"

"What, like you should _praise_ him for attacking me?" Sirius' expression warred between disgust and hurt.

"He's not allowed to attack people, no. I've got to make sure he knows that. But not by beating him." Harry shuddered at the thought – even if Simon didn't react violently in return, Harry would have lost him. He turned and gave Simon a stern look. "Back off, Simon. Let me handle this." He released the headcollar, firmly but not angrily pushing the horse's head aside.

Disgusted, Simon turned so that his backside was facing Harry.

"He's going to kick you!"

Harry was getting a headache. "No. He's just sulking. He does that."

"Oh. Does he usually sulk after being deprived of his rightful prey?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at Sirius' tone. "He knows I should have looked after him better. I should have stopped you when I knew you were annoying him… luckily I stopped you before you hit him –" Sirius looked down at that "– or he would have gone ballistic. That was really dumb, Sirius. Really, _really_ dumb."

"Yeah."

"Y- What?"

Sirius stood. He was rubbing his arm where Simon had bitten it. "You told me. I didn't listen."

Harry waited for Sirius to say _But…_

Sirius didn't. He merely watched Harry to see what move Harry would make next.

"So… are you going to listen if I tell you that Simon isn't allowed to defend himself, so it's up to me to defend him, and if you piss him off again or raise a hand against him I'll make sure you're gone in the next second, no matter what happens to you? Because… because he's got to live in a human world where he's not allowed to behave naturally, and I won't train him to be weak and then leave him to be… to be hur… to be wrecked by other people just because they can…" Harry swallowed.

Sirius reached out a tentative hand and rested it on Harry's shoulder. "I understand."

"No, you don't."

"Maybe… not completely. But I hear you. And I'm trying to do my best. And don't you say my best isn't good enough, because it's all I've bloody well got," said Sirius in a voice that sounded too calm to carry such words.

Harry stared down at the floor.

Sirius sighed. "Right. Let's give it another try with this horse of yours."

"I'm not sure if that's a good idea…"

Sirius stopped. "Is it worth a try?"

Harry considered this for a moment. "Maybe. But if I say 'stop', then back off immediately. I won't let you treat Simon like he's a… I won't let you treat Simon like he's Severus."

Sirius stilled. Only his eyes moved, the tiniest flickering. Harry could see him trying out different words in his head, then discarding them in favour of silence.

Harry turned to Simon, hoping for something easier to understand.

Simon's expression was unreadable, and not just because the light hovering overhead was faint; Simon had his head in the corner and was pretending Harry didn't exist.

"Now look what you've done," Harry muttered.

Sirius lifted an eyebrow and stepped up to Simon's shoulder. He rested a hand there, and if he was unsure of himself or his welcome, he didn't show it. "Hello there, horse," he said. "Well, we got off on the wrong foot there, didn't we? Hoof, rather. Or paw. Let's try that one again…" He rubbed along the horse's neck, digging in with his fingertips a little, but not rubbing up against the grain of the hide. Harry guessed that was something you learned from being a dog Animagus, how irksome it was when someone tried out the phrase 'rubbed up the wrong way' literally. Simon hadn't bitten Sirius yet – that was a good sign.

Sirius stepped closer. If he didn't feel confident around horses, he was feigning relaxed assurance well enough to conceal this.

Simon twitched an ear to show he was aware of Sirius' presence. He was still sulking, but at least he wasn't completely shutting out the rest of the world.

Sirius began to scratch around the mane behind Simon's ears and, after a few moment's hesitation, those ears drooped a little.

"He likes that," Harry said.

"Mm. I can see." Sirius was scratching around the base of the ears now, following the earlier path which had worked quite well. Simon swung his head a little to get Sirius' fingers in just the right spot.

Sirius smiled. "There, now. We can be friends."

He slung an arm over the horse's neck to use both hands to rub Simon's head. Harry moved around to get a better look, just in case Simon was about to take offence. "There are advantages to being in dog form half the time," Sirius mused. "It gives you an insight into other mammals… Crookshanks took some wooing over, too. Huh. At my farce of a trial – not like I even got a trial, to be honest, more: 'That's Sirius Black. Quick, toss him in Azkaban' – they said I was clinically lacking in empathy…"

"Hmm." This wasn't the time for Harry to say that he agreed with that assessment. He hadn't even thought about it in those terms before. But was it completely true? He'd seen that Sirius could be immune to the suffering of others, could even take pleasure out of it, but right now he was smiling, seemingly genuinely satisfied that the horse was relaxing.

Simon's eyes were half-closed. His upper lip twitched as it did sometimes when someone was brushing a particularly itchy spot, and Harry said, "Uh, I think he's about to _not_ bite you…"

"Sorry?"

Simon turned his head and bared his teeth.

"He's being friendly," Harry said quickly. "You're wearing thick robes, right?"

"Winter weight." Sirius shot Harry a helpless look over his shoulder as the horse began to nip at his hip. He turned side-on quickly, just in case. "Ouch. Why is he doing that?"

Harry was smiling, although a little jealous. Simon had tried that once with him – Harry had thought he was being bitten and pushed him away, affronted. The horse hadn't tried again. Simon had had the same reaction from Draco. Luna, on the other hand, by now had had the shoulders of two perfectly good robes chewed out. He'd seen it happen: Luna would scrub away at Simon's neck with her fingernails and the horse, complete with blissful expression, would nibble at her shoulders. It wasn't violent. It couldn't be comfortable for a human, but for some reason Luna encouraged it. Sirius was looking askance at Harry, who decided to elaborate before Sirius could get upset: "The book calls it 'mutual grooming'. It's something horses do to each other when they're shedding. One horse scratches the other horse with its teeth to get the old hair out, and the other horse does the same. Luna says it's good for Simon to do this, because it makes him feel like he's got friends." He remembered that, now… and part of him writhed for not picking up on Luna's loneliness.

Was that why she was obsessed with Simon? It was obvious how fond of her the horse was. Luna – lovely, kind, unexpectedly wise through bizarre clouds of pink fantasy Luna – needed someone to recognise her and reflect the affection in her abundant heart…

"Well, if he can wait until I'm back in dog form I can see that there could be some advantages to this, but until then: ouch. … Harry?"

Sirius was talking to him.

"What?"

"Something bothering you?"

"Uh, no?" Oh yes – he'd been thinking of Luna. And he blushed – 'affection in her abundant heart'? Merlin on a broom, he'd be needing a better psychiatrist than Doctor Draco.

Sirius winced and pushed Simon's head away, but gently. Simon shook himself all over like a dog, rattling the blanket so that the centre line was over to the left of the spine, and making Sirius grin. The Animagus might have been making his own canine comparisons. "Good. I think your horse needs other horses – or company that's a little more robust than a simple, thin-skinned wizard."

"Hogwarts is a bit short on other horses at the moment. And since when were you thin-skinned?"

Sirius' grin grew. He gave Simon a final pat on the neck to show there were no hard feelings. "True. On both accounts. Speaking of skin, he's a bit oily on it." He rubbed the tips of his fingers together.

"Luna says it helps insulate him against the weather and keeps his coat in good condition. Don't you get oily hair when you're a dog?"

"A bit. Plus there's the drawback of always smelling of dog."

"Horses don't smell too bad."

"Grass eaters. Deer smell fine, too." His face clouded over for a second, then lightened again. "Ha. I must be the only dog that leaps with joy into a bubble bath. Dead give-away as an Animagus, unfortunately." He looked around and up at the ceiling, the hovering light softening the tired lines around his eyes. "It's cosy up here. If your mate here wasn't so anti canines, I might spend more time up here myself."

Harry scuffed at the straw with the toe of his sneaker. "I'm thinking of bringing a sleeping bag up."

Sirius gave him a sympathetic look. "Things still rough?"

"Yeah. Don't worry, it's not new – you should have been here for second and fourth years if you wanted to see the highlights of Harry Potter, social pariah."

Sirius put his hand on Harry's shoulder again. It felt good – someone who cared if Harry lived or died (with emphasis on the 'lived' part). "I wish I'd been here, too."

"Thanks. But there wasn't much you could have done."

"I could have bitten someone."

Harry laughed. "'Bad Snuffles! Back off there, Snuffles!'"

"Hey, I wouldn't go off and sulk like some four-footed persons I could mention… Speaking of which… Excuse me, but did anyone invite you to put your big nose there?"

Simon had definitely given up his sulk and was now checking Sirius' pockets for peppermints. Sirius ruffled the forelock. "You know my problem?" he said.

"What?"

"I forget that animals aren't people."

"And that people aren't animals," Harry said carefully, testing the waters a little.

"Perhaps. Or maybe it's more a case of forgetting whether I'm a person or an animal."

Harry frowned. He hadn't considered that. But it made sense. A lot of sense. Sirius could be impulsive and then thoughtful. He might throw a sulk worse than anything of Simon's because Remus went to supervise detention rather than sneak him down to the kitchens, and then beat Ron at chess. "Is it because you spend so much time as Snuffles?"

"No." Sirius fluffed up then neatened the silky forelock, his face shadowed under his own shaggy hair. "It's because I grew up as a Black."

ooOOoo


	43. Chapter 43

Disclaimer: What, we're at chapter 43 and I still need to tell people that these characters aren't mine, they belong to JKR and Warner? Well, okay… if it helps…

ooOOoo

Chapter 43: Rain  
  
The rain continued for a several more days. Harry gave up on getting anything approaching a friendly conversation from Draco, who seemed to be taking the rain personally and had become as moody as Simon, who was even more snappish these days. But at least Draco didn't bite and didn't object to the near-constant presence of a large black dog when he and Harry went up to the paddock to check on Simon. Simon himself seemed to be becoming more accepting of the dog, although Harry noticed Snuffles didn't hang around when he or Draco weren't there.

Things hadn't improved in the Gryffindor common room, thanks in part to a new Hogwarts hobby of writing letters – whatever source or reason lay behind it escaped Harry, although he vaguely recalled Hermione commenting on proactive therapy and writing being very beneficial, but Harry was too busy floating in his own personal private invisible pink cloud to care. And whenever the Happycloud threatened to dissipate under grey skies and glowers from classmates irked that someone was happy under the Blockade (particularly Harry Potter, who should have done everyone a favour and bumped off You-Know-Who by now, the lazy sod), he'd have another kiss from Luna to bring it all back together, sweeter than candyfloss and far less sticky. The people who mattered were there. Ron hadn't even needed to ask Harry if things were all right – Harry walking in to the common room with a big beaming grin on his face must have been a bit of a clue. Hermione was smiling more often, too, now that Harry was happy. From somewhere in the pink Happycloud Harry dimly recognised that Neville and Ginny might be generating their own twin Happyclouds, and was pleased for them. And as for everyone else in the universe (who didn't matter), Ravenclaws like Terry Boot watched him quizzically then decided that maybe Harry wasn't so bad and certainly wasn't a threat to one of their own. Hufflepuffs shrugged and got on with things. Typically it was Gryffindors who cut him the least slack, although some of the Slytherins seemed to want to stick to the old traditions. When a third year boy made some obscene comment about stupid breeding with crazy and how they'd be neck-deep in miniature menaces now that Harry was with Luna, the castle buzzed for two days about how that little firstie Trudi whatsherface smacked him over the back of the head with her Transfiguration text and in a shrill strident voice (the likes of which had not been heard since the last Howler from Molly Weasley) told him to get a life. Amongst many other suggestions ranging from personal hygiene to hex-proof vests, the importance of investment in.

(There might have been an immediate and brutal response to the unsolicited advice of a puny first year except that a certain blond Slytherin had been attracted as per usual by the sound of shouting. The third year might have been willing to tackle someone half his size, but wasn't stupid enough to go up against someone twice as big as him, especially given the rumours of how Engel Myers' head still wasn't on quite right after his last encounter with Malfoy.)

Harry heard about it one evening after dinner when he was on his way up to the library to meet Neville and Ginny. He would get Trudi an extra big box of chocolates, he thought, then was distracted by the sight of Luna coming down an empty corridor towards him. He held out a hand and, grinning, lifted it so that she twirled into his arms, laughing. One kiss, and they parted, each on their own way. Harry hoped Luna had taken as much happiness from the wordless encounter as he had. Passing three Gryffindor seventh year girls and the Patil twins, who gave him a group Hard Stare made him laugh.

"Mental…" someone said as he rounded the corner.

If this was crazy, Harry embraced it as he wanted to embrace Luna and skipped around the corner, bumping into someone.

"Oops, sorry." Crash. Reality. Dammit.

"Harry. Going up to the library again, are we?" It was McGonagall, looking slightly less stern as she readjusted her spectacles and eyed him. "That's a lot of research you've been doing this past week or so. Not thinking of taking another little jaunt through time again, are we?"

"Not a chance," said Harry candidly. "The last one cured me of any desire to try again."

"Hmm. Just keeping yourself busy, are you?" But she looked more amused than openly suspicious. Perhaps she'd been talking to Sirius about him and he'd told her about Luna.

Harry sincerely hoped not. Having the rest of Hogwarts know about him and Luna was one thing, but McGonagall was _old._

"Yeah. Did you know that horses are edge creatures?" said Harry quickly, hoping to deflect embarrassing questions about his social life.

"No, I don't believe I know much about Muggle animals."

"Malfoy thinks they're not totally Muggle-ish."

An eyebrow raised. Harry waited for the inevitable warning about the dangers of associating with Malfoys and other undesirables.

"Young Mr Malfoy's done extremely well looking after this horse of yours, or so another mutual four-footed friend tells me."

So she had been talking to Sirius. Harry couldn't imagine Remus being up with the play on the 'Simon and Draco and Luna and Harry' situation. And Firenze hadn't been seen since the barrier went up. He'd made some form of peace with his herd, but Harry still occasionally worried about the centaur who'd been a friend to him in the past. Other than the centaur who had spoken to Draco the night they fou- the night Simon found them, Harry hadn't much idea if the centaurs were all still alive or not. Voldemort wouldn't be a friend to them, he didn't doubt. "Not my horse. Luna insists he's his own horse."

McGonagall's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Yes. Miss Lovegood. I don't know who she's done the better job of gentling – that wild animal or… Ah, Mr Malfoy."

"Sorry?"

"Not you, Potter. Hello, Malfoy, I was just asking about the horse. Is he doing all right, or do you need anything extra for him?"

Harry turned to see Draco, cupping an elbow and looking shaken at such unusual solicitude from the Gryffindor Head.

"Er… unless you can bring him some fine weather, I think he's not lacking in anything."

"Peppermints," Harry put in.

Draco snorted and rubbed his elbow. "I stand corrected. We've run out of peppermints. Which might be why he's gone from moody to sullen to downright unsociable. Which is why I'm on my way to see Madam Pomfrey."

Harry gave him a sympathetic look. "Run out of bruise salve? Me too."

McGonagall's brow creased. "Has the creature attacked you, Draco?"

Draco, now seemingly even more rattled by the solicitude, said, "No… just the occasional nip if he feels in the least bit slighted. Nothing bad, and nothing I can't handle… or let him get away with."

Shocked, Harry said, "You didn't hit him?"

Draco folded his arms and narrowed a gaze down his pointy nose at Harry. "No. I did not hit him," he said in a glacial tone. "And thanks for the vote of confidence. What, do I look suicidal? But it's not hard to let him know his behaviour is unacceptable… haven't you even _read_ that book you leant me?"

"Oh, right… I forgot I lent you the book…" That had been the day before yesterday. "Don't tell me you read all of it already?"

"What book?" asked McGonagall, before Draco could take umbrage at this slur on his reading abilities.

"Er… it's a book by an American wizard – he's a horse mutterer," Harry said, hoping she wouldn't ask him to take it back. It was badly overdue. Harry was becoming a little too possessive over it and the fact that Draco had had it for two days was irksome. Maybe another kiss from Luna would help…

"Harry? Did you miss dinner?"

"I think he's off on Planet Potter again," Draco was saying. "Population: two: himself and Luna Lovegood." He smirked at the glare he got as Harry was jerked back to reality.

"Ah. Well, I suppose it's time we had that talk, Harry…"

Harry's mortally crippling horror must have showed a little. He realised she was joking when the corner of her mouth twitched. It didn't help that Draco guffawed.

Harry flushed. "Ah… if you'll excuse me, I've got to go and help Neville and Ginny in the library."

"Why?" Draco put in. "Do they need The Talk, too? No Talking in the library, though. I know – Professor, perhaps you could give all the upper years The Talk – we could have a special class for it. And let them know it's on Potter's behalf." He smirked.

A month ago Harry would have hexed Malfoy for that, presence of a teacher or no presence of a teacher. "Get lost, Malfoy," he replied agreeably instead. "You're just jealous."

Draco gave a one-shoulder shrug and batted his eyelashes at Harry. "True. I hope Luna knows how lucky she is."

Harry pressed his hand over his eyes. "I'm not a part of this conversation."

"You could round out the talk with something about prudishness," added Draco helpfully.

"A marvellous suggestion."

McGonagall couldn't possibly be working with a Malfoy against Harry, could she?

"Sod off, Malfoy."

"See? How Freudian was that? He's in denial," Draco told the professor solemnly.

McGonagall's face was a stranger's when she was trying not to laugh. "Really, you two," she said, trying her utmost to sound stern. "That's enough. Although it makes a change from duelling in the corridors…"

"Oh, we've outgrown that," Draco told her airily. "That's so fifth-year."

"Neville and Ginny waiting… got to go. Bye." Harry marched off towards the library, bouncing off a suit of armour which rattled its sword at the impertinence.

Maybe Luna would be in the library.

From the corridor behind him he heard Malfoy say, "He's much more fun now he's got a girlfriend."

Harry's pace quickened before he could hear McGonagall's reply.

ooOOoo

The rain continued through the full moon. The staff were extra jittery, which communicated through to the older students via the prefects. The last attack by the Death Eaters had been a month ago, after all, and Hogwarts was now down by one defender – two, once it was taken into account that the first loss, Snape, had been a contributor to controlling another member of staff.

There were more study periods for all years over the days during and immediately after it: classes were being taught even though they should have been into exams by now. With no let-up in sight for Hogwarts, the staff were taking the philosophy that it was the perfect opportunity for more study. Only Hermione didn't complain. The younger students in particular were pleased to have the full moon give them some easing of their workload: Professor Lupin hadn't had any Wolfsbane potion and at his request was completely isolated from the rest of the castle for that time. Harry didn't remember him being this paranoid about it before. Was Lupin taking it as an excuse to take a break from everyone else? (Many of the students were taking gloomy pleasure, and some enterprising Ravenclaw had started a betting book on the chances of Lupin killing a Death Eater while in wolf form, eating a student, eating a professor – odds were on Trelawney, but maybe that was wishful thinking – or killing himself. There was even a category for 'he'll eat his dog and die in a fit of remorse' but not many takers on that.)

He didn't want to ask Sirius, even though he saw Snuffles every day, either trailing around the grounds checking the wards or accompanying Harry, Draco and Luna up to Squirrel Hill to let Simon know he wasn't forgotten.

For whatever good visiting the horse, prowling alone in its morning and evening shrouds of fine, misty rain, did – Simon's temper had gone from bad to worse. It wasn't until Luna finally decided to take matters in hand that the atmosphere lightened. She tacked the horse up and took him down to the meadow, slushy and slick with wet grass and wetter earth. There she sent Simon out on the end of the long rope and let him run, kicking up his heels and sending clots of mud flying as he worked off some energy. Harry, Draco and the wet black dog went with them and put up a small shield against the rain, and strengthened it after Draco was hit in the face with a clod. Draco, whose temper was occasionally as bad as Simon's, grumbled, wiped himself off as Harry struggled to keep a straight face, and asked Luna why she didn't just ride the horse instead. Luna wondered loudly why people thought _she_ was the one who needed her head read. And after the sight of Simon putting in a massive corkscrewing leap on the end of the longe-line like a marlin, nobody made that suggestion again.

But the exercise had Simon in a better mood. Luna decided to longe the horse twice a day. It was a good intention, but unfortunately she blew up glasshouse two and was given detention for a week.

Nobody else ever found out why it happened. And Luna wasn't talking. The best Harry got out of her was that she'd been curious about the effect mandrakes might have when grafted to something that sounded like 'mutter-mutter-mumble.'

Harry didn't press. Luna only got even more vague when she was being asked questions she didn't like and rushed off for uncertain reasons rather than staying and kissing Harry.

A big disincentive for asking questions, in Harry's opinion.

The surviving mandrakes were eventually found cowering in one of the dented watering cans. It was the first time in Sprout's long career as a herbologist that she'd come across mandrakes that didn't make a peep.

Harry offered to take over exercising Simon in her stead, deciding not to worry about tacking the horse up (rain did nothing good for the leather saddle and bridle), clipping the thirty-foot longe line to the ring of the headcollar under Simon's chin. In one of the books Hermione had found, longeing had been highly recommended. Robert Python (Harry suspected the man had a halo hidden under his cowboy hat) had stressed its importance without actually mentioning how it was done, which was one of the few times the book was unhelpful, although he preferred free longeing, which could only be done in a big enough enclosure – and Simon flatly refused to set hoof in the pen behind the barn where Hagrid had captured him. Luna had also used it early on when giving him and Draco their first riding lessons. In the books it showed photos of the person holding a long whip like a circus ringmaster's. Luna hadn't used one, waving Simon away in the direction she wanted him to go with the coil of the longe line and the angle of her shoulders.

A long stick would be easy enough to find at the edge of the forest, but Harry expected that if Luna hadn't used one with Simon, he'd be a fool to pick one up and wave it at a temperamental stallion whose approach to annoyances was to flatten them.

It was nice to have something almost mindlessly physical to do after classes, too. Hermione was hot on a theory she'd only mentioned in passing to Harry at breakfast one morning: she thought that the Death Eater attack last month had been to get to the third tree – the one Draco had found with the Mendeleev gloves – and thus set the previously nebulous wards into the standing barrier. She'd already suspected the barrier hadn't been complete until after the attack – owls had been able to get in and out fairly regularly compared to the past month. Everyone had thought the barrier had gone up fully-formed, but what if it hadn't? That opened up some new possibilities, like a partial dissolution if they uprooted the spell from the anchoring tree on Hogwarts grounds. And it also explained why Mad-Eye Moody and all but two of the Aurors had disappeared. When she asked, Dumbledore had reassured Hermione that Moody and the Aurors were fine – an owl had come in from Hogsmeade the morning after the battle, giving their account of the events.

The second evening of Luna's detention, Draco joined Harry and Simon, wearing Muggle-style trousers and boots and a long coat spelled so that water beaded and shivered away.

"I need to get some exercise, too," was Draco's explanation for insisting on saddling and bridling the horse and leading him down to the meadow, where he told Harry, "You can stand in the middle and make sure he doesn't run off or do anything daft if I fall off."

"Speaking of daft things, you're really going to ride him? Shouldn't we have Hooch along? Better yet, how about Pomfrey? She's good at mending broken bones."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, but we'll be fine. The ground's pretty soft and I don't think Simon would let me fall too hard. If he lets me fall at all, for that matter."

Harry exchanged a look with Snuffles. The dog shrugged. _It's his funeral,_ Harry interpreted.

"I'll let him run off some energy first, then see how we go."

"Fair enough."

Simon trotted and bucked and cantered and plunged and leaped and even managed a skidding, sliding gallop, tearing great gouges through the soft turf with his silver shoes, blowing great plumes of steam like a whale as he snorted.

Harry coaxed him to trot for a few minutes, one direction then another, until the horse turned clockwise to anticlockwise and back again on his request and walked, trotted, cantered and slowed back to a walk again. Fifteen minutes a day of regular consistent exercise and training was, Mr Python claimed, better for a horse than a whole day spent under the saddle once a week. Simon seemed to be proving this. He'd been a little leery of Harry's instructions at first, but now that Harry had proven he wasn't going to suddenly change the rules on him or do anything equally bizarre, Simon was being fairly obedient.

(Of course, Robert Python had warned, if the horse gets bored this could change in a heartbeat. Harry had to hope that two and a half days of being longed morning and night wouldn't be boring yet. And it made him wonder if Simon's increasing sullenness wasn't simply because the horse was bored out of his mind.)

With some misgivings (but reassured by the watchful presence of Snuffles), Harry brought Simon in to the middle of the circle as Draco walked over. "Are you sure about this?"

Draco blinked in a particularly obnoxious way. "I don't want to get out of practice."

Harry rolled his eyes. What could matter about Malfoy finding himself unable to ride a horse? "The world should stop spinning and tilt on its axis should you be out of practice at riding a horse."

"Save sarcasm for those who can do it with class," advised Draco. He sounded friendly enough, but that could have easily been because Simon was nearby and definitely within nipping range.

"Nice trousers, Malfoy. Shame to get them covered in mud. You saw those jumps he was doing this morning, did you?"

Draco sneered and unbuckled the reins from around the horse's neck, where they'd been looped to stop them getting trodden on. He checked the girth to make sure it was tight enough, then did the straps up a little tighter. Simon didn't like a tight girth and had a nasty trick of taking a deep breath to stop it being done up too tight. Draco eyed the marks the buckles of the girth had left behind on the girth straps of the saddle. The oldest ones were two notches higher than the holes the buckles were on currently. "I can't do it up tighter. Is he blowing out his ribs again?" He smirked, probably remembering the time Harry hadn't checked the girth properly and ended up hanging under the horse's belly. Simon's sneer had been epic and Draco had fallen off the log, howling with laughter.

Harry wouldn't get that one wrong again. Luna had taught him the trick of it.

"Hang on." Harry jabbed Simon in the ribs with his thumb knuckle, which made Simon snort and breathe out. The horse gave him an indignant look. Draco pulled on the straps and shook his head.

"Only one hole. I guess he's just getting fat."

"No he isn't," Harry said, almost as indignant as Simon after being poked in the ribs.

"Less skinny then. Face it – this is a horse who could stand to gain a little weight. And he's been standing around stuffing his face for a week. He could give Goyle a run for his money in the 'standing around stuffing one's face' stakes." With a snap Draco pulled the stirrup down and went around to the right side. There was another brisk snap and a slight rocking of the back of the saddle (_cantle_, Harry reminded himself – Luna thought it important to get names right) as the other stirrup went down. Draco ducked under Simon's neck and returned to the horse's left (_near side_), straightening his hood. Left foot in the stirrup, reins and a handful of mane in his left hand, right hand on the seat of the saddle, Draco swung himself up onto Simon's back. "There," he said with satisfaction, looking around through the drizzle, drawing himself up for some invisible audience.

Poser, thought Harry, but with private amusement. _I wonder if Draco knows about all those Muggle statesmen and soldiers and what-not who have pictures or statues done of themselves on horseback._ More seriously, he said, "Try to bounce."

Draco slanted a look of amused hauteur down his nose at Harry. _(Bloody Malfoy, _thought Harry.) "Simon's not going to hurt me."

"Not on purpose, no."

"Honestly… " Draco clicked his tongue at the horse and Simon moved forward as Harry stepped back. "Just keep the rope in hand, will you?"

"Drop the reins, then," Harry challenged. "Two people controlling him will just confuse him."

Draco looked at him, grudgingly acknowledging Harry's point. To Harry's surprise he knotted the reins and let them drop on the horse's withers. "As you say."

Simon moved out at an easy walk, muscles sliding easily under hide wetted by misty rain; oiled midnight.

And proved Draco right, to Harry's combined relief and disgust. The horse wasn't going to endanger a rider – not deliberately. Draco rode around Harry in a constant circle at walk, trot and canter, until they unclipped the longe line and Draco rode the horse in figure-eights, smirking.

"He's going to be insufferable," Harry muttered to Snuffles. The dog's pale eyes gleamed in amused agreement as the muzzle dipped.

ooOOoo

The next day a miracle happened: blue skies.

Draco, who was, as projected, insufferable after being proven right about Simon, told Harry he'd be fine exercising the horse by himself that evening. As Harry was planning on being busy researching temporal dislocation spells with Hermione (and even a day full of blue skies couldn't make up for not having the detention-serving Luna around when he went up to the paddock in the dusk), he didn't argue.

And late that evening, close to curfew and after Harry had spent most of the evening bent over books in the library with Neville, Ron and Hermione (they were getting close to the application of the mistletoe potion, he was sure), he went to get his horse mutterer book back from Malfoy. He searched the castle and the grounds as far as the paddock and found that Draco wasn't just insufferable.

Draco Malfoy was gone.

As was Simon.

ooOOoo

Fearing the worst, Harry asked Ron and Hermione to help him look. He couldn't find Sirius (presumably Sirius was already out patrolling with Lupin, who was up to a little light exercise now), so went out by himself. They took the charmed coins Hermione had made last year for the DA to notify each other about meetings. After half an hour's fruitless searching (and now past curfew and past caring about being out after hours), he found Luna and Hermione at the paddock. The moon was high above the trees now, smaller as it got higher, and Luna was distraught. Hermione had one hand on the younger student's shoulder, trying to sound comforting as she said, "He can't have run off. We'll find him…"

"No, he hasn't run off! He wouldn't. He likes it here," Luna protested, wiping her eyes. "It's that utterly bloody Malfoy. He's gone and done something stupid that'll get him killed…"

"Malfoy's got a knack for surviving," Hermione said soothingly, raising her eyebrows in relief when she saw Harry.

Luna shot a watery glare at her, her pale eyes red-rimmed. "Oh, I don't care about ferret-features! He can rot in a ditch for what he's done. Or about to do. He's going to get _Simon_ killed!"

And she sat down on the ground and burst into tears.

This was one of those moments Harry should have had a handkerchief to offer. Hermione came through, as she usually did.

"Here."

Luna took the hankie and mopped her face. She blew her nose with loud honking noises that sent a pair of blackbirds flying away from a nearby tree in search of somewhere quieter to roost for the night. "There's Professor Lupin's dog," she said, looking down the hill.

Snuffles, almost invisible in the gloom, barked up at them and turned away, looking back over his shoulder to see if they were following.

"Come on," said Harry. "Maybe he's found them."

They hurried down the hill, bracken and long grass that still clung to the rain soaking the hems of their robes and sending into their feet the chill of a winter that didn't want to let go of the land just yet, summer or no summer.

The dog loped around the castle and down the road towards the front gates which shimmered slightly in the moonlight. It wasn't until the students got closer that Harry realised why they didn't look right: the gates were open.

Beyond them was the barrier, milky and uncomfortable to the eye. Leading up to them on the wet ground was a line of hoofprints, spaced at the walk. Harry hadn't brought Simon out this way this morning. On the road was Snuffles, casting about to find the scent. He followed a trail invisible to anyone with limited sense of smell up to the gates, where he stopped. He looked back at Harry, whining a little.

"Oh shit."

Snuffles growled softly.

"Sorry," Harry said absently, running his fingers through his hair. "That complete pillock Malfoy… what's he done this time?"

"Did you tell him my theory on the incomplete barrier?" asked Hermione. "Simon could have walked through the gap, then it would have closed behind him when the third anchoring spell was activated…"

Harry shook his head mutely.

"So Malfoy doesn't know Simon must have come through a gap before the barrier was fully formed… and so now he's tried riding him through the _actual barrier itself_… but he'll nev-" but Hermione closed her mouth with a snap, seeing Luna tearing up again.

They stared at the filtered world through the barrier. The ghost of the road they could see was empty. Ignoring Snuffles' growl, Harry stepped up and gingerly touched the barrier, the first time he'd dared come this close.

He gasped in shock as it screamed through his fingers.

He jerked his hand back. It was almost as bad as the time he'd accidentally touched a live wire from a kettle.

"He can't have gone through that," said Harry adamantly as he shook the pain out of his hand.

"But he has," said Luna in a hollow voice.

"What do we do now?" Hermione asked.

Harry bowed his head in thought, glaring at his greying sneakers. "I'd like to talk to Hagrid for starters." He looked up and into the mist that distorted the road into something else – something that wasn't meant to be walked on.

"Want me to go and get him?"

"Please."

Hermione jogged off.

Luna watched Harry solemnly, wiping her cheek. "And what do we do?" she asked.

Harry put his hand on Snuffles' head as the dog sat down next to him with a sigh.

"I guess we have to wait."

Luna leaned into him as he put his free arm around her waist. She shivered a little and something in Harry burned, a small, tight rage that the world had done Luna a hurt.

ooOOoo

The moon had just risen over the trees when Draco led Simon down the hill. High clouds which dimmed the bright circle condensed in the west and sucked the light out of what should have been a lengthy northern summer evening.

Perfect.

Draco was wearing a black travelling cloak over his conspicuously pale hair and face. As well as activating the spell he'd forged into the shoes, he'd saddled and bridled Simon up at the paddock. But he didn't want to ride him down the hill just in case the horse decided it was a prime idea to go for a run sooner rather than later. Besides, the sack Draco had tied to the small D-rings on the front of the saddle bumped a little, and he wanted to be sure it wouldn't spook the horse.

Simon didn't seem to mind the sack, although he sniffed at it and then tried to chew the hemp, pricking his ears at the dry rustle from inside when the sack shifted.

"It's not tasty," Draco smiled. "Not for horses, anyway."

Down in the meadow, Draco scrambled into the saddle while the horse snorted at his inelegance and then sidled noiselessly, picking up on his rider's unease.

Draco rode him in circles to calm both of them down and test the spell. The horse moved silently across the ground, although dark marks were left in the softer parts of the turf. The forging of the shoes had worked, then.

Now Draco had to find out if his other theory would be correct.

He turned the horse's head towards the front gates of the castle and drew up his hood. Everyone was inside eating dinner or studying, he hoped. He'd snagged a hot buttery roll fresh and delicious from the ovens and some slices of ham and cheese before he left (along with some carrots which Simon had appreciated as much as Draco had appreciated the roll). What had been tasty ten minutes ago roiled in his stomach. Maybe the ham and cheese had been a bit much. He checked the tie on the sack again. Wouldn't do to lose it.

One last look back up at the lights of the castle – not really a last look, merely a glance to make sure no-one had spotted him because he'd be back soon enough, he told himself – and Draco turned Simon towards the gates. The horse walked without sound on the stone and stopped with his nose at the gates. Draco managed by careful use of heels and reins and luck (and possibly good guessing on the part of Simon, who was being unusually co-operative) to persuade Simon to turn on the spot and allow Draco to push the gates open.

Simon snorted leerily at the barrier just a few feet beyond. Even the gates wouldn't touch it, which was annoying. Draco would have liked the gates to open wider. As it was, the gap between them was only two meters, he judged, although even this close it was hard to judge distances as the darkness crept in thicker and thicker.

He turned the horse and trotted him back up the road a little. He reined Simon around and eyed the gate. Simon blew one of his low, rolling snorts which meant he knew something weird was going on. Draco wrapped his hands in the mane. It meant he wouldn't be able to steer, of course, but Simon always seemed to know how to do the right thing and now that Draco had his sight back the horse had an uncanny ability of knowing where Draco was looking and heading in that direction. Luna had shrugged when Draco had asked her, and said that it wasn't unusual for horses to be that sensitive to their riders – nothing psychic or magical about it. Draco privately thought it was more – Simon was the best of horses; he had to be. Because if all horses were like him, more wizards would know about their uses, not just odd-ball American colonials.

Simon was beyond special. And he'd come to Draco in the Forest – he belonged to Draco. If some other wizard showed up looking for him, Draco had money of his own he'd put aside. Stocks and shares. Gold would be doing especially well right now. He'd buy Simon. And if the wizard didn't want money… well, the Malfoys had connections beyond the obvious. Mother would take care of that if Draco begged.

Much as Draco had hated blindness, he'd learned from it. And one of the things he'd learned was to trust Simon blindly when he had to. And that Simon could trust him.

What they were about to do might seem foolish to anyone who didn't know how brutal the philosophies of the Dark Lord and his followers were. When the Blockade ended (as it would – no blockade lasted forever), Draco wanted to make sure it ended on his terms. Those terms involved safety for himself and his own. Simon was his. If the Blockade ended on the Dark Lord's terms, Simon would be lucky to be given a quick death. So although this was a short-term risk, if it worked out Draco hoped to have some very significant gains.

It would work. Simon would make sure of it. Draco – well, Draco just had to hang on. And maybe top up the silencing spell on the shoes occasionally. And if all else failed, tell an incredibly tall story that would get him out of trouble. And… Draco rubbed his hand over his damp face. And stop procrastinating.

Simon stamped.

"It's all right," Draco murmured. "We're going to be fine."

Merlin, but how his father would laugh. Or probably not, actually – the thought of a Malfoy giving such trust to a Muggle beast would have Lucius beat his son black and blue… Draco held on to the flush of anger and felt satisfaction as Simon picked up on it too: tail swishing, one back leg raising and striking the ground in warning. Lucius would not hit Draco. _And I won't let him touch you either, my horse._

Draco shook his head to clear it of disturbing thoughts. He was finding ways to put off the inevitable again. It wasn't like he didn't have enough to worry about right now, and if he _had_ to procrastinate surely there were better ways…? "You came through it once," he muttered, Simon's ears swivelling back to catch his voice, "now let's see you do the same trick… Gee-up!"

Simon leaped forward, straight into a canter. As they came up to the gates, sack bumping against his knee, Draco shut his eyes.

Simon slewed to a stop, hunching up his back so that Draco bounced uncomfortably and nearly went between the horse's ears. It definitely opened his eyes. This close up he could see the road to Hogsmeade stretching out beyond the gates. But it looked unreal. It was there in one version of fact, but, as Hermione postulated (and Draco agreed with the know-it-all on this one), that factuality was not a part of real time.

It hurt looking at it.

"Ow," Draco grumbled, looking away. His right hip felt mildly wrenched. He found his stirrups and his balance again. "Coward."

Simon flicked an ear back at his rider, then forward at the barrier, lowering his head a degree as if to say, 'You have _got_ to be joking.'

Draco sighed gustily. "Do you know something I don't? Come on… you won't give it a try?"

He gave the horse a hopeful nudge with his heels.

Simon's muzzle wrinkled bad-temperedly. He swung his head around and Draco could just make out the faintest movements of the wide nostrils as the horse took in the scent of the night and the barrier.

Draco thought maybe Simon seemed a little less uncertain. He wasn't sure how he knew – maybe this whole horse-knowing-what-rider-thinks business could go two ways.

Maybe another run-up would do the trick?

And this time Draco would _make_ himself radiate confidence. That way Simon wouldn't even consider stopping – Simon would be doubly sure because his rider was sure, too.

(Draco did wonder for a brief second if a horse could be persuaded to do something insane simply because it trusted its rider to the brink of suicide and beyond, but dismissed this in the next second as beneath Simon's intelligence.)

He wheeled Simon around and back up towards the road a little way, then back facing the gates. This time he didn't halt Simon – he didn't want his doubts getting in the way of the horse's confidence.

Confidence.

That was the key to this lock the Dark Lord had placed around them.

"Gee-up, Simon."

Simon cantered the few strides down the road. At the last moment Draco remembered to hold onto the mane.

He didn't close his eyes.

Horse and rider passed silently between the gates.

Pearlescent magic closed around them in the space of a heartbeat, breathing them in and swallowing them up with a last dark swirl of cloak and tail.

Clipped by one passing stirrup, the iron bars of one gate rippled and writhed where they touched the barrier.

And the road that didn't exist in proper time lay beyond the gates empty as the night above.

ooOOoo


	44. Chapter 44

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Never mind. May JKR have every happiness with her wonderful creations.

ooOOoo

Chapter 44: Outside

Through the howling welter of distorted time ran a black horse and its rider.

Draco clung to the mane for dear life. His eyes felt like they were open, but all they saw were exploding lights reflected off the back of his eyes, and all he could hear was the whistling roar of the magic that tried to buffet him off Simon's back. All his senses were screaming, and not with joy. It felt like being attacked by a giant, psychotic lemon zester. Which had it in for Malfoys.

He tried breathing, but the barrier sucked his lungs clean of oxygen. On the plus side, it meant he had no breath free for screaming. Only the steady rocking canter of the horse let him know things weren't completely lost. Simon continued his pace neither faster or slower, and by that Draco guessed Simon wasn't affected by the barrier. Or if he was, he was sensible enough not to go racing off sideways or spin around.

Draco wished with all his heart _he_ wasn't affected by the Callisto-damned barrier.

Hell, what if Simon suddenly stopped and Draco fell off? He could barely stay on the horse's back right now. There was no way he'd be able to walk back – it was only the fact that Simon was an edge-creature that had taken them into the barrier in the first place.

And what if the barrier had no end to it? What if Simon had only come through it the first time because he was lucky? What if they'd canter through here for an eternity, trapped in a magical field that was like biting an ice cube with rotting teeth…

Next time bloody Potter could go. He was the one meant to go around saving the world, wasn't he? He was the one who ran around insisting on saving the day all over the place, even when the day didn't want to be saved; he was the one who should bloody well be –

And then it was over.

There was no sense of bursting through a bubble of magic. No impression of breaking some mysterious field of enchantment. Simply that one moment Draco was being dragged along with his skin inside-out, and then he was riding a horse down a road with the stars twinkling overhead and the moon high above the trees.

Which it shouldn't have been. It looked like the same moon phase, but the moon itself was higher. It looked as if it was about midnight, perhaps a little past.

Of course, he'd expected time to be a little different because of the nature of the barrier. It still seemed to be summer, although the air on the other side of the barrier to Hogwarts was cooler. That, Draco realised, was because he was soaked with sweat. He let go of the mane with one hand and wiped his face. Better, but his teeth probably wouldn't stop chattering. The cold was more than the thin breeze; it was as if the memory of the barrier had stayed frozen in his chest.

The sack was going bumpetty-bump-bump against his knee to the rhythm of Simon's steady rolling canter, and it was starting to annoy. Draco straightened, releasing his handful of mane in favour of taking back control. Simon tugged once at the bit, testing Draco's resolve as the Slytherin pulled gently on the reins, then slowed to a walk when Draco insisted. Much to Draco's relief. The canter made him feel ill after the horror of passing through the barrier, and Draco had never got the hang of sitting at the trot. He took out his wand. He didn't dare do any active spells – not even a simple _lumos – _but passive detection spells shouldn't alert his father to his presence.

He waved his wand and mouthed the spell as quietly as he dared.

Ah.

His skills at detecting surveillance spells weren't great, but his father had drummed the basics into him. Which was lucky – anyone relying purely on Hogwarts training mightn't have caught the twang of threads of magic thinner than spider silk that drifted across the road in the merest breeze.

Lucius had set them. Draco knew it as he knew the sound of his father's voice.

He ducked one strand that floated down, glowing faintly with the detection spell. He looked back and gasped in horror: one had curled around Simon's leg and was being jerkily dragged behind them in a waving ribbon of indigo. The horse didn't appear to notice.

The alternative was, of course, Simon noticing thanks to being petrified while Death Eaters came out looking.

For some reason it didn't affect the horse.

But then horses weren't really magical animals, Draco reminded himself and his stomach, which had lurched into his throat at the sight of the tangled thread. And if Lucius set the strands too sensitively there would be some Death Eaters getting extremely cranky thanks to being called out over every deer, rabbit, fox and sparrow that tripped one.

The strand stretched, twanged and curled away, palest violet in the night, still unactivated.

Draco patted Simon on the shoulder in relief. Then – "Merlin!" – ducked as a strand floated over his head.

Once you knew what you were looking for it wasn't hard to dodge the floating spell-threads. Draco kept a wary eye out for them while casting a few more basic detection spells to see what was out here. The road was too open, too bare… he threw a broad-spectrum series of spells to the front. Simon twitched his ears as a spell grazed his cheek and Draco patted his neck in silent apology.

A glowing spot on the road blossomed right in front of Simon. It looked like a melting glass window over the fires of Hell.

_Infernii curses? Oh, bloody hell!_

Simon snorted. Orange light lit him from underneath and gleamed like insanity in his eyes. The horse arched his neck as he snorted again with deepest darkest suspicion, and stepped around the hole in the road.

Wise horse. Which spoke in snorts.

The disturbing thing was that Draco was beginning to understand those snorts. Horses spoke Snortese. Or should that be Snortish? he wondered a little hysterically, trying not to think how close they'd come to being incinerated.

Draco swallowed and made sure he cast more of that revealing spell to show the path ahead. A deer might stand on one of those patches and live. A horse shod with magic-impregnated silver shoes was a different story. A few areas glowed sullenly and Simon avoided them easily.

It was more trouble avoiding the strands. Draco dodged as best as he could as they snagged and snapped and flew free again from around Simon's legs. Draco decided the risk was worth it and conjured up a tame breeze to blow them out of the path. If one tangled in Simon's mane it could touch Draco's hand or leg or the sack sliding against Simon's shoulder and then there would be Trouble.

The Forest lay to the side. Draco considered tracking off through it, but then decided that was probably even more dangerous than staying on the road. He'd never liked that forest, even before the spider tried to bite off his leg. And at least he had a good chance of finding trap-jinxes here on the road rather than hidden under last autumn's leaves. Who knew what was patrolling it? A werewolf or a vampire could manoeuvre quickly and easily through trees, but out in the open and on a good road Simon could outrun anything not in flight.

And with that thought, Draco realised he'd not seen any threads for a bit. He looked around.

Looking back he could see them floating, still highlighted by his locator spell, hanging like spider silk up the road to Hogwarts.

That would make sense, Draco thought with relief, turning his attention back to the road. There didn't seem to be any more hellpits, but he kept his wand out anyway, trusting as much to Simon's sense as his magic.

Something passing overhead made him shiver, and he checked his hood was still up and covering his hair. Thank God Simon was black – a concealing charm would have triggered those wisps. He looked up.

Nothing.

Of course. But he'd sensed _something_. Something colder than snow, colder than ice, too cold for a night in winter, let alone summer.

Dementor.

It wouldn't surprise Draco if the Dark Lord had them patrolling the edges of the barrier. Silence was their best hope against Dementors: even if Draco was able to cast more than the faint and incredibly substandard shimmer of silver which his closest attempt at a Patronus to date, it would bring his father in like a Thestral to fresh blood. He shivered again and leaned down to pat Simon's neck, relishing the warmth against his hand. "Good Simon. Clever Simon."

The horse walked on steadily, but his head was a little higher and the ears at a tense angle. When Draco ran his hand along the neck to see if Simon was sweating and in danger of getting a chill, he found the muscles solid as rock.

Simon had sensed the Dementor, too.

Draco straightened and made sure he was holding the reins ready to stop the horse if it got frightened and tried to run. His fingers closed but didn't tighten – no point in letting Simon know his rider was scared.

That coldness passed over them again.

Simon's pace quickened into a trot. Draco didn't object, even though the sack bumped uncomfortably against his knee again.

He didn't slow Simon again until the lights of Hogsmeade came into view.

ooOOoo

He paused Simon on the last turn into the village where a small stand of pines grew lethargically but with a strong resinous smell which should hide the smell of a warm horse from any dogs or werewolves patrolling the village. Plus the trees would shelter Simon from the thin breeze blowing down from the north. Draco looped the reins around a branch (if anything terrible happened, Simon could break free) and gave the horse a pat on the shoulder as he untied the sack from the saddle. "I'll be back soon. Just stay here, okay?"

Simon breathed warm air against his shoulder. Draco felt it through the cloak.

"Good boy, Simon."

He looked back once, just in time to see Simon try to follow then stop as the horse found itself tied to the tree. The black shape stilled, although Draco fancied he could see the tail switch once in annoyance.

Telling himself that this wasn't as bad an idea as it looked, and if he was feeling sick it was because he shouldn't have eaten that ham for dinner rather than because he was scared stupid, Draco checked his hood again. The sack was tucked under his left arm, his wand was in his right hand, and Hogsmeade was right there…

Closer than he'd thought, riding up on Simon.

Clutching the sack tightly under his arm reassured him again that his mission was good. But unfortunately it depended on the presence of other people. Owls at the very least. Draco shivered as the moon went behind a cloud.

He'd remembered the lights being brighter. Maybe it was because it was so late, but shouldn't a few people be up? That frilly teashop Pansy had dragged him into one excruciating afternoon was closed up, the wooden shutters carved with hearts closed tighter than a goblin's purse. Draco had been hoping Madam Rosmerta would still have her pub open, but the Three Broomsticks was closed up, too, only a faint light over the door to illuminate the sign showed the pub was still in business, but when Draco pressed an ear against the door he couldn't hear anything to suggest anyone was awake. Not even the crackle of a fire.

Staying in the shadows whenever the moon came out from behind clouds, he paused in the doorway of Gladrags and glowered at the sight of Honeydukes, apparently just as dead as the rest of the shops. All the residential houses were dark, too – Draco didn't know who lived where, and hadn't cared until now. Even the obligatory lamp over the post office was down to the flicker of a candle burnt down to the stub. Draco hurried past. If he didn't find some sign of life soon, he'd have to try knocking on the door of one of the houses. And someone in there mightn't know him as a Hogwarts student. Dark cloak, sneaking around in the middle of the night, pale Malfoy hair and eyes… Draco knew he had all the hallmarks of a Death Eater except for the Dark Lord's personal seal of approval on his arm. He needed to talk to someone who knew the Hogwarts uniform if not Draco himself – Honeydukes had been his best bet. He was certainly one of its best customers.

There was always Zonko's, of course, which was there on the right. And just as depressingly dark as Honeydukes.

Draco stopped, blinked, and looked again.

There was a light on over Zonko's. Draco had nearly missed it because the upper floor window was covered with a thick black shade. But the shade wasn't quite square with the window and Draco was at the right angle with his night-adjusted vision to see the tiny sliver of light. That light surprised Draco more than anything. Why would a toy shop which relied on business with students of a school blockaded from the rest of the world still have any activity going on? The windows of the shop front were boarded up rather than shuttered – as were those of many of the other shops, Draco suddenly noticed as he looked around the moonlit street – but there was still life going on within. That gave him some hope.

And the fact that the lit window was shaded was also a good sign – it suggested _someone_ wanted to remain unnoticed, and from what Draco had gathered before the Blockade finally stopped all owls, Death Eaters were currently extremely happy to be noticed.

Draco threw a pebble at the window.

Nothing.

Then the light went out.

Draco bit his lip and threw another pebble. It pinged off the window and rattled down the awning over the shop entrance, sounding like a drumroll in the night. Draco cringed at the racket and crept into the shadow of a small alley between Zonko's and the hat shop next door.

There was the squeak of a sash window sliding up.

Draco peered up and around the corner hopefully. No light. Nothing. He frowned as he weighed up the pros and cons of moving back out into the street.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, he thought, grimacing, and took a deep breath. This time he made sure he stayed just within the shadow cast by the awning and peered up. The window was open a crack, but he couldn't see anyone inside. He thought the shade might have been raised, but he was only guessing. The light was definitely out. The moon was behind clouds, and nearly all the light was gone from the world. He hoped Simon wasn't too unhappy about being alone in a strange place at night.

_"Psst,"_ he hissed at the darkness. "Hey."

He looked around furtively. Was there anyone else awake in this literally benighted town? Maybe he could go and try and sneak in the back of the post office? He was feeling very nervous at the way he'd left Simon behind. What if the horse whinnied for him or something? Maybe he could –

– There was a wand sticking into his neck. "Don't move, Death Eater," someone snarled into his ear.

Draco panicked. He spun sideways out of the grip on his arm and brought his elbow up and back to smash into his captor's face.

The man reeled back. "Argh! Dammit! You little shit, I'll…"

The voice was vaguely familiar, but what its owner was planning to do was never ascertained. Draco didn't want to use any more magic than he had to – his father had always kept tabs on whatever Dark Magic spells Draco was learning by putting a location/identification spell on Draco's wand (Draco had only recently come to the conclusion that this was less for Draco's benefit than Lucius', and that maybe, just maybe, his father saw him as a potential threat). And although Draco's mind was screaming _Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!_ Draco didn't dare cast it.

Besides, this person thought he was a Death Eater. And didn't like him for it. Shame he'd attacked Draco. Nothing for it but to get the hell out of here before the man tried something nastier, get behind something that would shelter him from hexes, and try and get identities sorted out then.

Draco scrambled up, kicked out to the side, and heard a nasty crunch as his boot hit.

"Oh, Christ!"

Someone was in pain and it wasn't him. This was a definite plus. Draco scrambled to his feet and barrelled into someone when he tried to run.

The attacker?

No – the first man was a dark shape in the moonlight, lying in the gutter and clutching his knee as he hissed in pain. This second person grabbed Draco by the elbow and tried to throw him down on the ground, nearly dislocating Draco's shoulder. "Well, well…" a voice whispered angrily as Draco tried and failed to shove him away. "A Death Eater all on its lonesome."

Draco straightened, briefly finding himself as tall as this second man. As tall as the first man, too, he realised after the fact. And the voices were so familiar.

The second man was reaching for a wand.

Knowing he would regret it, Draco jerked his head forward.

There was a violent _crack!_ and stars exploded out of the darkness.

Draco staggered, hand to his forehead, dimly aware of the man stumbling back and clutching at a nose streaming blood black in the moonlight.

"Ah, f… my nose, for God's sake, my nose…" The voice was slightly muffled.

"My knee! Get the little bastard already, why don't you?"

Broken Nose Man lunged forward again and Draco swung. The man must have had practice at blocking punches, because he caught Draco's wrist and tugged Draco forward and off-balance. With a twist of his arm, Draco broke free and pushed forward with his shoulder, instinctively turning his forward momentum into a weapon. His luck came good for once – the man was knocked back, tripped on the curb and went down.

Draco took out his wand. It was only a bluff, but at least the pair froze at the sight of it.

His head was still swimming a little with nasty little jolts of pain through the front of his skull, but that memory which had been kicking away at his conscious suddenly came through, just as the moon came out from behind a cloud and showed his attackers staring up at him. Only the blood smeared over the face of one of them distinguished them.

"…Weasleys? What the hell are you doing here?"

Then a spell hit from behind and he toppled, arms catching him and slipping as he proved too heavy. His hood shifted and he caught a glimpse of twin expressions of astonishment on the faces of the pair sitting on the ground.

As he hit the ground he thought, _Couldn't even catch me right, the rotten bastards… wish Simon was here to bite them for me._

And there was a pang as he thought of Simon, out there under the pines waiting for him.

Then there were more stars, fading into the darkness.

ooOOoo


	45. Chapter 45

Disclaimer: Characters and settings from the Potterverse are property of JKRowling and Warner People.

ooOOoo

Chapter 45: Two for the Price of One

Snuffles pricked up his ears. Alerted by the small movement of the dog's head beneath his hand before he heard the approaching voices, Harry looked around. A huge figure accompanied by the smaller bushy-haired shape that could only be Hermione loomed out of the darkness. A lantern (comparatively tiny in one big hand) weaved yellow light. "Hagrid," he recognised, not completely pleased to see his friend.

"Harry! What'cher doing out at this time, then? It's getting on to the middle o' the night," Hagrid added reproachfully. Fang touched noses with the big black dog sitting at Harry's feet and went to lie down by Hagrid, panting slightly even in the cool night air, small curls of steam rolling off his tongue.

Harry's arm tightened a fraction around Luna's waist. She was still standing against him and he could feel her bristle at the sight of the half-giant. Hagrid was involved in the disappearance of her beloved Simon. A brief, sneaky and entirely unwelcome thought asked Harry, _Would she be this upset if you had disappeared?_ Harry ignored it. Some things in the world were not about him. He curved his fingers around her hip, pressing gently for a brief moment, silently urging her to wait before exploding. Luna surprised him constantly. Now was not the time for him to be surprised at her going nova.

"I am hoping you can tell us," Harry replied evenly.

"Eh? Oh… Tha'." Hagrid shuffled his massive boots. He looked down at Padfoot, who gazed back up with a measuring look in his pale eyes. The dog quirked one ear.

"What 'that', Hagrid? Is this something to do with the shoes you and Draco made for Simon?"

"Er… mebbe a tad… where's that dratted boy got to now, then?" His brow beetled as he peered at the unwelcome sight of the open gates.

"If you mean Draco, you probably know more than we do. Like, for example, how he managed to ride a horse into the barrier."

Hagrid gaped at him then squinted off into the misty darkness of the barrier. "He never," Hagrid said flatly.

"That's where the hoofprints lead. S- Snuffles followed the trail to the gates. He can't get near the barrier, of course, but it looks like _someone_ went through. Simon at the very least. And we can't find Draco."

Glancing at the time-shifting magic of the barrier, Harry was struck not for the first time by the almost sentient manner it shimmied when his eyes glanced past it, as if it was only holding still when he looked directly at it and came alive when his attention was elsewhere. It was a little like the giant fig tree in Hufflepuff's Glasshouse of Secrets. And Harry had gone into that with significantly more confidence than he felt waiting to find out if Malfoy had finally gone and got Simon and himself killed.

"Did yer look in the dungeons?"

"I asked Trudi. She can't find him either. She's got Bulstrode helping her, but I'm not expecting any Malfoys to pop up. No welcome Malfoys, anyway…"

Harry paused, deeply disturbed at where his thoughts were leading him.

"He wouldn't have gone to his father – not with Simon," Hermione said slowly. "Would he?"

Luna made a small noise of distress. Harry hoped only he and Snuffles heard it.

Harry rocked Luna gently, barely noticing what he was doing, only wanting her not to be upset. "No," he said firmly. "I can't see him doing that – not and take Simon with him, certainly. He's very protective of Simon…"

"That's true," agreed Hermione, carefully not looking at Luna. "You'd think it odd how devoted he is to a Muggle creature, but I can't argue that he truly is."

"Because when you really want to protect someone _of course _you drag them through a magical barrier set up by the most powerful Dark Wizard of this century," Luna said bitterly. She sniffed. Hagrid handed her a handkerchief the size of a tea towel. There was a muffled honking as Luna blew her nose. "Thank you," she said stiffly, handing it back.

Hagrid tucked it in a pocket and ducked his head in an almost-apology. "You're sure about this?"

Harry nodded. "That he's through the barrier… or stuck in it." He didn't add that there was a very real possibility of Draco and Simon being dead – either killed by the barrier or whatever Voldemort had stationed on the other side. "But why would he try doing anything so bloody stupid in the first place? I mean, he's not noted for being Mr Brave. No – he's relying on something and my bet is it's the shoes. Would you disagree?"

"No," Hagrid sighed. He scratched his head. "Let's see… the shoes. Well, I can tell yer that they were made with some special spells. Three sets o' spells, as a matter of fact. The first for strength. Silver's a puny thing as metals go, but it's fair good at holding spells."

Harry nodded. "I figured that. What else?"

"Silence."

"Sorry?"

"The shoes – spelled for silence. Never rightly understood why he needed a horse to be quiet like, but those shoes ain't the sort to go clippetty-clop on a road, if yer get my meaning."

Harry exchanged a look with Hermione. Trust Draco to put being sneaky into a set of horse shoes. Horse sneakers. "And the third set of spells?"

"Ah. Those were the tricky ones, my oath they were. Didn't understand half of what he was gabblin' on about when he told me about them spells. Used some lovely long words, though… and what 'persickology' means is anyone's guess…"

"Psychology," Hermione said while Harry was still turning over possible translations in his head.

"Oh, ri', tha'll be it." Hagrid beamed, then sobered. "Dunno what he'll be needing psycho stuff for."

Snuffles, still sitting at Harry's feet, snorted.

Harry ignored his dog-godfather. Things could be funny when Luna wasn't on the edge of despair. "I don't care what he used so long as he gets Simon back here. But perhaps in the meantime you could tell us what you remember Draco saying…?"

ooOOoo

On the other side of midnight Draco woke in stages. First he was aware of being floated into a house. His head banged on the doorframe. Someone hissed, _"Be careful, you oaf!"_ which he appreciated. _"That sack could explode if you handle it wrong."_

Ah. They were worried about the sack. Greatly offended by their priorities, Draco tried to move his arms. They seemed to be on strike, as were his legs.

"He's moving…"

"So put him down."

_Thud_. Draco landed on something hard. The floor, by the way the sounds were coming from so much higher now.

"Ow." Draco put his hand to his head. "That was uncalled for." He opened his eyes to see two freckled redheads glaring down at him. One still had blood smeared around his nose and chin, which was what convinced Draco he wasn't seeing double.

"Right. Because my knee feels in such good nick after you booted it."

"And my nose is usually this size."

"Uncalled for?"

"You've no idea…"

"… what is called for, Malfoy."

"Oh, shut up, Weasleys. You're giving me a headache."

"Oh, and that would…"

"…be such a…"

"… tragedy."

Draco ignored them and sat up. He had to push back his cloak to do so, earning gratifyingly pop-eyed astonishment from the twins.

"Why is it wearing Muggle clothes, George?"

"I don't know, Fred. Maybe this is the new Stealth Death Eater look."

"Maybe it's trying to infiltrate the enemy by dressing as a – what's the ghastly term they like to use? Oh yes, 'Mudblood'."

Fed up, Draco snapped, "Or maybe 'it' simply didn't want to appear like a wizard in case 'it' encountered Muggles, thus making even more trouble for 'it'."

"How clever, George. It's learned to talk in speech marks."

Draco gave up. Obviously Weasleys were bred for numbers rather than manners. Looking around, he found himself inside a dimly-lit room. It looked like the back room to a shop. On top of a large box where 'this way up' was written upside-down with the arrow pointing to the floor, was the sack. Draco exhaled in relief. Then frowned. Some woman with pink hair was poking her wand at it.

"Hey! It's not going to explode, you know."

The woman looked around at him then leaned on another box to talk softly to someone who was over by the window. She had a pretty, heart-shaped face and looked vaguely familiar. Draco had a brief but strange mental image of his mother in a pink wig. It was almost painful to think about; he'd spent so long telling himself it was a waste of time missing his parents and now it came crashing back how long it had been since he'd seen them. The last letter from his father had been painful with its gloating over Snape's death, and he hadn't heard from his mother for months. For years he'd felt stifled by how she tried to keep him safe – even arguing against Durmstrang because it was too far rather than because it was a hole of a school compared to Hogwarts. Lucius would be furious with him if – when – he found out what Draco was doing, but Draco had resigned himself to the fact that nothing he did short of handing the Dark Lord Harry Potter's head on a silver platter would please his father. He'd not stopped to consider that he might be a disappointment to his mother, too.

And he'd not stop to think about that right now. He didn't dare.

"Hoy there. Are you still with us?"

"You hit him with that Petrificus a little hard, Ambrosius mate."

"I know perfectly well what I was doing, thank you, whichever one you are," growled a familiar voice.

Draco looked around, rubbing at the stiffness in his neck. "Mr Flume?"

There was a heavy sigh. A thickset man came around from behind some boxes. Draco guessed he had been checking the window. "Thought I recognised you," said the man. He had greying brown hair and watery eyes, and the faint smell of chocolate and peppermint followed him. "Young Malfoy, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

Ambrosius Flume, proprietor of Honeydukes, crossed his arms and scowled. "Oh, so it's 'sir' now that your Death Eater buddies aren't around?"

Draco bridled, offended. "I'm a Death Eater, am I? And you make this assumption how? Because my father i- err… has been accused of being one? Because Weaselby and Weaselby here are petty bureaucrats with no hope for advancement like their father?" He glanced at the pretty pink-haired woman, who after the slight against Arthur Weasley was eyeing him as if he had crawled out from the gutter. Much the same expression as his mother wore when confronted with a Mudblood. "Because whatsherface here is a Muggleborn like _her_ father?"

Her eyebrows lifted and went green with surprise. "How did you know my…?"

He'd guessed right. "I saw a picture of your mother once – my aunt, in case you didn't know. Apart from the pink hair and the horrible dress-sense, you're a lot like her. The nose is definitely not a Black nose, though."

One corner of her mouth twitched. As did her nose, refining and becoming more slender. It now looked just like his mother's, as well as Aunt Bella's. "How about now?"

"Er… yeah… That's more like it." How had she done that? Was she a metamorphamagus or something? They were terribly rare. "Good trick."

"Thanks. Can I get you anything? Glass of water? Doctor? Aurors? Veritaserum?"

"I'll go with the glass of water, thanks. And hold the Veritaserum."

"Ickle Malfoy thinks it's funny." The Weasley who was prodding at his knee with his wand spoke softly but Draco was used to spotting venom.

"Funnier when it was a ferret."

"Oh, that was definitely funny. Wonder if we can…"

"…Put that into our new range? Brilliant!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes. Brilliant. I've just managed to break through the Dark Lord's barrier around Hogwarts and all you lot can think about is parlour tricks." He grunted softly as he hauled himself up to sit on one of the boxes. His shoulder was stiff and he rolled it carefully. After being yanked around by the Weasel duo it wasn't a surprise if it was mildly strained. "How about some serious questions – like what's in the sack?"

"Okay," said the pink-haired cousin. Draco noticed she was wearing an Auror badge, but not the yellow robes. Hmm. Did that mean anything significant, or were they simply in the wash? "What's in the sack?"

Draco smirked. "Open it and find out."

Flume's face settled in an old-fashioned look. "Nice try, lad. How about _you_ open the sack."

"If you insist."

"No," Weasley with the broken nose interrupted before Draco could stand. "I'll open the bloody sack. Fred, keep your wand ready."

"On it," said Fred with the sore knee. His wand sent out a few unhappy little sparks as he stopped poking his knee and pointed it at the bag.

George – so deduced Draco – muttered a range of counter-curses (Draco made mental notes of a couple of them, determined to check them out later with Sn- with his fa- with… oh, whoever came along). There wasn't so much as a glimmer of magic released from the bag, which was fair enough. Draco had stipulated that absolutely no magic was to go into its contents, worried that something random might affect the spells he was already using to get through the barrier, or alert Death Eaters once he was through.

Finally George took a deep breath and, under the intent scrutiny of… what was her name again?… Tonks! Yes. That was it. Nympho Tonks (no, thought Draco, that can't be quite right, not even someone in the Black family would be insane or cruel enough to call a daughter Nympho)… Tonks was keeping as careful a watch over George as his twin was.

George pulled the string tie and upended the bag.

Falling down around his feet in a hushing rushing cascade of paper were scores and scores of…

"…Letters?"

ooOOoo

"Let me get this straight. You knew Draco was putting psychology spells on a horse – an animal that has a ground-level psychology of 'I am angry and about to kick this bucket into your head, Hagrid' – and didn't tell anyone?"

"Well, he's as clever as horses come, Harry," Hagrid said, looking even more awkward as Harry upbraided him.

"He's a _horse_, Hagrid! Not one of nature's rational creatures! Emotional, yes – there's no denying Simon has the entire range of emotions from rage to fear to cupboard love at the very least, but he's not a prime candidate for using thought-magic on. From what I've made out so far – both from books and Simon himself – horses are far too highly influenced by emotion to be used in any intelligence-enhancing spells…"

Hagrid's beard twitched into a cautious smile. "Ah, Harry, that's the nub of it, all right. Y'see Draco didn't want Simon's intelligence enhanced or diminished… he wanted Simon to continue being as clever as he was. Draco's got a high regard for Simon's intelligence and wouldn't want to muck about with it in any way. No. Those shoes aren't to enhance intelligence – and Draco was taking full account of Simon's being a creature with highly-developed emotions. They're the key to it all. He didn't want Simon to rationalise matters to death like a human would; he wanted Simon to _believe._"

Hermione was the first to break the silence. "Believe what, Hagrid?"

ooOOoo

"Letters?" George shook the empty upside-down sack as if expecting something else to fall out. A manticore, perhaps. Or the new, improved version of the philosopher's stone. Draco frowned at the way the twin pushed at the shoals of envelopes with the toe of his dragonhide boot.

"Ah, he has eyes. And can recognise simple shapes. Well done, that Weasley." Draco sneered as George scowled. "Yes. Letters. There might even be one for you and/or your duplicate. I'm pretty sure Ginny wrote one for your parents."

Fred, who was crouching down as best as his knee would allow, was poking at the letters with his wand. "Merlin's balls, they really do seem to be letters." He picked up one addressed to _Mr and Mrs E&M Lyndham, The Shrubbery, Spreyton, Devons River Country_, and turned it over. On the other side was the name Mark Lyndham, Hogwarts, with a small colour pencil sketch of an owl sitting in a lemon tree. Possibly it would mean something to E&M – Draco hadn't even known Mark could draw. He'd have to ask when he got back, it would help show he had The Common Touch knowing little things about people like that.

George peered over his shoulder. "Lyndham? Wasn't there a Lyndham in Hufflepuff? Third year? Fat kid, early bloomer spot-wise."

"Fourth year now," Draco told him. He knew this for a fact: in the week Potter had been away some of the students had begun to panic in small outbursts of vindictiveness. The divisions between houses had broken down in a new, unwelcome way, years beginning to pit themselves against other years instead of Houses. Initially Draco had wondered about how exactly this could be turned to his advantage, but after he'd broken up a fight between Lyndham, a fourth year Ravenclaw and the two second year Slytherins who'd generated their annoyance, things had become much clearer. Amazingly, things had been sorted out amicably. (Perhaps it wasn't that amazing, as it had only been a misunderstood word which had provoked the two fourth years, and the second years, hyper-defensive from being younger _and_ Slytherin, therefore automatically perceived as being in the wrong, tended towards the philosophy of hex first, talk later. Draco had simply made the lot of them talk until a genuine apology had been given by the fourth years, accepted with a charmingly pompous return apology for not being more sensible by the second years, hands shaken all round, and, Hufflepuff that he was, Lyndham had roped the Ravenclaw into helping him tutor the two young and delighted-by-the-offer Slytherins in their defensive spells.) Draco prized the memory of his first success as a diplomat, the way the younger students had been awed by his wise sense of fair-play that left them all winners rather than only the Slytherins, and the secret rush of power from setting himself up as the hub and resolution of conflict. He would remember the tubby little Hufflepuff and his pimples with fondness for the re-opening of Draco's eyes to the overpowering rush of twirling the world around his finger.

Draco would bow to no lord, Dark or otherwise, not when it meant giving over that power.

Lucius did, but then Lucius was a fool.

But that was neither here nor there, he reminded himself. "Then you might remember Lyndham's accent? He's from the West Country."

"Oh yes. But the address could be faked." George took the envelope and moved his thumb as if to slit the seal open.

"Don't. It's not for you."

George gave Draco a measuring look, but his hand paused.

"Oi, here's one for Mum and Dad," Fred said. He'd been digging through the pile. He must have seen handwriting that looked familiar. "It's from Ginny."

"And again, that's not your letter to open." Draco smirked. "I think she's put in a separate one for you two – it might say something about what will happen if you open her private mail in future… something along the lines of not pissing off sorceresses."

"What?"

"Seventh child of a seventh child… it's pretty simple as maths goes."

"No shit? Our Gin's a sorceress?"

Tonks smacked Fred over the back of the head. "Molly'll have your tongue if she hears you using language like that."

George looked caught between delight and apprehension. Draco couldn't blame him – Ginny might have a big backlog of issues to take up with her brothers. "Any proof?"

"She used stone magic last month. Did a good job of it, too – instinctive but nicely managed."

George scowled. "Who are you meant to be again? Malfoys aren't on the side of Weasleys. Or good, for that matter."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm creating my own side. Someone had to, just to stop the whole criminally myopic black-and-white 'Dumbledore versus the Dark Lord' rubbish."

"I suppose it's not open to Mudbloods."

"No. But Muggle-borns can join," Draco replied evenly. "So can Squibs if they want. You've got to be a member of the Wizarding community, though. No Muggles. Haven't thought much about goblins and centaurs, but I don't see why we should be ruling them out of all the decisions that go on… Hell, even you can join if you like," he added magnanimously, "but only after you figure out the ultra-cool secret handshake."

"What ultra-cool secret handshake?" Tonks asked, mouth twitching at the corner.

"I haven't invented it yet. But it's better than tattoos or Gryff exclusivity. Now…" Pleased he'd at least managed to drain off a little of Tonks' hostility, Draco dug around in the pile of letters. He could have accio'd it, but the less magic the better. Thanks to the spells he'd been obliged to cast so far, Lucius probably had some idea already Draco mightn't be quite so safely behind the barrier as he'd assumed. "Ah. Here we go…"

The letter was whisked out of his hand by Tonks. "I'll just check that, ta."

"As you wish." Draco bit back a smile as Tonks cracked the seal and her eyes bugged.

"What the hell is this meant to be?"

"That would be Granger's shopping list."

"Thistlefew drops, Bell's version of mandrake tincture, powdered hen teeth, a bolt of uncut linen… It seems to be her writing…"

That was _very_ interesting. How did Tonks know what Granger's writing looked like? "Probably because it is. I'm sure you're capable of doing a penmanship analysis spell to check."

George yelped in surprise, making everyone jump. He straightened, waving an envelope. "Here's one for us from Ginny."

Fred tried to snatch it. In the kerfuffle, the seal broke and sheets of paper floated onto the floor.

"Bugger." Fred lay down on his stomach to retrieve the one that had slid under a chest of drawers.

"Wow." Ignoring his brother, George scanned the first page quickly. "She's a sorceress like Malfoy says… she's been helping _him"_ (he scowled at Draco) "as well as Harry and Ron and Hermione… she's crossed out something about Neville… Luna has a horse… the horse had some curses that needed to be lifted and Ginny tapped into something really deep, she says, and now she intends to use it on us to…" He turned the paper over and checked the second piece he was holding. "You tell me, Frederick. The threat's gone under the drawers."

"Huh." Fred rolled over onto his back and waved the parchment. "Got it! Oh… it seems she's a little annoyed about the way we charmed her undies to sing the Marseilles that Christmas."

"That was your idea."

"Was not."

"Was too."

"Was not. It was Ron's."

The twins eyed Draco. "Can you get a message back to tell her it wasn't us?"

Draco took a deep breath. "Oh. So now you want something I'm not the enemy any more?"

"Never said that."

"You're just a more useful enemy, that's all."

"Oh. Well, it's a more Slytherin attitude, so I suppose I can understand that."

The twins grimaced in tandem. "How's Ginny, really?"

"And Ron?"

"Well, Ginny seems to be doing quite well. Finding out she's a sorceress has probably helped her a bit… Ron finally got the nerve up to ask Hermione to go steady with him…"

The twins high-fived each other. "Yeah! Go, Ronnikins! What else?"

Tonks said, "Yes, what else has been going on?"

"Well, you know about the fight two full moons ago, yes?"

"Most of it. Dumbledore got a few messages through but then the cut-off was complete. Very strange. Before that the owls could usually find a few gaps."

Draco nodded. He'd have to tell Granger that – it sounded like her theory on Voldemort's attack to finish setting up the barrier was a good one.

"Did the Aurors and Moody get out okay? There are still two Aurors at Hogwarts, but we didn't find out about the others. Maybe I could talk to Moody before I go back…"

"You're planning on going back?"

Draco held her gaze. "I have to go back."

"After doing some shopping?" Hermione's list twitched ever so slightly in her hand.

Draco nodded. "I've got a lot of shopping to do. Much of it because of how the Blockade still stands. Granger's got some good ideas and we might be close to a solution, but as yet we still need to trial some things."

"Like what?"

"Like an experimental potion that requires the materials listed there to be completed."

"Where did the potion come from?"

"Professor Snape."

"He's dead. Dumbledore told Moody in the last letter."

"I know. But Snape left notes." That was true, anyway.

Tonks settled onto a box next to Flume, who had been watching everything with the apparent indifference Draco was used to seeing in the candy shop. He wasn't fooled that it meant Flume wasn't interested, though. Nobody shoplifted anything at Honeydukes.

"So," she said, "start from the battle and tell me what's been going on since then."

"It's a long story and I don't have that long to tell it in." He hoped Simon hadn't broken free and run away.

Tonks nodded to George. "Can you go over to the apothecary and get this filled out?"

"Gladrags might have the linen," Draco said. "It's got to be uncut. Can I have that note, please?"

"She keeps rolls special for ceremonial outfits," Tonks said, giving Draco the note. "Be careful, George," she added, watching Draco carefully as the boy took a quill out of his pocket and added a few things, "there may still be Dementors out there."

"I thought I felt the shadow of one when I came down the road." Draco shivered at the memory as he recapped his eveready quill and slipped it back in his pocket. What if one was near Simon?

"What's wrong?"

He must have shown his worry. "Nothing. Everything, really. Never mind. Right… The beginning… Well, the owlpost was completely stopped – I've got to get to the post office to mail those letters, by the way…"

"We'll make sure they get sent. George?"

"I'm off already. Save the juicy details for me when I get back."

The door shut quiet as dust behind him. "Continue, please," said Tonks.

"We got the last mail. I – heard a rumour about where Professor Snape had been last seen. No-one had found a body, and I thought there was a chance he might not be dead so I went out that night to try and find him… Potter followed me and although we didn't find Snape, some spiders found us…"

ooOOoo

Hermione asked, "Believe in what, Hagrid?"

"Ah. Believe in what he already knows."

"But that makes no sense."

"It does when you think about it," Hagrid said. Hermione shook her head.

"It _does_ make sense," said Luna slowly, as if she was receiving telepathic messages from Planet Hagrid. "It makes perfect sense – especially to Simon."

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances while Snuffles whined unhappily.

Luna sighed loudly. "Simon just needs to know where he's going. If you ask a horse to do something and it believes it can do it, it'll do it. Otherwise it won't do it. Simon went into the barrier. Because he believes he can get through it."

"Or because he doesn't believe it's a danger," Harry countered. Then wished he had kept his mouth shut as the light of hope died on Luna's face.

But she perked up again with a brave smile. "Simon can do it. If he can go into the barrier he'll believe he can come out again…"

"And even if he does, what if he's injured by it?" asked Hermione, obviously frustrated by unjustified optimism. "Will he return through it? And what's on the other side?"

Luna's smile faltered. Harry didn't need to glare at Hermione – by her wince she already regretted saying anything.

"I guess if he went into the barrier he can go through it… and if he can go through it, then he can come back," Hermione said, but it was obvious she didn't completely believe her own words.

Luna nodded, however. "Yes. He will." She added cryptically, "He'll be back, because he knows, however subconsciously, that it's the right thing to do."

ooOOoo


	46. Chapter 46

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and friends (and enemies) belong to JK Rowling.

No Ginsu knives were harmed in the writing of this chapter. (Although some sales clichés were skewered.)

ooOOoo

Chapter 46: But Wait, There's More!

"… So Harry went back through time but returned safely and we have a chance of harvesting the mistletoe now."

"Thus the linen," said Flume, the first time he'd spoken in a while.

"Yes." Draco swallowed. His throat was dry from the long story. There was a sudden tension in the room as the door creaked open, but it was only George returning. "What else? … Exams are cancelled because it doesn't look likely we can get in official examiners in time, but we're still doing study. Busywork, really. And people are getting tense because it's been so long since they've heard from their families…"

"Might be able to help with that," grinned George. He was carrying three bags. "Here." He dropped two bags and opened the third to show it brimming with letters. "After my little shopping trip to Gladrags – linen and Malfoy's last-minute addition to Hermione's list are in the olive canvas pack – I stopped by the post office."

Draco peered into the bag. He couldn't make out any of the names the letters were addressed to, but the bag was reassuringly full. Would there be anything in there for him? "Everything was all closed up when I passed."

"Well, you need to know the right way to wake people up." He didn't say more, which Draco understood: Draco mightn't be a Death Eater, but his allegiance wasn't considered sound by these people and if there was some resistance against Voldemort here in Hogsmeade it was best that outsiders like Draco didn't know the exact workings of it. "So. Owls haven't been able to get into Hogwarts so parents have asked the post office to stockpile them up and get them through to the castle at the first opportunity. The general consensus seems to be that it's better to have the mail on hand to take advantage of any break in the barrier. Speaking of which, how did you get through?"

"That's kind of like me asking you how to wake up people in Hogsmeade," countered Draco, partly because he didn't want to endanger Simon, but also because it irked him that people were running around being secretive and not including him.

"It's nothing like…"

"It is," interrupted Tonks. She stood and went to walk over to Draco. "But I think you should still tell us –"

Draco wasn't sure what happened next. "Oof!"

Tonks had landed on him.

"Sorry," she said.

"That counts as fraternising with the enemy," said George, grinning wickedly.

"Trip on the floor again?" asked Fred. "Floors have nasty tendencies to tangle up your feet." He nodded solemnly to his twin.

Tonks disentangled herself from Draco's arms. She had nice curves to her, and Draco told himself firmly that first cousins were _definitely_ not his type. "You okay?"

"Er, yeah. Sorry." Tonks picked herself up, glaring at her own feet. For a moment she looked very much like Narcissa, which put any nice curves into a more platonic perspective. She held out a hand. Pale, but a Black hand very much like his mother's or his own, come to that. Rounded at the tips rather than slightly spatulate like his father's. Could there be anything about the shape of a person's hands that gave an idea of personality? Draco would rather chew his hand off than ask Trelawney about it. Dropping Divinations had been one of his better ideas, but he'd not forgotten that night in the stable when he'd dreamed of power lost and woken to comfort himself by pondering the nature of hands.

"So?" Tonks asked, as Draco hesitated, thinking.

"So I'm still not telling you how I got here."

The hand wasn't withdrawn. Nodding slightly in reluctant respect, Draco took it, finding the grip of the slender fingers strong and backed with a wiry strength of arm that lifted him up easily. Once on his feet again, Draco surveyed the room. It seemed to be full of boxes, Flume still sitting on one of them, but with a hand idly resting by the pocket in his robes Draco suspected he kept his wand in.

Draco couldn't say he blamed him. This was a war and Draco was the son of someone deeply suspicious. Draco didn't blame him for the mistrust, but it still rankled like the tip of a thorn under the skin.

Still, something he'd just have to learn to live with. So long as he had enough people doing what he wanted that it meant things got done to his satisfaction, it might be all to the good that some people were ready to question him. Yes, he thought – being aware and respectful of the fears of others (and showing that he was sensitive to them) would be a good way to show his fair-mindedness.

Yes. Sensitivity. Awareness of fears of others et cetera as demonstration of fair-mindedness. Draco resolved to make a note of that when he got back to his dormitory and his diary. This evening would take up several pages.

"So are you lot doing any business at the moment?" By the way their faces closed over, Draco guessed that wasn't something politic to ask. "Sorry. More state secrets."

"Like how you came out of Hogwarts. We could make you tell us, you know," said Fred.

"You could," replied Draco calmly. "But then I mightn't be in a state to return to Hogwarts. And it's not a route you can take back." He seriously doubted Simon would allow any of them to ride him through the barrier. There was a lot that could be said in favour of equine paranoia. "And I need to get back soon."

"How soon?" asked Tonks.

"As soon as possible. I need to tell you a few things about the barrier, though… which reminds me, what time is it?"

"Two-thirty."

"What day?"

"June 17th."

"Okay. So I left on the 16th, but in the evening. About nine. It looks like the barrier has shifted time by only a few hours. That's good."

"It's brilliant. How is it brilliant again?" said George as Fred nodded, making a nod sarcastic.

Had they been this annoying back at Hogwarts? Draco couldn't remember but expected so. He schooled his features into long-suffering patience in the face of insurmountable idiocy, which earned him scowls from the twins. There was something quite gratifying about being the reasonable one in an argument. Another thing he needed to note. There was so much good stuff going into the diary he should turn it into a book – he needed a title for it, something snappy. Shame wizards didn't have royalty – _The Prince _might be good. Draco had a feeling some Italian had already snaffled that one, though. "It's brilliant because it means that the spell isn't fine-tuned to the degree of under a second, and it hasn't made it chronologically difficult to traverse because the spells have drifted over time, which might have happened had the spell been done to isolate Hogwarts over centuries – remember that witch who put some Muggle girl under a spell? When she finally woke up she didn't know which century she was in and couldn't speak the language any more. I believe the Ministry managed to get her a job in the fashion industry after it recreated some memories for her."

"Oh yes, I remember that," said Tonks. "Very romantic. The bloke who rescued her, though – did they get married?"

"I don't know."

"No," said Flume, "it was a wizard who rescued her, and he only did it by accident. They decided to all it quits after dating for a month, then the Ministry made up some new memories for her, found her a job, and she married a photographer. Now she models for Muggle magazines – she made the cover of Vogue…" He trailed off and blushed slightly. "Now then, it was in all the papers – it wasn't like I was deliberately following the story… ahh… so if Hogwarts was isolated over a century or longer, when the barrier comes down there's the danger of being in the wrong time. What's wrong with being isolated by a fraction of a second?"

"Shouldn't that be even better?" asked Tonks, gracefully allowing the subject to come back in line, although the twinkle in her eye suggested she wasn't going to forget Flume's interest in Muggle affairs – or let him forget. "Easier to break, that is?"

"No. The temporal dynamics would be too fine. Potentially speaking, if someone other than the person who set the barrier broke it, Hogwarts could blink out of this reality. Time is tricky to mess with in the first place, but it gets really nasty once you go below a critical level, especially regarding mass. Something to do with the speed of light: if it takes longer for light to travel from one side of the isolated area to the other compared to the actual time the area is isolated by, then it's easy to make the area stop existing simply by countering the spell wrongly." It irritated him, but Draco had to respect Granger's phenomenal and wide-ranging powers of research. What she had found out about the barrier and generously explained to everyone else concerned had raised new questions even she hadn't been able to puzzle out – but now there was at least one to which he was pleased he'd be able to give her a reassuring answer.

"Nice booby trap," said George, with a meaningful look at his brother. Draco didn't like the small cunning smiles both twins got.

"Luckily whoever set up the spell didn't want to chance Hogwarts disappearing forever," said Draco. "Which gives us some leeway if we get the counterspell wrong."

"Dumbledore won't let that happen. He _is_ involved, isn't he?" Tonks asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes," Draco lied. "But we're relying mostly on Granger's research and Snape's notes. Plus Longbottom is good with Herbology, so he's selected some mistletoe already. We just have to harvest it."

"Fairly snappily, I imagine," said Flume. "It's the wrong season. Even if you're using spring snow mistletoe, then."

Draco gave him a surprised look. "According to Snape, yes."

"I thought he was dead?" said George. "Is he a ghost now?" He and his brother exchanged uncomfortable glances.

"No – but he wrote some notes in a library book…"

"Snape _wrote_ in a _library book?"_

Draco rolled his eyes. The twins sounded like they were telepathically attuned to Hermione. "Yes, he _wrote_ in a _library book_. And gave us some specific potions, including the basics for the dry potion we used to send Harry back in time."

"He explained all that while you were out doing the shopping," said Fred. "Harry went back to his dad's school days and he and Snape were buddies."

"Right. Of course. Because that makes more sense than anything else in the world. Did Luna Lovegood write this script, Malfoy?" George said.

Draco smiled. "Perhaps – because she also wrote herself in as Harry's girlfriend."

The twins groaned.

"She's all right," Draco said. "Honestly. She comes across as a bit weird, but she's got some good ideas and she means well… and she's not stupid. Just open to multiple possibilities." He conveniently forgot that he'd once described her open-mindedness as being more akin to that of someone lobotomised.

"Well, that's the nicest way I've heard anyone call someone crazy." George shook his head and sat on the box next to Flume.

"As I was saying," Flume went on, "spring snow mistletoe loses all potency after midsummer's night. So you've only got a few more days to harvest it."

"Hell," Draco breathed. "Well, we've got the linen and the sickle… and did you get the other things from the apothecary?"

George patted the green bag. "All ready to go. Sealed in unbreakable jars."

Draco suddenly realised something. His shoulders slumped as he said, "I'm not sure I can take active magic through the barrier… my wand was okay because I wasn't using it, and…" _and the shoes were keyed in to the edge-magic of Simon _"… and I was sure not to bring anything magic on me…"

"Relax." George nudged the bag with the toe of one boot. "I've got it covered. This bag is Impermeable. It reflects back any magical signs and buffers for shocks. It's also very fashionable with an embossed paisley pattern. How much do you think you'd pay for something like this? One hundred Galleons?"

"No," said Draco, folding his arms.

He was ignored. It looked like the twins had been working on their spiel for too long to be interrupted now that they'd been given a chance to try it out.

"Yes," said Fred.

"No! You'd think so, wouldn't you? Morons! But no! Not one hundred Galleons. Not eighty galleons!"

"Fifty?" asked Tonks, who was beginning to look a little sour. "And you shouldn't call customers 'morons'."

"Not to their faces," added Flume.

George frowned. "We're meant to go through seventy-five and sixty first."

"Get on with it," Flume muttered.

"…Not fifty! Not forty! Thirty? No!"

"Twenty? Twenty Galleons!" Fred exclaimed.

"We laugh at twenty Galleons! Ha-ha! No! Only twelve Galleons!"

"But wait, there's more!"

George scowled at his twin. "That's my line."

"You've already done the whole numbers thing. I want a good line."

"Fine."

"But wait, there's more!"

"Happy?"

"Now, yes."

"We're not." But Draco was ignored again.

"Twelve galleons, and that's including the faux-dragon-hide wallet with real faux hand-tooled curly stuff," George enthused, throwing one hand out in a dramatic gesture that made Tonks duck. "Buy three and we include a spiffing plastic egg-timer! So exact, it can almost measure out three minutes!"

"Four. Four-ish. On a warm day. Five if it's sulking 'cos of the cold. Do you know how much you'd pay for a real faux hand-tooled curly stuff faux-dragonhide wallet? But wait, there's more! (Sorry, George, but that's such a good line I had to say it again.) It comes in… Different colours! Yes! Different colours! We thought you'd prefer the green rather than the red, Malfoy. We are sensitive to our customers' needs! The material's brilliant for testing out new products within – safety first, right George?"

"Right. Or it is now after you burnt your eyebrows off. And the ink ran when you had to draw your eyebrows back on… and didn't Irene Buglestaff think that was funny?"

"Worst date ever," Fred grumbled.

Draco tried not to smirk, then remembered that the clock was ticking. "Right. Leaving aside the evils of Weasley love-life for the moment – if you think you might possibly be able to? Good. I expect I'm not the only one eternally grateful. Now. The barrier. It's a set of three trees, we think. I found one on Hogwarts grounds and it's got a bitch of a solid charm on it – threw me back a few yards and knocked me out, so be warned when you go looking for oak tree anchors. I found it using Mendeleev gloves, which were destroyed when Potter took them back in time."

"I notice you specified purple troll bladderweed," George said, wiping his brow. The sales pitch had really taken it out of him. "So you're going to try making another pair?"

"And how did you know they need purple troll bladderweed?"

"Guess. How'd you get your gloves, then? Don't tell me you made them from scratch?"

"God, no. They were Snape's. Dumbledore gave them to me after I went blind."

"You went blind? Why did I have to go off and do the shopping and miss the really good stuff?" George whined.

He was ignored.

"Luna has a bit of an idea for how to make new ones."

"Really?" Tonks said doubtfully. "How'd she learn?"

"Professor Snape. Apparently she bugged him and he thought it was safer to teach her than let her figure it out on her own."

Fred balled a piece of paper and threw it at his brother. "Oh, sod it! I _knew_ we should have played our 'a little knowledge in the hands of Fred and George is a potential danger to the school and entirety of creation' card with Snape! We could have blackmailed him into teaching us anything… can you imagine the products we'd have developed by now if he'd told us the difference between skuntweed harvested before and after the new moon?"

George shied the wad of paper back at his brother moodily. "We'd not have needed to rebuild that fireplace."

"And the chimney."

"And the shed."

"And the barn that caught fire."

"That storage facility for the apothecary – you remember the one on the other side of us? That made some pretty lights as it exploded…"

"Brilliant, that was – I keep wondering which –"

_"If_ I might finish?" Draco said huffily. "So we're going to try making some new gloves. And pinpointing the other trees. Which means we'll have to send someone out again. Which means it would be terribly useful if you could keep an eye on the road to make sure that person doesn't get done over by Dementors or caught up by the curses set in the road or hanging in the air. Or at the very least can take a message as the person dives back inside the barrier."

"I'll put a bell by the gates," said Tonks. "Don't worry – the bell will be unmagical. We've already seen how the Death Eaters have put up detectors for magic around the perimeter, so I don't want to alert them to the fact we're expecting another visitor. But the clapper will be charmed so that when you touch it it'll alert me or another Auror who can come and escort you to Hogsmeade or at the very least Apparate you to safety. Can you Apparate?"

"No. And I can't learn at the moment because it's not possible to do so on Hogwarts grounds. I could probably try in the Forest," Draco added, thinking aloud. "Yes. I'll see if any of the professors feel like giving the sixth-years lessons in how to Apparate."

"Might be a good idea for if you're ever in a pinch. The bell will be on the left side of the gate – that's your right as you come out."

"Still got those floating ribbons hanging around the road?" asked Flume.

"Oh, yes."

"Any touch you?"

"Not me."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning they didn't touch me, all right?" Draco answered George, feeling his temper fraying.

"So they touched your transport. Did you come on a broom or a carpet?"

"No. Look, if you can find the other two trees, I'd really like to know where they are. If not, I'll see about using the Mendeleev gloves or passing them on to someone outside the barrier. And in the meantime is there some way we could arrange to have a good stock of food to be picked up? If we can miniaturise it and put it in an Impermeable bag, that would be best."

"Food? What do you need?" asked Tonks.

Draco shrugged. "I dunno. The basics, I guess. Flour, sugar, meat, vegetables… we haven't had fresh fruit or vegetables for a while, only what the house elves had preserved. Not that I'm complaining about the lack of Brussels sprouts, but even I know there's a basic minimum needed to stay healthy. Apples would be especially useful," he said, thinking of Simon. And, thinking of Simon… "And can I stop in at your shop before I go back, Mr Flume?"

"Wanting to put something on account?" Flume asked, smiling as if to show he wouldn't be too put out if Draco did.

But Draco didn't care to be patronised. "Not at all." He fished around in the pockets of his Muggle-style trousers and pulled out all the Galleons he'd brought with him. "I should hope this will be enough to cover my purchases."

Flume's shaggy eyebrows rose. "Thinking of buying out my entire stock, are you?"

"Like I said, we're really down on basic supplies. And money's less useful right now than, say, a box of liquorice."

"Hm. Well, when we're finished here I suppose we can stop by."

Draco shot Tonks a quizzical look. She nodded.

"There's a lot I'd like to know, but I can't think of the questions right now. You – you've come as too much of a surprise. Are you sure you can't stay longer?"

"Absolutely. I hope I haven't been here too long."

"So you'll forgo a trip to the candy shop?"

"Not bloody likely, Weasley."

"Come on then," Flume said, standing as if his joints weren't enjoying being up so late.

"You'll be wanting another Impermeable bag, will you?" asked Tonks.

"That'd be good, thanks," Draco said. "I'll have to shrink a lot down to carry it back. In fact, is there any chance of taking any food back for the castle?"

"We'll go and see to it – meet you at Honeydukes," George said.

"Can't get anything through the floo for you at the moment as we suspect it's been under Death Eater surveillance. That'd make them wonder why people are ordering massive amounts of flour…"

"…Butter, milk, eggs, tomatoes, ham… and unless they thought we were secretly trying to break the record for World's Biggest Pizza…"

"…We could be inviting a bit of unnecessary strife on ourselves. There's been a shipment of fruit and veg today… well, yesterday morning, it'd be now," Fred added. "I'm sure Descartes won't mind it going for a good cause."

"Are we going to wake him to ask, Fred?"

"No, George. Are we the sort of people who go around waking honest working folk at this time of night?"

"No, Fred, we are not."

"Nope. So we'll just nick the lot and then explain it to him next time we see him."

"Right you are, Fred. Well, come on, you lot," he added quickly as Tonks, Flume and Draco glared at him, frightened he and Fred were going to start going off on a tangent. "Time's a-wasting as the lad said."

ooOOoo

The shadows had only got darker if anything.

The sacks slung over Draco's shoulders contained mostly shrunken items, but there was only so far things could be reduced and Draco estimated the weight as at least twenty kilos. Normally that wasn't anything too heavy for him, but the bulky inertia made it hard to move sideways with speed.

Not that Draco had needed to duck anything yet, but he liked to keep his options open. He stumbled and cursed, his lips moving silently. Bloody potholes.

Now.

Which tree had he left Simon under?

It was almost like having a Dementor pass by – that nasty cold feeling deep in the chest. Draco realised he couldn't remember where Simon was.

_Fuck it. I've lost my horse._

"Simon…?" he whispered.

Nothing. Only an owl hooting far away in the forest. Something flittered overhead, a high-pitched chittering almost beyond the range of hearing, like fingernails on wet glass, told him bats were about. That was reassuring – bats didn't like Dementors and were quite shy creatures.

The sudden scream of a fox nearly gave him a heart-attack.

But that, too, was far away.

Draco was alone in the night with only a handful of bats and the cold, heavy smell of trees and mouldering leaves for company. A tall, black, bad-tempered horse was conspicuous by his absence.

A low, rolling snort echoed through the trees. It sounded like a monster. Or the drain of a monster's bathroom clearing.

_"Simon,"_ Draco hissed, recognising the snort of a suspicious horse. Then, slightly louder, "Simon."

There was a soft whinny.

Draco headed towards it.

He found Simon still tied up under the tree, sheltered from the wind by shaggy pine branches. When he pushed through the boughs he found the small hollow created by the tree was slightly warmer than the rest of the night, but not warm enough. And when he touched the horse's shoulder he found Simon was shivering slightly, and Draco was ashamed he hadn't thought to bring a blanket for the horse. Simon didn't seem to hold any grudges, though. There was a stir in the air and Draco heard rather than saw the horse bob its head up and down by the soft whickering coming from shoulder height then waist height then up again. He smiled, picturing Simon's expression in his mind.

Simon whuffled at his hair and nipped lightly at his shoulder, not to hurt, simply to reassure himself Draco was Draco. It was friendly as nips went. Draco patted the horse on the neck, just as relieved to see the horse as the horse was to see him. So to speak. It was so dark Draco couldn't really see anything. It was like being blind again. Fortunately that had taught Draco what to do in situations like these: use your hands, your ears, and your common sense.

He ran his hands up to Simon's head, then down the bridle to the reins and followed the cold leather straps to where they were still wrapped around the branch. "There we go. Sorry, Simon – I didn't mean to leave you so long you got cold. Here. I brought you an apple." He bit it into chunks, juice running down his chin. The apple was sweet and Draco saved a bite for himself, wiping his face on the back of his sleeve, getting bits of pine needle stuck to his cheek. The crunching of the apple between Simon's teeth sounded terribly loud. The fox screamed again, a little nearer, but Draco barely noticed. It was a sound he thought of as part of winter and right now he wanted to leave this place, get back to Hogwarts where foxes knew what season it was and parents didn't expect their children to become enslaved to insane wizards – well, insane wizards other than Dumbledore, that was.

Disturbing thoughts.

"Come on, let's get some light."

The moon was out again, but Draco decided that if he stayed within the trees there wasn't too much chance of being spotted. Simon didn't seem upset by anything. Instead of sidling and snorting, the horse stood idly as Draco arranged and rearranged bags over his shoulders, occasionally turning his head to check what Draco was doing, probably hoping for another apple.

"When we get back to Hogwarts. I promise you two apples, how's that?"

Unfortunately horses don't understand English. Simon checked the pockets of Draco's cloak and Draco's hands as the boy worked, ever hopeful.

Tonks, who was pretty handy with a wand, had twined the top straps of the bags and sacks so that they were paired by weight. She hadn't asked why he'd wanted them arranged so oddly, although she wouldn't have had an answer to that anyway. Draco slung them over Simon's withers, just in front of the saddle, and arranged the extra straps he'd had Tonks fit so that the bags were secured to the D-rings on the front of the saddle just below the pommel. After a moment's deliberation, he loosened the girth further (he'd already loosened it when he left Simon as it was the least he could do to make the horse more comfortable) to allow the lower straps from the bags to slip under and around the girth more easily. The horse's skin was prone to rubbing from the girth, but Draco was confident they'd be back before more than a millimetre of hair was rubbed off. Satisfied that the load was both balanced and secure on both sides, Draco tightened the girth again, jabbing Simon in the belly with his knee as he did so to make sure the horse wasn't holding his breath.

Which he had been, of course.

Simon grunted and gave Draco a dirty look.

"Sorry, old boy, but I can't have the saddle going under your stomach. Not tonight." Draco had kept a peppermint back in the pocket of his shirt. He dug around under the robes, under the jacket – ugh, how did Muggles stand having to wear so many layers? Maybe that was why they didn't spend enough time thinking up ways to stop polluting the planet – and, by wriggling carefully, managed to extract the peppermint.

Simon's ears shot forward and there was a greedy rumble from deep in his chest.

The peppermint was gone, crunched down, peppermint smell mixing with the pine to make the air even crisper.

Draco ran his hand down the girth on either side to make sure the hair was lying flat and no skin was pinched. Thanks to Luna's care, that had never happened, but Draco expected Bad Things should Simon's sensitive skin be nipped and irritated by the girth.

There were enough Bad Things out there this evening for Draco to not go courting new ones. He pulled down the stirrups and mounted a little awkwardly as the bags got in the way. Simon arched his neck and circled on the spot, ready to go.

"Steady there."

Simon ducked his head and snorted. Draco reminded himself to relax. Luna insisted horses were psychic, and while he doubted that, Simon had an uncanny knack of picking up on a rider's thoughts. And right now Draco was feeling more than a little anxious.

Simon pawed the ground.

"Hell, don't do that! If we lose a shoe we're screwed." He nudged the horse carefully with his heels, easing up just enough on the reins so that Simon didn't forget the rider was in charge.

Although Simon had done a darn good job of taking care of business while Draco was crippled with agony in the barrier…

No point in pushing his luck. Draco kept contact light but constant between his hands and Simon's mouth as the horse stepped forward.

The moon was past zenith now. Draco took one last look at the watch Tonks had loaned him – five to three; things hadn't taken so long as he'd thought – before he hung it on a branch. It would be an easy _accio_ for her in the morning. And at least he could give Granger a rough guestimate of the time differential.

Simon spun around towards Hogsmeade, nearly sending Draco off onto the road, and stopped dead.

"Come on…" Draco pulled on the reins and dared a harder kick.

Simon tossed his head and sidled to the left, eyes bulging with suspicion, ears flickering. Draco clutched at the pommel. "What the hell…?"

"Er… that would be me he's seen," came an apologetic voice. The hood of a black cloak was thrown back to reveal hair that glowed coppery under the moonlight.

"And me." A second hood showed a second red-head, just as unwelcome as the first.

"Fred, then. I was the cunning one who was unseen until I declared my presence."

"Yeah, right."

Draco pressed his hand over his eyes. "Oh, for God's sake… I see how much a promise from you two is worth."

"Our word is our bond. We're only out because…"

"…we needed to get something…"

"…for Tonks. Her watch. Nice horsie, by the way. Where'd…"

"…you get it?"

"None of your bloody business," Draco snarled, furious. "And you're not to say a word about him."

"No? Does Dumbledore know…"

"…you're out for a midnight ride? I thought Harry was…"

"…involved. You're not telling me he's given up Quidditch for steeplechasing?"

Draco was getting dizzy from the conversation. "I'm saying that I won't be the only one annoyed if certain quarters get wind of a way through the barrier."

The twins fell mercifully silent. It was hard to tell what they were thinking, the light was too bad and the twins had always been the most secretive of all the Weasleys Draco had met, hiding their real intentions behind banter. It was hard to know if they could be serious enough to know the danger of what they'd just found out.

Fred – or George; Draco had lost track – nodded. "True. Well, while we're here, we can at the very least give you some help."

Draco stared at them, waiting for the punch-line. Or just the punch.

"We've got a new product out on the market."

"We've got Bad Wind."

"I beg your pardon?"

"That's the name of the product. 'Bad Wind'."

"Do I really want to know about this?" Draco asked faintly. Simon had relaxed again. Maybe if he pulled the horse's head around and made a run for it, he could save what was left of his sanity.

Fred produced a small vial. "It's a small tornado in a jar."

"Oh. Is that meant to be good?"

"It's probably better than what you were thinking," George sniggered.

Draco said nothing, waiting.

Fred sighed. "Y'know the blue streamers? Bad Wind wraps them up in itself and clears the way. No getting caught."

"You've tested it?"

"Yup. Clears 99% of all blue streamers. No getting caught and tortured to death by Death Eaters, or your money back."

"Providing you apply in person for the refund," added George.

"Of course," Draco said. "What about all the little hellpits in the road?"

"Ah. Those are for you to avoid. We can't take all the fun from you."

"Gee. Thanks."

"Not at all. Ready?"

"You sure this spell of yours is magically undetectable?"

"Of course. Worked fine just last week. George? Care to do the honours?"

"Right you are, Frederick."

George pointed the mouth of the vial along the road.

"How do you know it won't go off into the Forest?"

"Good question. It doesn't."

"Why not?" Draco was getting cross again. Simon stamped a foot and the twins moved back a step.

"Er… industrial secret. But the whirlwind homes in on the gates of Hogwarts, travelling along the road. That much I _can_ tell you."

Draco was placing his life – and Simon's – in the hands of a pair of Weasley tricksters. "Get on with it."

George popped the cap.

There was a muffled howl and Simon stepped back smartly as a small vortex spun out of the vial, rapidly growing to tower over Draco's head.

Simon snorted in alarm and tried to turn and run, but Draco held him steady. The horse pranced and the sacks bumped against Draco's knees. "Steady, Simon… Is that thing dangerous?"

"We could ask you the same," Fred replied sourly. Simon had nearly trodden on him and George was rubbing his nose. When Simon had turned, that long black tail had swished into George's face. "Look – there it goes…"

Bad Wind had taken its bearings now and was accelerating up the road towards the castle. It soon merged into the darkness, but the faint whistle of it could still be heard.

"Better get a move on, Malfoy," George said.

Draco nodded.

Simon was a little unhappy about following Bad Wind, but Draco's heels and firm grip on the reins argued the horse into a trot that kept them within earshot of the whirlwind. Draco looked back once: the twins were still standing there, hoods back up. If he hadn't known where they were he wouldn't have spotted them.

Oddly reassured, he urged Simon faster to keep up with the whirlwind. It wasn't far before the first streamers appeared. They rippled blue then violet when they tangled with Bad Wind, spooling around and into the vortex. Encouraged, Draco cast the first spell to reveal the traps in the road itself.

Nothing. Good.

A few minutes' trot later and Hogsmeade was out of sight. But the barrier itself was in view, shimmering under the moonlight. There was a hint of the castle beyond it, and Draco realised that there was a very simple way of getting messages through: post a whopping great sign for long enough, and hopefully someone would see it.

So why hadn't anyone done this before?

Maybe –

The first shadow of coldness alerted him and then the way Simon threw up his head confirmed it: they weren't alone.

The coiling of the night air suggested something passing nearby his face. Draco jerked back when something stroked his cheek. A friendly, slightly lost bat? There were no faint squeaks. Simon tugged at the reins, throwing his head up and down.

Ice congealed at the edges of Draco's vision.

Vision…

He was blind. Again. Blind and helpless and devoid of purpose. Beneath him the horse shuddered, caught in some nightmare of its own.

Draco shook his head. No – the moon had simply gone behind clouds. The clouds parted again and the sudden light showed a tall dark figure on the road ahead, tattered robes shifting gently in eddies of frigid air. The night congealed around it.

Dementor.

Draco stared at it; frozen; desperately wanting to run, but not having anywhere to run to. When he tugged on the reins to turn Simon, the horse didn't notice, standing there in the middle of the road as if its hooves were glued to it.

The Dementor glided closer.

Draco felt the darkness of the spider's poison tug him down again. His limbs were going numb. He dropped the reins. He was alone in the world. Alone and powerless.

The Dementor raised one skeletal hand to touch between Simon's ears.

ooOOoo


	47. Chapter 47

Disclaimer: all recognisable characters (no matter how distorted they have become) are property of JK Rowling.

ooOOoo

Chapter 47: Racehorse

There was a rattling breath as the Dementor approached. Draco wondered if it was his. He didn't care – he knew he was dying and he was dying alone with nothing done for or in his name. His vision was gone and his bones had all the strength of a jellyfish. He was dimly aware that the Dementor was touching Simon now. He was meant to protect Simon, who staggered as if he couldn't control his long legs any more. But Draco couldn't do anything because he was blind. He was blind as he sat there watching the Dementor push Simon's head to the side as it reached past the horse and up to him, Simon jerking at the touch, white-rimmed eyes staring at nothing and everything as if the horse couldn't see the monster breathing the same air as him. And Draco sat paralysed, watching the tall figure glide and raise its hands, watching those scabbed fingers as they trembled towards his face, watching, watching, watching while all the time knowing he was blind.

The world pulsed with a killing fever and rapidly faded as what felt like hoarfrost thickened over his eyes.

The world drew back and left Draco more alone than he'd ever been in his life.

The world –

The world burst under him. Recalled almost too late to the fact he was sitting on a horse, Draco lurched in the saddle. He leaned forward just in time, one hand grabbing at the mane, the other trying to find the reins. And then the ground was falling away as the world tilted and rose…

Simon reared high, panicking, and struck out wildly with his front feet.

By some miracle the hooves found a target. There was an ear-splitting wail as silver shoes hammered at the Dementor. The ragged spectre fell back, arms flailing, diminished but not killed.

It rallied as Simon plunged back to ground, ragged robes swirling around it as it drew itself back up and raised its hands again. There was that sucking, rattling, indrawn breath and the world iced around the edges again as it tried to draw in all warmth.

The moon dimmed. Draco felt faint as his vision faded.

Simon didn't wait. He spun around and kicked out, once, twice in a different direction when the first kick didn't connect. Simon couldn't see the Dementor but the horse knew _something_ was there. Draco clung to the saddle and a handful of mane as Simon twisted to kick out again. And again. Draco heard a hollow crack and another of those unearthly wails. Grunting with effort, Simon lashed out one last time; Draco felt the impact as the back hooves hit jolt all the way up his own spine, and the wail broke off in a breathy gurgle. Then Simon gathered all four feet beneath him. Warned by the millisecond sensation of sitting on a bomb about to explode, Draco tightened his fists.

Draco didn't get the chance to look back: the speed with which the horse shot forward nearly snapped his head off his neck. Draco tasted blood. He clung to mane and saddle as the horse accelerated faster than his Nimbus 2001.

In a few seconds Simon was stretched out at full gallop. The cold air blew Draco's hood back and warred with the hot blood pulsing with terror in his ears.

The moon sailed high between faint stars now, lighting up the night, light and shadow crisp and clear. The sudden release from the Dementor's foul magic was like coming up for air after nearly drowning and Draco gulped gratefully at the fresh air that was forcing itself down his throat. Realising it was futile to try and pull his hood back up – or not if he wanted to keep holding onto the mane and thus stay on board the runaway horse, that was, because with every stride Simon threatened to bounce his rider out of the saddle – Draco hoped there wasn't going to be anyone noticing his fair hair. He leaned forward again and tried to find the rhythm of the gallop.

Simon's feet hit the ground with all the noise of a cat out hunting and for Draco it was close to flying over the ground. While Simon's trot was bouncy and the canter made Draco seasick, this flat-out sprint was in another realm altogether.

Luna had told him thoroughbreds are bred for speed.

Simon was fulfilling his heritage at what felt like forty or fifty miles an hour. The wind force was making Draco's eyes water. He blinked faster, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them wide to peer into the night ahead.

Draco hoped thoroughbreds were also bred not to run into obstacles. Like the house he could see coming up on them.

Simon changed course only slightly, skimming past the cottage so closely Draco saw the shutters tightly closed like those of Hogsmeade; extending stride just enough to cross the road without touching it.

They were far past the house by the time a few chickens clucked and the collie wondering what the hell had just woken it up began to bark. If there was a Dementor following them, the dog didn't seem to notice. But then animals weren't supposed to notice Dementors, Draco remembered. He didn't have time to follow up this thought; Simon was rocketing around a corner. Draco leaned into the bend, which didn't slow the black horse a jot.

Luckily this part of the country was reasonably flat farmland and the hills weren't steep, certainly not steep enough to slow Simon down, although Draco worried about him tripping as they sped down the hills.

The Dementor's chill was gone long before they reached a nice, flat stretch of country. The sprint eased infinitesimally, and Draco took the opportunity; he released his death-grip on the mane with one hand and picked up the reins, sitting back slightly to suggest to Simon that perhaps they might slow for a moment. Please. If it wasn't too much trouble.

Simon eventually took the hint several miles east of Hogsmeade after a nasty leap over a small fence Draco hadn't seen until the last moment, and Draco (once he'd recovered again from the surprise jump) brought him around just before an old stone wall much higher than the shorter hurdle they'd just cleared. Luckily Simon wasn't inclined towards being a steeplechaser tonight or Draco would have been in real trouble.

A few cows stood up and shook their ears in bewilderment at this nocturnal juggernaut now cantering jerkily in an approximation of a circle, but Draco and Simon ignored them. Above and beyond tilting an ear in their direction, Simon didn't seem to have a problem with cattle, which relieved Draco. He didn't know anything about cows himself, or nothing beyond the fact that you don't mess with the white ones which have red-tipped ears. These cows were shorter and hairier than the ones that he thought of as stage one in milk production. But they didn't seem in the mood to do anything beyond staring at Draco and Simon with bovine interest, and as Simon wasn't in a hurry to leave them, Draco tuned them out in favour of concentrating on Simon. And any Dementors who might be following…

The horse refused to stop completely and was still quaking with fear. Draco ignored his own fright along with how his kidneys were being jolted out his ears and ran his hand along Simon's crest as the horse settled into an awkward jog between the cows. "Shh. It's alright now. The Dementor's gone. You outran it. Clever Simon. Wonderful Simon. Damned sight faster than the Hogwarts Express Simon. There we go. Good boy, Simon."

Simon lowered his head and snorted, then threw it up again, nearly breaking Draco's nose when Draco didn't recover fast enough from being jerked forward by the reins.

"Ouch! Watch it… Er, I mean, there, there…"

Simon flicked an ear, but seemed to be trying to concentrate most of his attention on seeing invisible monsters. He jinked at a dark patch on the ground and Draco grabbed at the saddle before he could slide off into the cow pat.

"Argh. Careful. Whoa, Simon. It's just… well, never mind. These cows have been busy and I'd like to stay on your back if it's all right with you."

He checked that the bags were all there – by some miracle they were – and rode Simon in a series of circles and figure eights, threading between the cows which turned to watch them pass, until Simon was able to keep a calm walk. And in between keeping an ear pricked for Dementors or Death Eaters (and potential Muggle farmers wondering why some mad kid was riding a horse around their farm in the middle of the night), Draco considered two very different directions.

The first was, of course, Hogwarts. With its obvious disadvantage of Dementors and Infernii hellpits along the road. Plus a barrier that turned a horse ride into a whole-body toothache.

On the other hand, how hard could it be to ride a horse down through Scotland and England to Malfoy Manor? Surely that would be feasible? There was lots of food in the sacks, also places he could buy or steal food, and there was grass along the way for Simon to eat. Apple orchards. Carrot farms. Ride a horse from one place to another? That was what Muggles did all the time. And how hard could it be to pass himself off as a Muggle? Of course calling out "Ho there, fellow Muggle" would be a dead giveaway, but Draco wasn't that daft. He'd just nod and comment on the weather. Or the state of autumn mobile trafficking. Yes.

Think of the benefits!

He'd be home. Malfoy Manor. His room. His books. The old troll cage could be converted into a stable and the lawns – well, there could be trouble if hoofmarks suddenly broke up the centuries-old green sward, but what were house elves for? And he didn't need to take over any of the paddocks already taken up by sheep. He only needed to convert a small fraction of the estate into riding areas and paddocks for Simon to relax in – say a measly five acres or so – and buy hay off local Muggle farmers. Simon would be very happy. It was easy to picture Simon grazing out past the East Wing, the horse meandering down past the folly towards the trout stream when it got hot, Draco riding Simon through the fields on a warm summer day or through the orchards in autumn, picking apples from the saddle as they went under trees laden down with fruit…

Home.

His mother, waiting to welcome him and his new pet. Narcissa didn't like animals, that was true, but she'd warm to Simon. Draco loved his mother but even he had to admit she was a bit of a snob, so surely a horse as top-notch as Simon would win her over.

His father, waiting to welcome him into the Death Eater fold. Killing Simon would probably be quite tame as initiation rites went.

Draco tightened the reins and ran his hand down Simon's crest again as the horse tried to break into a trot. Maybe Simon was psychic after all.

Damn Lucius for bringing politics into things!

Draco and sat straighter, squaring his shoulders. He'd show his father politics. If politics was what Lucius wanted, politics was what he'd –

Simon shivered the skin on his withers and threw his head up, eyes wild. One of the bags bumped gently into Draco's knee as the horse arched its neck and pranced sideways, tugging on the reins.

And the cold descended around them like a shroud.

Dementors – it could be nothing else.

Draco looked up.

The Dementors were grouped so thick even the cows sensed them dimly. Draco heard them lowing in unease, but he was too busy wrenching Simon's head around and driving his heels into the horse's sides to worry about stupid Muggle cows. What felt like twigs grazed his hair as he ducked on instinct until he almost lay flat along the horse's neck.

Simon didn't need any urging: the horse went straight into a gallop, nearly crashing through the fence and only seeming to remember that there was one there at the last millisecond, right before he gathered his legs for the jump. Draco, holding onto the reins rather than the saddle, lost a stirrup and nearly lost his seat. He only kept it through sheer luck and the fact that Simon was determined to keep a straight line. For some reason the horse had chosen to go back the way they'd come. Well, Hogwarts was closer than Malfoy Manor… Draco spared a moment's regret that he wouldn't see his home instead, then concentrated on slipping his foot back into the wildly swinging stirrup and hanging on for the chase.

The Dementors were all around him. He could sense them. He could see them. But this time he wasn't going to let them get to him. Or Simon. Could the horse see the Dementors? Animals weren't supposed to be affected by them, but even the cows had been upset and Simon, poor suffering beast that he was, seemed possessed by nightmares when they were near.

They had just galloped back up the hill where Simon slowed for a moment as he tried to get his breath back, then passed the farmhouse where the collie barked, yelped at the coldness of the mind even a dog could feel and dived into its kennel, when a ragged figure swooped in front of them, blocking their path.

Draco, who had given up on any hope of steering Simon, gave the horse another kick in the ribs just in case Simon had any ideas about slowing, covered his face and clung to the saddle.

Simon charged right through the Dementor. Or he would have, but the spectre veered off at the last second. Draco heard its high-pitched whistle of rage and felt ice crystallise along his spine.

So Simon couldn't see them after all. Those kicks had been lucky hits.

But now more of them were massing, trying to snag Draco's cloak as he passed them, ice sifting through his lungs. The Dementors seemed to have decided en masse to use sheer cold to slow their prey. It was working: Simon's breaths were coming laboured now. The cold was like a wall, turning the sweat on Draco's face and Simon's neck into ice which cracked at every movement.

The moon went behind clouds.

The horse stumbled. Slowed. Its head sagged to the level of its knees, which Draco could feel trembling.

Then the Dementors were swarming thick around them, stirring the air and sucking out the last of the oxygen. Simon reared and they fell back out of reach of the striking hooves. There was a concerted wall of cold that hit Draco and winded him. Simon groaned and for a moment Draco thought the horse would fall. Draco pulled on the reins as the horse foundered, hauling up the horse's head like it was a lead weight, and although Simon staggered for one horrible moment, going down onto his knees, he managed to get back on his hooves. But when Draco tried kicking the horse into a gallop again, Simon seemed to have gone numb.

Draco's vision was going. It was narrowing down, losing itself in the darkness of the night, of Simon's mane, the last light reflecting from his pale knuckles where they clung to saddle, reins and mane.

His wand… Draco should use his wand to protect himself… What was the name of that spell? The one he'd never successfully cast? The one that was meant to save him from the Dementors but which he couldn't remember?

Then he heard a shrill yapping and the ice over the world melted just enough for his vision to clear.

He looked down and his eyes widened.

Racing into the circle of Dementors were two little silver dogs. They looked like Crups except their tails were not forked. One had a patch over its left eye, the other had a patch over the right. The terriers charged the Dementors and snapped at the ragged cloaks and whatever passed for ankles beneath. There were more shrill whistles of Dementor rage and dismay. Draco's vision cleared more, and he realised the dogs weren't real. The silvery stuff they were made of seemed to be spun from pure magic.

Patroni. He hadn't known they could make noises, but the little silvery dogs were yapping and snarling as they tore into the Dementors, which snarled and hissed back as they scrambled out of the way.

Patroni…

Expecto patronum. That was what he'd tried to remember. And you needed a happy memory to cast that… Try as Draco might, he couldn't find a happy memory right now – not even to save his life.

"Run, you moron!"

Fred – or George – was running towards him, wand extended. Further back towards Hogsmeade was the other twin, a grim look on his face as he too ran towards them. Both were panting. With a small start of surprise, Draco realised they weren't too far from the village now, almost back where he'd seen the first Dementor. There was the road – the moon coming out just as he looked up it, shining off the stones and the barrier surrounding Hogwarts.

"Go, Simon!" He pulled the horse's head up, pointing the nose left along the road to Hogwarts.

Simon swayed. Draco's skin prickled, cold with the sudden terror that Simon was going to fall.

There was a yap followed by a surprised grunt from Simon. Draco looked back and down: one of the silver terriers had bitten Simon's heel; off it went again, savaging a Dementor which reeled away, flailing its arms.

Simon surged forward, his ears back, crescent moons around his eyes.

Draco pulled out his wand. This time he'd be ready. All he needed was a happy memory…

Simon was in an uncertain canter now, but it felt almost mechanical as if the horse had to concentrate hard on each hoof falling where it should. Draco looked back – the twins were holding their own. "Get back to the village!" he shouted, frightened they would be caught and no-one would find out about the Dementors… if Draco was going to die he wanted to be remembered as a hero, which meant someone telling his heroic escapades. _Die? Hang on a minute… what happened to finding a happy memory?_

"Get back to Hogwarts, you great pillock!" one of the twins yelled back.

"On my way…" He gave Simon another kick. Poor Simon was going to have sore sides tomorrow, but as long as they had a tomorrow Draco didn't think the horse would begrudge a few bruises.

Simon rounded the last bend. The twins were almost out of sight, them and their terrier Patroni, and Draco looked back to see the Dementors milling about in confusion. They rallied, gathering together, and for a moment Draco considered turning Simon to go back and help, because surely Fred and George wouldn't be able to hold off so many of them… but then two streaks of silver – no, three – that looked like a cloud of bees – flew from the road towards Hogsmeade. Other than the cloud of darting silver specks, a wolf and what could be a salmon were also there, leaping into the circle of Dementors who had turned on the twins. Dementors scattered, pursued by small dogs, a wolf, a cloud of silver bees and a fish. Tonks and Flume running along the road, wands out, one running as silently as her wolf and the other gasping for breath from the exertion, for all the world like a fish out of water. Back behind them, limping but determined, stumped a wild-haired figure Draco couldn't immediately place.

The silver fish, Draco noted with pleasure, had just plunged through a Dementor, knocking the creature to the ground where it struggled weakly.

The twins were safe.

Draco turned back to his own problems. He cast the spell to show the hellpits in the road, this time putting a spin on the spell so that it skipped down the road like a stone over a lake, making at least four of the hellpits glow before Draco, pleased with his idea, sent out a few more.

There. That looked like all the hellpits on the road up to the gates were glowing, now.

"Come on, Simon. Let's go."

Simon didn't need much more urging now that the Dementors were falling further behind. He moved out of his canter into a slow gallop and then into a sprint as soon as his hooves touched the smooth surface of the road. Draco hung on to the saddle with one hand, ignoring the sacks bouncing against his knees, his wand in the other hand.

The moon caught a ragged shadow coming in from the left. Draco wouldn't have seen it if he hadn't already been alerted by the cold and looking that way.

Simon's gallop faltered, although the horse kept heading towards the gates as straight as an arrow. But his gait became more wooden and Draco was jolted in the saddle.

_Happy memory, happy memory…_

His father, hand on Draco's shoulder, pride in his eyes as he told six-year-old Draco that the book which was still burning was Draco's first piece of magic. Draco had kept that memory above all others for just this day. (But would his father look that proud when Draco took the Dark Mark? Or would he disown Draco for refusing it?)

The memory soured.

As the Dementor neared, it was obvious that Lucius would be ashamed and turn his back on Draco, never to acknowledge him as his son again.

Draco flailed for a happy memory.

His mother demanding of Lucius that Draco accompany them to the Quidditch World Cup. Draco was almost grown – time he developed some social polish. And she'd smiled at Draco and winked when Lucius agreed.

Death Eaters had attacked the camp that night and his parents had been busy attending to matters, or that was what they'd told their son – Lucius had known something would happen, thus his reluctance to bring Draco… and had his mother been wearing a mask and a hood?

That memory soured, too.

Professor Snape choosing Draco to stand up before all others and duel Potter in second year…

Snape was dead.

Draco would be dead soon, too. The Dementor paced them now, sending tendrils of frigid doubt snaking into Draco's mind.

Draco realised it was enjoying itself.

And he was out of happy memories. Well, not completely, of course. He had dozens more. But every happy memory he had was tied inevitably into an accompanying grief. That was simply the truth of life. There could be no happiness without sorrow, and the sorrow weighed truer than joy.

The Dementor reached out, ignoring Simon this time. Simon had slowed and was trotting determinedly towards the gates, breath rattling in his throat like a Dementor drinking in a soul.

Draco clung to the mane, trying to absorb some of the horse's strength, anything to break the cold that was turning the world dark.

Had the moon gone behind clouds again? His vision was narrowing as the Dementor grew closer and closer. It could have been less than a minute since Draco had left the twins, but it felt like a lifetime.

The Dementor's hand reached out and touched Draco's cheek almost lovingly.

Hand.

Draco was looking at his hands, one gripping black mane, the other a wand.

Hands.

_He had been blind but he'd had his hands. He had mapped out the contours of a horse's head with his hands. He'd found decayed spells and, with the aid of a sorceress, removed them. He'd put on gloves and relearned to read and write and move things and find things and control things and now he could see again, that terrible time of being blind was over, and right now he could see his hands. He'd spent a night in a stable with a horse, blind and forgotten by the rest of the world, and he'd realised how blessed he was to have such simple things, wondrous things, as hands.  
_  
His right hand lifted his wand as his left picked up the reins.

_"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_

Simon pricked up his ears as the silvery phantom image of himself materialised, solidified, prancing next to him, hooves not quite touching the ground. It reared and pirouetted, striking out at the enemy he could sense but not see.

When the silver stallion broke into a canter, so did he.__

ooOOoo

Tonks and Flume reached the twins just in time to drive off the last Dementors. The creatures scattered, leaving behind bitter cold as Mad-Eye Moody's swarm of bees whirled. The darting silver bullets evaporated as the old wizard stomped up, wheezing from the effort. An old bathrobe flapped around his knees – Tonks had risked calling him as soon as the wards around Hogsmeade warned her about the huge congregation of Dementors. Fearing the worst, she'd almost found it. And now she was grateful to have him. Those damn bees – one had stung her, she was sure of it – had tipped the balance in their favour.

"They're going after Malfoy," Tonks said, her teeth chattering as they jogged along the road after the fast-disappearing horse and rider.

Fred turned his wand towards Hogwarts. "Go get 'em," he said to his Patronus. The little silver terrier sped down the road, followed by its twin, a wolf and a silver salmon that knifed through the air like it was water. Moody, eye spinning wildly as he concentrated on whatever happy memory he had (Tonks wasn't going to speculate), raised his wand and sent a cloud of silver bullets down the road just as the horse slowed to a trot. The Patroni raced down the road, homing in on the last Dementor. They were going to be too late: Tonks groaned as she strained her eyes to make the most of the moonlight and saw the Dementor reach out to the pale-haired rider.

Then she saw Draco lift his wand.

Silver light shot out of it and sent the Dementor reeling back. A silver horse pranced and reared, striking out at the Dementor, which wailed and fell back, diminished into shadows and was gone before two small dogs, a fish, a wolf and some bees swarmed around where it had been.

The silver horse tossed its mane and arched its neck. When it began to run, the black horse flicked its tail and followed, doggedly taking up the challenge until the two, silver and ebony, were flank-to-flank, eye-to-eye, galloping up the road, manes and tails flying like moonlight and shadow, black cloak rippling out behind the rider with moonlight gleaming off his platinum hair, horses galloping silently until they hit the barrier and disappeared without even a ripple.

Tonks and her friends stood for a moment, recovering from the strain of casting their Patroni. Wand in her hand, Tonks leaned forward and braced her hands on her knees as she gasped for breath.

_That was bloody impressive,_ she thought. Her wolf Patronus was considered sizeable. Eyeing her companions, she noticed the twins looked both impressed and irked, which made her smile despite the severity of tonight's Dementor attack. Voldemort was getting confident, having so many group near Hogsmeade… what did he have in reserve if he could squander such a large number of Dementors by keeping them in reserve for such a relatively piddling annoyance as someone going in or out of Hogwarts – didn't he have much faith in his barrier? Did he –?

Moody coughed, distracting her. What was the old boy thinking now? He must have some idea, cunning old bastard that he was…

Moody cleared his throat and spat.

Tonks waited.

"Bugger this for a game of soldiers. I'm for a hot cup of tea."

Tonks sighed. "Yeah. I'll second that. Come on."

She looked back once before they turned the bend. The spell illuminating the hellpits was fading, red glows only visible now if you didn't look straight at them. The barrier still stood, not even a ripple to show someone had passed through.

_Safe journey, little cuz._

ooOOoo


	48. Chapter 48

Disclaimer and AN: These guys and environmental surrounds still belong to JK Rowling and her Warner people. I have no money, so please don't sue…

ooOOoo

Chapter 48: Quarantine

_Through the howling welter of distorted time ran a black horse and its rider._

Draco gritted his teeth and hung on as time shifted around and (excruciatingly) through him, snarling against his kidneys and threatening to turn his sinuses inside out. On the trip out, Simon's pace had been smooth as silk. Now each stride jolted up and through into Draco's skull like an iron spike. Every bump of the sacks against his knees was a new broken bone. And the colours of groaning time ricocheted off his retinas in every shattered hue of migraine.

_Well, this sucks. _

ooOOoo

Somewhere off in the distance an owl hooted. Harry looked around, not really hoping Hedwig would have made it through the Blockade, but you never knew… Merlin, but he missed Hedwig. Was she all right, wherever she was? He sighed and slouched back. Hermione conjured some comfortable couches, thank Merlin. This extra long one stretched across the road. At least something tonight wasn't completely stuffed up – if he had to sit around in the middle of the night like a parent waiting for their teenager to get home long after curfew, he might as well do it in comfort. Luna snuggled up under his right arm didn't go amiss, either, although it was a little bit shameful to feel pleasure in comforting her given how upset she had been. She'd calmed down, luckily, and now kept her shadowed eyes on the half-open gates. Her long pale hair was tinged golden in the yellow light of the lamp Harry had conjured up behind the couch. He told himself he'd done it for practical reasons, not just to show Hermione she wasn't the only one who could fashion furniture out of nothing.

Hermione, who had smiled proudly at Harry's efforts then fixed the lamp so it stood properly upright instead of at a slight lean, was sitting on Harry's left, Ron on the other side of her. She had her arms folded across her chest as she sat, waiting it out, eyes heavy-lidded with tiredness. It wasn't like her to be so stolidly patient, and Harry recognised and appreciated it. Ron was asleep with his head on Hermione's shoulder, mouth open as he snored softly. Occasionally Hermione would rouse enough to flick a wand and get rid of any drool.

Practice for marriage?

It was the closest Harry had come to smiling this evening.

Beyond Ron, Hagrid took up a good third of the sofa. He sat silently, waiting, the expression of patience on his face similar to Luna and Hermione's. Fang dozed at his feet, stretched out uncomplainingly on the road. No-one had objected to the shaggy black dog curled up at the far end of the sofa. Snuffles' eyes gleamed faintly – it was hard to tell if the Animagus was dozing with his eyes half shut or not. It wasn't as if they'd been waiting long, but already Harry had had to deal with Lupin, who'd arrived with Ron and heard of Draco's disappearance with thinly-disguised horror and hurried off to warn Dumbledore that it was possible Death Eaters could get the secret of travelling through the barrier from Malfoy.

Harry resented Lupin's immediate assumption that they were in new danger, but appreciated the fact that even if Draco hadn't gone to betray them to his father (which Lupin hadn't actually stated, but from his expression it was obvious he had strong suspicions in that direction) it wasn't a stretch of the imagination to see Death Eaters get the information out of Draco whether he gave it willingly or not. Harry shivered and tightened his arm a fraction around Luna. It was good Ron had stayed, too, even if he was currently sleep-mumbling into Hermione's hair something about wool growing out of his nose. It made Harry think he was doing the right thing giving Draco the benefit of the doubt for another few hours before participating in a full-blown Hogwarts panic.

Snuffles looked up, ears flicking as he caught a new sound in the night.

Harry looked over his shoulder.

No Death Eaters, just a weary werewolf: Remus, walking back down the road, a large wicker picnic basket floating along behind him. A loaf of bread poking up out of it was pale under the moon.

Maybe it was because he was tired, but Harry had a momentary impulse to tell Remus they wouldn't need a jar of bugs for a badger… He winced. It had been a while since he'd thought of that. His jaw tightened as Snuffles' tail whacked softly on the sofa cushion, remembering…

_Leave it_, he told himself sternly. Now wasn't the time for the past.

Remus, just as tired as that boy who'd brought food from the kitchens for Harry and a badger but greyer and more lined of face now, sat on the sofa arm down the other end from Harry. He patted Snuffles' ribs and ruffled the hair behind the dog's ears as Snuffles sniffed at the basket with growing interest.

"Professor Dumbledore wants to wait a little longer," Remus said without preamble. "He agrees that, yes, there is potential for You-Know-Who getting strategic information from young Malfoy, but thinks we should give him a little bit more time." He shifted uncomfortably, which was odd as even the arms of the sofa were very comfortable, and added with a touch of quiet worry, "His very words were, 'I'm sure Simon won't let Mr Malfoy stay out too late'." He sighed and ran a hand through his greying hair, and Harry realised Lupin didn't normally look quite this bad more than a day or two after his transformations. The moon was four or five days past full, he hazarded, looking up.

"Maybe he put a homing spell on the horse to make sure we wouldn't get into too much trouble with him," Harry offered. "Remember how he ran into the castle that day? And he's never run away into the Forest when someone fell off him. Simon could've run away really easily, you know."

Remus sighed. "Harry…"

Luna tucked her sharp chin down and glared at the gates. "Professor Dumbledore trusts Simon. Perhaps we should, too."

There was a silence. Snuffles blinked, pale eyes concerned.

Hagrid stopped it becoming any more awkward and coughed to clear his throat. "Great man, Dumbledore. And that Simon's terrible good wi' the kids."

"He bit Harry the other day," countered Remus. "I know Malfoy has been nipped a few times – I overheard him in the Infirmary talking to Madam Pomfrey yesterday. And what's this about falling off? I hope you're using cushioning charms. And what if he stands on you?"

Was this what Ron got from his mum on a regular basis? Harry suddenly realised having parents could have a downside. "He doesn't stand on you. The last time I fell off he jumped over me. He's very careful like that." He carefully forgot to say that the reason he'd fallen off was because Simon had bucked Harry off over his head. Thus the jumping, because Simon didn't want to change course and Harry was suddenly right in front of him. That wouldn't help matters. Nor would telling Remus that horses don't stand on people because they are finicky about their feet and don't like standing on squishy things like people.

Remus looked like he wanted to argue the point, but glanced down at Snuffles. Something in the dog's face must have persuaded him to let the matter lie. For now.

"Anyone hungry?" he asked. "The house elves put together a basket. Food for dogs, too," he added, and smiled, momentarily puzzled. "For some reason I had the oddest idea to ask them for a jar of food a badger might like. Any comments on that, Harry?"

"No badgers here tonight, sir," Harry replied.

Hermione looked down, a faint tightness between her eyebrows. Harry was reminded of his mother that Saturday morning in the Infirmary, trying to start a conversation with Remus to distract him from the rest of the room arguing his fate, and felt a twang that felt almost like guilt.

Lupin smiled again quickly, tightly, without real humour but with a real attempt at warmth. "Well. Never mind. I've got some rabbit for the dogs… it's raw, so if you don't mind you'll have to hop off the couch for that, Snuffles, and remember to share with Fang…"

The dog slid off the couch before Remus finished the sentence, looking back hopefully. Fang's nose twitched and an eye opened at the sound of his name. The other popped open at the sight of the basket, and the boar hound stumbled to his paws to stand next to the taller, shaggier canine.

Remus took the opportunity to sink down next to Hagrid, who smiled down at him. "Ah, now that was kind o' yeh to think of old Fang."

Fang drooled happily and beamed up at Lupin the Food Bearer.

"Not at all, Hagrid. Here you go, you two… although it's meant to be bad form giving dogs food before you give it to the people…"

An eye-roll from Snuffles as he snapped up one of the skinned rabbits told everyone what he thought of _that_ theory. He took it back out of the circle of lamplight and settled down. The moist grinding of a dog picking at a small, bony carcass could be heard. Fang was less fussy and wolfed down his rabbit in a few seconds, then yelped.

Hagrid grabbed his dog by the scruff of the neck, pulled his jaws open and – to another yelp from the dog – fished out the small bone stuck in the top of Fang's mouth.

"Sorry," said Lupin.

"Ah, teach him not to gobble down his food."

"Will it?"

Hagrid looked doubtfully at his dog, now licking his paws for the last taste of rabbit. "Mebbe not." He slapped Fang's side affectionately. "Daft old thing."

Snuffles made a sniggering sound.

"Is he choking on his rabbit, too?" Hermione asked, leaning forward a little. "Oh, go back to sleep Ron," she said when he made a snorting, snurpling, waking-up sound.

Snuffles looked up at her and gave a minute shake of his head.

"Sometimes," Luna said in her slow, dreamy way, "I think that dog is almost human. Oh dear – are you sure he's not choking on a bone? That was a terrible cough. Poor old thing. Ah, no, he seems to have recovered now."

The poor old thing tried to look inconspicuous as he went back to slowly dismembering his supper. Lupin scratched his back with the toe of his boot. It looked uncomfortable, but Snuffles gave a distracted wag of his tail.

A moth attracted by the lamp zoomed into Harry's ear. He squeezed one eye shut in a lopsided grimace. "Right. That's it. When insects start trying to nest in my brain, that's the outside of enough. And – hey, wait a minute, did anyone tell Trudi and Bulstrode that Malfoy's a complete pillock and probably trying to run the Blockade?"

Remus nodded. "I saw them after I saw the headmaster. They'd just come to see him – I sent them back to Slytherin dormitory."

"Did you tell them why?"

"Did I need to?"

Harry wasn't sure it was safe to reply to that. Lupin sounded mild, but even he wouldn't let Harry get away with telling him how to do his job. Plus it wasn't right that Harry should need to tell the professors how professionalism worked. Harry filed that one mentally under 'brick wall – banging of head against'.

That file was already bulging with mental notes.

Lupin didn't follow up, thankfully. Which meant Harry didn't feel obligated to say that he had strong doubts Millicent and Trudi had obediently trotted back to Slytherin. Harry was about to suggest they move the watch indoors, when Snuffles looked up.

"Wuff."

"What is it, boy? Can you sense something?" Luna leaned forward.

"Is little Timmy lost in the old mine again?" said Lupin.

Snuffles wrinkled his muzzle disdainfully as the werewolf smiled.

"Wuff." The black dog got to his feet. Accompanied by a low rumble, the dog's hackles began to rise as its nose turned to the barrier.

"Snuffles?" Harry said, taking his arm from around Luna and standing up to squint into the pearlescent mist.

"Grr."

One of the gates shimmered, the iron bar almost touching the barrier rippling slowly. Was it an effect of the lamps? Harry checked quickly – no, the lamp glowed with the same steady yellow light; even the occasional moth blundering around behind the shade only threw odd shadows, it didn't bend the night around it. The gate squeaked as it moved in a breeze that never reached the couch.

Harry took out his wand. "Hermione, wake Ron."

"Snnk-k-whazzat?"

Ron was awake. Hermione whispered something into his ear and he blinked, unfolding his long, lanky form out of the sofa, he and Hermione getting up as silently as Luna and Remus until the lamplight spilled five shadows down the road towards the gates, Snuffles almost disappearing in them as the Animagus paced silently towards the gates.

A larger shadow towered over them as Hagrid stood. Fang whimpered and crept behind the sofa. Hagrid shook his head. "Death Eaters, Harry?"

Harry braced himself. "Get ready. I think –"

The barrier swirled and spat forth a galloping horse, silver shoes striking the ground silently, eyes wild and teeth bared.

The horse skidded to a stop in front of the group, rearing up to its full height as Snuffles leaped forward, barking loudly to stop the horse running down the students. For a moment the horse danced on its back legs, then it came down again, sides working like bellows, legs trembling and slightly splayed with exhaustion, the whites showing around its eyes and veins standing out over the black hide like a map to midnight.

Draco's hood had fallen back and his blond hair fell over his face, which was equally pale. Lips clenched over chattering teeth and his eyes were as wild as the horse's. He stared at the people in front of him as if they were strangers.

Fearing he was under the Imperius, Harry's fingers tightened on his wand.

"Mr Malfoy – are you all right?" But as Remus started towards horse and rider, the horse reared again, striking out with its front hooves. Draco struggled with the reins.

"Simon!"

Luna.

At the sound of the familiar voice, Simon settled back onto all four hooves again and whinnied with human-sounding relief as she ran up to him.

"Simon…" Luna took the bridle with one hand and smoothed her hand along the neck that gleamed with sweat. Flanks heaving as he sucked deep lungfulls of air, Simon ducked his head against her shoulder as Luna hugged him. "Simon, you daft idiot… why'd you do something so stupid…?" she whispered, her voice cracking.

"Malfoy – you okay?" Harry asked, stepping forward cautiously. Luckily Remus had stopped before Simon panicked and bolted, and Snuffles had tactfully retired to the couch, touching noses with Fang who was peering around the side.

"…Potter?"

"Yeah. You're back at Hogwarts."

"Ah. Good."

He didn't look entirely overwhelmed with joy. Harry only needed the lamplight to see the lines of tension around Draco's mouth and the way the Slytherin trembled.

"So," Hermione said, putting her wand away, "you did it." She didn't sound approving.

Draco blinked and focussed on her. "Granger… Yeah – uh, the time shift… it's a few hours. About four and a half, but I'm not really sure…"

"Brilliant," Hermione said with satisfaction. "So that takes out any possibility of upsetting the standing temporal wave."

"Exactly." Draco blinked hard, seeming to come back to himself at last. He dropped the reins now that Luna was holding the bridle. "So if the barrier comes down, it won't negate Hogwarts out of existence."

"What's this?" Remus said suspiciously.

"A hypothesis I've been working on," Hermione said. Even Harry could tell she was hoping Remus would let that stand for now.

Draco only seemed to notice the presence of two professors then. He smiled tiredly at Hagrid. "They worked. The shoes… absolutely perfect. Dementors out there. Simon… Simon runs pretty fast…" He slapped the still-gasping Simon on the shoulder. "Er… is he going to be all right?"

Harry couldn't see Luna's face from that angle, but Draco flinched from the glare she sent up at him.

Hagrid beamed back. "He's only a mite tired. I knew you two would be fine. There now, didn't I say Simon would get him back safely?" he said to the others.

"Does this mean we're supposed to thank the horse?" Ron snorted, and yawned. "Daft creature – you should've done us all a favour and left Malfoy on the other side. Still, that was bloody brave – consider yourself an honorary Gryffindor, Malfoy."

"Oh, God. I hadn't thought of that." Draco grimaced tiredly. Was it Harry's imagination, or was he frightened to get off Simon? One of Draco's hands was tightly wrapped in the mane, but Draco didn't seem to notice. "Look, I know how this looks, but it was done out of purely Slytherin motives – I was out of bribes."

Hermione nodded sagely, but looked like she was struggling not to smile. "And the fact that research has been advanced… what did you see out there? How is everyone? Is You-Know-Who in charge of the world yet?"

"Er, there were Dementors, I saw… look, I need to get off Simon before he collapses. He's just run several miles and charged down Dementors, not to mention travelling through the barrier and back..." He patted Simon's neck proudly.

"So you two did all right?" Luna asked mildly.

"For a given measure of 'all right'."

"Well, it's good to see you back safely," Harry said, although the words stuck in his throat like feathers. He added under his breath, _You great prat._

In a mercurial shift, Draco was suddenly grinning so hard it was a miracle the top of his head didn't fall off. "Nice to see you, too." He looked down at his hand, brief surprise mapping out on his face – it seemed he had to tell it to let go – then swung one leg over Simon's neck (and, in Harry's estimation, was bloody lucky Simon didn't throw his head up and knock Malfoy off backwards) and slid down the horse's shoulder. When he landed he staggered, and had to steady himself by grabbing one of the stirrups. "Whoops."

Simon pulled free of Luna's hold and turned to nose at Draco's shoulder.

Draco patted the velvety nose, his hand visibly trembling in the poor light. "Well done, old chap. Hell, you look done-in," he added guiltily.

"He looks terrible," Luna said in her matter-of-fact way. There was a certain tension in her upper lip, but maybe it was just a trick of the light. "So do you. Are you sure you're not hurt?"

"Pretty sure. I mean, my shoulder's a bit sore from the Weaselb –"

_Smack!_

Draco reeled back, clutching at the saddle for balance with one hand, the other covering his eye. "Argh! What in Merlin's name was that for?"

Luna rubbed her knuckles. "I'm sorry, do I really need to explain to you how BLOODY STUPID you were taking Simon through the barrier like that? You could have KILLED HIM!"

Remus stepped up and put a restraining hand on Luna's shoulder. Luna stood, fists clenched, breathing heavily through pinched nostrils.

Draco glared at her warily from his one good eye. "A vocal disagreement might have been preferred, yes. Needless to say, I'm sure all of Hogwarts realises you are less than happy with my adventurous spirit."

Luna put her hand on a bewildered Simon's nose before he could bite her. "That was necessary," she said to the horse. To Draco, she said, "Don't you ever put him in danger again."

Draco took a deep breath, seemingly reining in his temper, and replied, "He was in danger the moment he came to Hogwarts. It's more likely Death Eaters will break the Blockade at a time of their choosing than we will, and when they do, do you really think they will be accepting of a Muggle animal? Simon will be target practice. Anything he can do to help us find out the parameters of the barrier is in his interest just as much as ours."

Luna was silent, a muscle in her jaw working as she stared Draco down. Neither of them blinked. It was as if the others, people, horse and dogs, had faded into scenery.

A moth flickered between them.

Luna nodded. "Next time you talk to me first. And Harry."

Draco's eye narrowed. "So you can exclude me at will? You're claiming Simon, now, you and Potter?"

"No. Simon belongs to Simon. As is right. But we three are responsible for his welfare – not just because the headmaster assigned us to him, but because we care for him. And he for us. So we need to discuss matters before making unilateral decisions based on secrecy and ego."

Harry held his breath and sensed others doing the same. Remus tightened his hand on Luna's shoulder, disregarding the horse's glare at him, and levelled a neutral, measuring look at Draco.

Draco took a deep breath. "Fair enough. But next time you argue with me, you do it with words. I'm not allowed to hit you back 'cos you're a girl."

Luna ducked her head. "Yes. And if you don't listen we can sort things out with hexes."

Draco smiled slowly. Or showed his teeth, which might have been the same thing. Or might not. "So. That's that. And I owe someone two apples."

Turning back to the saddle, he untied the fastenings of one of the sacks slung over Simon's withers and dropped it on the ground, twirling one hand. "Ta-dah!"

"What?" Harry snapped, as Luna took Simon's reins and ran her wand over the horse. Simon pushed his nose forward to be petted, but Luna was busy frowning as she scanned for injuries. Simon sighed. "Ta-bloody-dah what?" said Harry.

Draco planted his hands on his hips and scowled at him. "It means I did it. I thought 'eureka' was a little too advanced for a pleb like you."

"And 'eureka' would be in the wrong context, anyway," Luna said primly. "Look at his knees. What happened, hmm?" The soft voice was definitely for Simon, brushing his nose against the back of Luna's neck.

A panicky expression took up residence on Draco's face. "What's wrong with his knees?"

"They're skinned." Luna waved her wand. "There. All better."

Simon nosed at her shoulder.

"Must have been when he stumbled…"

"Simon doesn't stumble. Why did he stumble?"

Remus put a hand on Luna's shoulder again; perhaps he worried she would take another swing at Draco. Her scowl was murderous. As was Simon's expression at the sight of Lupin touching Luna. The horse's ears lay flat back against the skull.

"The Dementors. They…" Draco rubbed his face. "I didn't know they would affect a horse. I was actually counting on him being impervious to them. But that… He… Simon couldn't see them but he knew they were there. And… Look, can we talk about this later?" The pinched look was back about his mouth. "Simon's going to get a chill if we stand around yakking all night."

"Hm." But Luna switched her wand and a folded blanket appeared, floating down to lie behind the saddle over Simon's hindquarters. Apparently Simon was fine now – or not too far away from that happy place – because she no longer looked like she wanted to murder Draco on the spot. Although she still had that certain thinness to the upper lip Harry had learned to be cautious of. Maybe it was a good thing Remus was here. Harry wasn't sure enough of his own standing with Luna to stop her if she suddenly decided to exact bloody revenge on Malfoy for gallivanting around on her horse in the middle of a war zone. And, looking at Simon who was standing with his head lowered, still breathing hard, Harry wasn't too sure he wanted to stop her.

He rested a hand on Simon's head, relieved when Simon pressed forward just enough to let Harry know the horse recognised him and was glad of Harry's presence.

Draco seemed to finally sense that whatever he'd done must have been massively wrong if it had upset Luna so badly, because he stepped back to sling his arm over the saddle. "Look, everything's fine. Better than fine, in fact. And none of you," he added defensively, glaring from Harry to Luna to Hermione, not leaving out Lupin and even Snuffles, "seem to get that."

Hagrid coughed. Harry folded his arms. "You could have been killed. Worse, you could have got Simon killed."

Draco flushed under the lamplight. He seemed about to say something, but, with one last filthy glare at Harry, he turned on his heel, snatched up the sack (which appeared light for its size) and marched off.

Remus frowned and was about to say something when Draco paused, swore under his breath, and turned around. The high dudgeon effect was ruined when Draco stomped back and untied the other three sacks from the D-rings of the saddle. He would have left again, but Simon bent his head around and bit his shoulder. Gently, but when Draco tried to shake himself free, the horse pulled him backwards and off-balance.

Draco dropped the sacks and bowed his head. And that was when Harry noticed that Draco was shaking slightly, just like Simon. He'd been focussing on Simon because Luna had been. But now he saw Draco was in equally bad shape. With a pang of guilt over his last remark, Harry was about to step forward when –

"Hey! Malfoy!"

They turned to see the blocky shape that could only be Millicent Bulstrode, flanked by three of the younger Slytherins, hurrying towards the gate.

"Draco! What's going on?"

But Trudi was already running past her with her wand out and fire in her eyes. _"Stu-"_

Draco rallied at the sight, the bone-deep weariness Harry had glimpsed quickly disappearing under the Malfoy veneer as he straightened and held up a hand. "Stop, Trudi! He's not hurting me. He's only biting my cloak, not me. He just… doesn't want me to leave yet. Put your wands away. Now, please. You know how he feels about them." He put a hand on Simon's nose. "It's all right, old chap. I'm not angry with you."

Simon dropped his mouthful of fabric, sighed, and sniffed at the sack Draco was still holding. His breathing was settling remarkably quickly, although Harry noted the way the black ears flicked at every sound in the night.

Millicent, Trudi and two Slytherins Harry only knew by sight (second years, perhaps) had reached them now, tucking their wands into their robes or up their sleeves, but with glares at Harry, Ron and Hermione (and Trudi's glare at Luna should have sent Luna up in flames) to show matters weren't settled.

As if they ever were between Gryffindor and Slytherin, Harry thought with an inward sigh. Merlin, but it was getting old… He exchanged a look with Lupin, who seemed to have the same thought. Both looked away immediately, neither comfortable standing on this common ground.

"Professor Lupin," Millicent gasped, only just seeing him. She appeared to be reconsidering matters.

"Hello, Professor Hagrid," Trudi chirped up anxiously. "Is everything all right? We looked all over the castle for Draco – has he been out on the horse all this time?"

Hagrid's beard moved in a smile. "Aye, looks like. And he's back safe and sound. So is Mr Malfoy."

"And in desperate need of cocoa," Draco put in. "I'll just go and put Simon back, then I'll come and tell you –"

"No," interrupted Remus, making Hermione and Ron, who had forgotten he was there, jump. "No, it's not time for cocoa. Or discussing a jolly good lark with your chums. It's time to find out what your real motives behind tonight's escapade were. What you just did, Mr Malfoy, was reckless and irresponsible."

"Told you he's turning into a Gry-oof!"

Hermione had elbowed Ron in the ribs. Just in time – Remus didn't look in the mood for light banter. And Draco's pale cheeks were going scarlet.

Draco stepped away from Simon, giving the horse a last pat on the neck. Luna had the reins. Harry watched Draco and Simon carefully – both looked ready to fall over. Couldn't Remus see that?

"Mr Malfoy, I shall take you up to the Infirmary right now, and you will be isolated from the rest of your friends until you have given your professors a good explanation of –"

"– But I –"

"Silence. You've acted disgracefully, endangering not only yourself but Hogwarts and its occupants. You –"

He broke off.

A tall black horse had slid between Remus and Draco, ignoring Luna's tug on the reins.

Dark eyes glinted with undirected malevolence, the ears were tilted back and the head lowered with slightly more than mere exhaustion. This close, it was easy to see the fine tremor in the horse's slender legs – or it was for Harry. Why not Remus? Simon was close to collapse, but he wouldn't take threat to his humans lying down. And Harry doubted a stallion who'd just been dealing with Dementors was going to be reasonable when confronted with a growling werewolf.

"No offence, sir, but I think we'd better have this conversation tomorrow," Luna said.

"And am I supposed to be ordered around by some non-sentient herbivore?" Lupin replied tersely, watching Simon with distaste.

Simon's muzzle wrinkled.

"Well, maybe in this case, sir. He's got his old expression on of 'I've had a really bad day and now am utterly fucked off'," Luna said blithely.

Lupin's eyes widened at profanity from Luna. He wasn't the only one surprised – Harry thought his eyebrows would fly off his head he'd raised them so fast. Hermione's face was a study of careful non-expression. As for Ron – had there been a clunk when his jaw hit the ground? Draco appeared mildly puzzled; perhaps he thought he was imagining things. Millicent had her hands clapped over Trudi's ears, and was glaring at Luna.

Then Lupin shook his head and snorted softly with laughter. "God. I find myself relating to a horse, now."

"I'll see 'em back to the castle if yeh were wantin' to see Per'fessor Dumbledore and let 'im know that Draco and Simon are safe back, like," Hagrid said cautiously, resting a massive hand on Remus' shoulder.

"First I need to know what Malfoy brought back in those bags of his."

Draco shrugged. "Fair enough." He squatted down to open one of the sacks.

"So," Millicent said slowly, wearing that I'm-a-bit-slow-on-it expression which no longer fooled Harry, "why exactly are you out here getting detention from Professors Lupin and Hagrid, and being daft enough to argue with a pair of Gryffs in front of faculty, for that matter… I'll not ask about the horse. Or Luna. But what exactly is going on? And why are you wearing Muggle clothes?" she added, spreading her hands in mingled disgust and astonishment at the sight of Draco in trousers and a jacket.

"Because I didn't want anyone who saw me thinking 'ooh, there goes a wizard'," Draco sighed. He rummaged in the sack. "And it turns out our Trudi is a really good designer – you'll be designing robes for some of the better boutiques one day, Trudi – and made these for me. Call it a disguise, if you will. Sorry I didn't tell you exactly why I needed the clothes, Trudes. Oh, and I got something for you, Milli'… Here we are." He pulled out a paper bag that rustled, and Simon's nostrils rippled as the horse whinnied softly and the pointed ears shot forward with undisguised greed. Draco stood, turning a shoulder to the horse before Simon could raid the rustling bag. "I wasn't sure if you liked it soft or hard, so I got you a mix."

Harry wondered if this was some sort of Slytherin secret code, and if so, did he really want to crack it? He was astonished by Millicent's reaction to Draco's words.

From the bag Millicent pulled out a box, and she stared down at it for a handful of seconds. Then she wrapped her arms around Draco and hugged him so tight she lifted him off the ground and he squeaked as she almost crushed his ribs.

"Ha ha!" she crowed. "Yes! Brilliant! Thank you, Draco! Hey… get out of it, horse!" she growled, dropping Draco.

But instead of attacking Millicent for her unprovoked hug of Draco, Simon was sniffing enthusiastically at the box.

"I think he likes liquorice," Millicent said, snatching the box to her chest and stepping back. Luna had to tug on the reins quite strongly to stop Simon from following. Simon shook his head angrily. Memories of Dementors could be healed by the smell of liquorice, it would seem.

"Well, I got peppermints for him," Draco said calmly. "I also got some fudge for Potter but I think I'll keep it for myself after all the fuss he put up. Oh, no I won't. Here you go, Potter. I'm a magnanimous sort."

"Magnanimous sort of what?"

Draco was too slow to grab the bag of fudge back.

"Sorry," Harry grinned, "but I need some sort of compensation for waiting here for you. It may be summer but it's not like it's warm or anything, you know." He opened the bag and offered a piece to Hermione and Ron. Luna shook her head when offered – she was too busy trying to keep Simon from standing on Bulstrode. Hagrid took a piece with a wink at Harry.

"Huh." Draco proceeded to ignore him and dug around in the bag.

Perhaps he knew Harry was itching to ask him what the hell he'd been doing, and didn't feel like answering that yet. Or not in front of the teachers, which made sense. Maybe he'd have said something to Hagrid, but not with Lupin around…

Sudden anger warmed Harry. Why did Remus have to stick his big nose into things that didn't concern him? When did Snape turn into Severus, and Lupin turn into Snape?

Harry distracted himself from that unhappy line of thought with another square of fudge. It was delicious – obviously from Honeydukes, which made the best fudge anywhere.

"Well, while I'm still being magnanimous, I even got something for the Weasel." With a smirk, Draco pulled out a small packet of jelly slugs. "I'm sure he'll enjoy them. Ah, those happy memories from childhood are so precious…" As Ron's face contorted, Draco handed them to Hermione, who looked like she didn't know whether to laugh or not. Ron was going scarlet, but he didn't say anything. Lifting one eyebrow to show he was impressed at Ron's forbearance, Draco gave Hermione some chocoballs, which she took with a gracious "Thank you, Malfoy" that seemed to satisfy both of them (if not Ron).

"Hagrid… I thought you said once you like toffee – see if those don't break your teeth… Luna… I've no idea what you like, so I got you appledrops. Here are the peppermints for Simon – see if you can use them to lure Simon away from poor Millicent – oh, for pity's sake, Milli', give him a piece… There. Now he doesn't know if he likes it or not." Simon was tossing his head up and down as he mouthed a piece of liquorice, obviously in two minds about whether he should spit it out or keep chewing.

The horse settled for drooling liquorice-scented saliva but unfortunately didn't stop shaking his head, and Millicent and the younger students backed off hurriedly before they could be splattered with gooey black horse spit.

"Oh – that reminds me…" Draco pulled a small, flat box from the pocket of his jeans. "Potter. Got something extra for you."

It was a box of handkerchiefs. "Gee. Thanks."

"See if you can teach Simon to use them. Now. Trudi."

With a flourish and a slight popping noise as the box came out of the bag and expanded back to normal size, Draco pulled out the biggest, fanciest box of chocolates Harry had ever seen. With a slight bow, he presented it to Trudi, whose mouth formed an _O_ of astonishment. "For everything you've done to help me, Trudi. Don't expect me to forget about it," he said, briefly very serious indeed, and there was a flash of something determined about him. Harry had glimpsed something similar in Lucius when he told Severus he was free of his parents. But the difference between Lucius and Draco was that Draco wasn't expecting a future reward out of it by selling out someone who trusted him.

Maybe that was the key difference between Lucius and Draco.

Trudi was holding the box like it contained diamonds as she smirked at the Slytherin second-years. They were slightly mollified when Draco handed them a novelty bar each. "Thanks for looking for me – sorry to put you to the trouble.

"I've also got some chocolate – but I'm sure if I offered that to Professor Lupin, he'd see it as a bribe. And I'm still finishing off my last lot of detention." Draco shoved the chocolate bar back in the sack as Lupin rubbed his chin. "Isn't that right, sir?"

"Given the amount of detention you're going to get, another month's worth for bribing a teacher would be a drop in the bucket. But no, thank you."

"I wasn't offering," Draco said. And Harry realised that Draco, despite his advice in the Infirmary to Harry about how people grow and change, had some personal grudge against Lupin.

"Glad to hear your integrity stands intact. Now. What's in the other bags?"

"Stuff for Hermione – her projects needed some extra ingredients – and I picked up some letters. I believe there's one for you."

Expression bland as milk, Remus touched the top of the indicated sack. There was a soft _pop_ and a small square envelope appeared.

He touched it with his wand, earning a hooded glare from Simon, and nodded. "It's for me."

The parchment crackled as he took it out and unfolded it. He scanned it quickly. "Tonks. She says…" He sighed and folded the paper. "Never mind. Suffice to say, I'll allow the bags into Hogwarts. Hagrid?"

"Aye?"

"Can you see to the horse? Best if I take Mr Malfoy up to the Infirmary to have him checked over for hexes. I also intend to isolate him for the next few days, just in case."

"What?!"

"Now, then, Draco; that's fair enough. Yeh migh' have caught any number o' nasty hexes out there. Best to quarantine yeh fer a bit."

"But I have to…!"

"Have to what, Mr Malfoy?" Remus asked smoothly.

"Nothing." Draco's expression closed down and turned sulky. He swayed. Millicent put out an arm and caught him as he staggered.

"Come on – let's get you to the Infirmary…"

Draco cast an urgent look at Harry. Harry, sure Lupin and Hagrid weren't looking, nodded and mouthed _I'll see you later._

He looked down to see Snuffles watching him. Harry glared, and the dog cocked an ear innocently.

"Come on, Simon," Luna said, pulling the reins.

Simon's neck stretched around, pulled by the bridle, until his nose pointed towards the paddock. His hooves, however, stayed firmly planted. Luna might as well have been trying to uproot the Whomping Willow.

"Now what?" Lupin asked tersely from further up the driveway, gingerly putting a hand on Draco's shoulder to pause him. "Harry – is that horse going to follow Luna or not?"

Harry rested his hand on the horse's neck, feeling the prickle of drying sweat. The cant of the ears showed Simon was still anxious. The way the horse eyed the Slytherins confirmed Harry's suspicions. "I think I know. I'll see him back safe," he said to Simon, nodding towards the group of Slytherins. "You and Hagrid… and Snuffles? Yes, and Snuffles," he added as the shaggy black dog gave the tiniest nod to show he'd heard, "will look after Luna."

And when Harry had caught up to Draco and Remus, stepping between them, he looked back to see Simon relax and acquiesce to Luna's tug on the reins. Harry nodded to himself.

"What was that about?" Trudi asked, as the tired horse was led off through the darkness towards his paddock, Snuffles casting one last look back to Harry and Remus as if to reassure them he'd keep an eye on things. Harry felt unaccountably better for it.

Harry smiled thinly at Draco. "He just wants to be sure Malfoy here gets back safely. Simon began the job – he expects me to finish it for him."

Draco tilted his head, sneering. "Oh, come on…"

"Okay. Let's go," said Harry, deliberately misunderstanding.

ooOOoo

Inside the Infirmary, Lupin said, "You can go to your dormitories now."

And Harry nodded. "I only said I'd see Draco to the Infirmary." He smiled with false sweetness. "I promised Simon."

Draco rolled his eyes, but looked mildly amused. "Well, we can't go around breaking promises to horses."

"No," Harry replied, as Millicent and the younger students exchanged looks that clearly said 'Potter's off his rocker – again.'

Draco stilled, abruptly serious. "No. We can't do that. Potter –" He broke off at the sight of Madam Pomfrey hurrying out of her office.

Harry, who'd been turning towards the door, paused. "What?"

"I didn't realise I'd endanger Simon – not more than I thought he already was. I thought he deserved to have some role in shaping his fate. Can you check him tomorrow? The Dementors, they…" He cast a quick look at Hermione, who was almost bursting with the need to ask questions, Ron (bursting with the need to get back into more congenial Gryffindor company), and the Slytherins, who were hanging on every word. "There were so many. They really scared him. He must have thought he was going to die."

Harry nodded, hearing what Draco couldn't say. "He's home now. He's safe. Admittedly as safe as anyone can be. All of us together – we'll keep it that way for him. And you're right – he's got as much right to take part in the safety of Hogwarts as any one of us."

And he hoped Draco knew who Harry was really talking about.

Draco.

Harry.

Everyone at Hogwarts – everyone fighting against Voldemort.

Even tall, black, bad-tempered liquorice-thieves.

"All of you, back to your dorms," Lupin said.

Harry recognised the signs of someone at the end of their tether. He waggled four fingers at Draco in farewell, getting a puzzled look in return. Harry rolled his eyes. It wasn't like he could give out major hints with Lupin watching him like a hawk – or like a wolf. "Give him something to stop nightmares," he whispered to Madam Pomfrey as he passed her. She gave him a startled look, but Harry thought he saw her nod.

The Gryffindors parted from the Slytherins on the top of the stairs. Harry was on autopilot finding his way back to the common room, where he promised Hermione he'd get her list of questions to Malfoy. He did remember finding his bed, which was the next best thing to heaven, and setting his alarm, promising Ron it'd not wake everyone else in their dormitory.

And he pulled the drapes around his bed and slept without nightmares for four hours.

That was when the alarm went off.

Snarling silently about Dark Lords who kept trying to take over the world, necessitating decent people sneaking around in the middle of the night when they would much rather be fast asleep dreaming about playing Quidditch on horseback, Harry got up and found his Invisibility Cloak.

ooOOoo


	49. Chapter 49

Disclaimer: Characters and Hogwarts environs are still not mine. Hopefully this computer will remain mine.

ooOOoo

Chapter 49: 

Harry was either tired or becoming blasé about his night-time ventures around the castle. He was nearly caught by Filch, and only evaded Peeves by using his old ruse of pretending to be the Bloody Baron.

Harry needed a new trick before Peeves got wise.

Sneaking along a deserted corridor where the only sound was the soft snores of the sleeping portraits, he was caught by someone unexpected.

The quiet click of claws on the floor alerted Harry – too late.

A darker, bear-like shadow in the darkness made a small noise almost like a whine. And then it began to stalk slowly towards where Harry stood shaking, suddenly frightened the cloak seemed to have stopped working.

The shadow stepped into the moonlight shed through a high window.

Snuffles.

Harry let out his breath in relief. If he held still, maybe…

Snuffles tilted his head, ears twitching with suspicion, then lunged forward, by sheer luck barrelling into Harry.

"Hey," Harry hissed angrily when he got his breath back. "What d'you think you're doing?"

The dog gave his general area an ancient look (_and what the hell d'you think _you're _doing?_) and snorted.

Harry sighed, pushed back the hood, and asked, "Did Luna get back okay?"

The dog nodded firmly and sat down, tail curling up a little at the end like a cat's, although Harry doubted either Sirius or McGonagall would appreciate the observation.

"Good. Are you going back to blab to Lupin about seeing me?"

A shrug.

"Whatever." Harry picked himself up. "I'm going to visit Malfoy to see if there's anything we need to worry about. There's no way he'll tell Lupin about anything dangerous… or useful… and I don't think the odds of him suddenly trusting in Dumbledore are in our favour, either. We need to know what he's seen."

Snuffles tilted his head again, as if considering this, then nodded.

Sneaking back into the Infirmary wasn't too bad – only a simple unlocking charm coupled to a detect-me-not to counter Pomfrey's alarm, and Harry was inside. He scanned the room carefully, not seeing anyone obviously of a Malfoy inclination (the other beds were occupied by either a mummy or yet another student who'd overdone it on the acne potions, and Denis Creevey, both hopefully sound asleep). With a sigh, Harry headed over to the door leading to the smaller room, the one where he and Severus had stayed after the werewolf attack.

Of course Draco was there.

Harry lit a candle, sat down on the bed Severus had occupied on Harry's last visit twenty-some years ago and stared at Draco's face, clouded even in sleep, and wondering if he was looking at another Death Eater in the making.

Having Snuffles sit down at his feet didn't help, either – Harry found himself angry with his godfather all over again, as if being back here was somehow recreating the events of the past, this time with Draco instead of Severus. He suppressed the urge to give Sirius a kick.

Then he told himself to stop being so damned gloomy, and shook Draco's shoulder.

"Hey. Draco. Wake up."

"Ngk. Piss off…"

"Malfoy. Come on, you git. Wake up."

"Ngh?" Draco rubbed his eyes blearily. "Potter – don't you have any idea what time it is?"

"Yeah. It's four hours after I left you here. That's why I held up four fingers."

"Oh. That was a bit obscure. You usually only hold up two."

Harry grinned. "Good one. Not bad for someone who's just woken up."

"Cheers." Draco yawned. "Um… why am I in the…?"

Harry saw the moment memory hit by the wince.

"Nothing's happened," Harry said; it was what he'd want to hear in the circumstances, and seemed to work for Malfoy just as well. "Everyone's fine as far as I know."

Draco peered over the edge of the bed. "You brought Lupin's dog in here? Should I ask why?"

"Er… good question, for which I have no answer. Go wait outside, Snuffles."

Snuffles bared his teeth.

Harry folded his arms. "Bad Snuffles."

With a look of deepest disgust, Snuffles went back outside the room, shaking his head.

Harry closed the door behind him.

"Right. So what'd you find out?"

Draco sat up, wrapping his arms around his blanketed knees. With his tired, rumpled look coupled with his hair flopping over his face he looked more human and less like a Malfoy. It eased Harry's secret worry – the guilty one he'd not even confided in Hermione or Ron – that Draco had gone to sell them out to his father. "Well, there are spells past the gate – hellpits and a sort of tangling charm that will bind you if you touch them… Simon was okay, thank God, because after the Dementors I was beginning to worry he was really a special breed of magical horse or something, but the tangle-charms didn't affect him. I'll give you a counter for the hellpits tomorrow, but the blue tangling charms are best dealt with by blowing them away with a strong wind. The Weasley twins came through on that one –"

"You saw Fred and George?" Harry asked eagerly.

"Uh." Draco scowled. "Nearly broke my arm. But they're fine. Last I saw of them they'd just seen off some Dementors with help from Tonks, the guy from Honeydukes, and… I'm pretty sure it was Mad-Eye Moody."

"You're sure they're okay?" Harry didn't like the idea of the last sighting being while Dementors were around.

"Yeah. Should be. The Dementors were pretty much done for by then. Good Patroni… Where was I? Oh yes…"

Harry listened as Draco described the night's adventure, from the closed shops of Hogsmeade to the final gallop through the barrier and the silver stallion Patronus.

"Pretty good," Harry said admiringly.

Draco looked smug. "You're damn right it was pretty good. How many people can call up a corporeal Patronus like that?"

"Well, me for one…"

Draco looked like he'd just chugged a glass of lime juice, and Harry tried not to laugh.

"Can I see what's in the sacks?"

"Expecting letters from home, Potter?"

"Huh, not likely," Harry grunted. "But I'd like to check out what you got for Hermione. Are you going to give the gloves another go?"

"Yes… and that reminds me. We need to get the mistletoe. In the next few nights. Flume said it had to be collected before midsummer's eve."

"When's – oh, that'd be in three or four days."

"If we can try getting it tonight, that will give us some lee-way for bollixing up the collection…"

"Or getting caught."

"Like I said, bollixing up the collection."

"We need Neville…" Harry was expecting Draco to argue, but the blond only wrinkled his pointy nose and said,

"It'd be for the best, if he can keep his big, blabby Gryffindor mouth shut, of course."

"Gee. I'll tell him that. I bet that'll be the best pep-talk he's ever heard…"

"Don't be facetious. Who else? Granger…"

"Definitely. And Ron.

"I'm feeling outnumbered."

"You're coming, are you?"

"If you want something done right, do it yourself," Draco replied primly. "And it might be good to bring Simon. He's got excellent night vision, and he can probably tell us if any monsters are coming."

"That means bringing Luna – or filling her in at the least. And she'll insist on coming if we're taking Simon into the Forest." And Harry didn't like that idea. Luna could get hurt.

"She's not a delicate flower, Potter."

Harry also didn't appreciate having his mind read. "I guess. How's your eye?"

"Tender. Matches my ego."

Harry chuckled softly. "Who would've thought Luna could pack a punch like that?"

"Oh, don't go all misty-eyed on me…"

"Better than black-eyed."

"Oh, you're so funny I need Pomfrey to come back and heal my ribs…"

"Mind if I check the bags?"

"Go for it. But the one of the left… might be better if you don't open that outside the kitchen. It's got shrinking charms on it and if they go off you'll end up with more than egg on your face… what?"

Harry had just remembered Severus telling him not to try a heating spell on an egg. "Nothing. Ever used Thermus on an egg?"

"Once. You should try it out some time."

"Thanks but no thanks. I'll leave that bag. Do you want me to take the potions bag to Hermione?"

Draco frowned. "I guess that'd be best."

"Don't worry, everyone knows you got it… everyone we want to know, that is… You get the kudos."

"Makes a change from getting the blame. Might be a good idea to take all the interesting things out and return the bag to me. Don't want Lupin getting suspicious. More so, that is. He's already told Pomfrey I have to stay here for three days at the least…"

"What'd Pomfrey say?"

"She didn't really say anything. Not in front of me." He hugged his knees tighter. The sullen Malfoy look of plans foiled was back in full strength.

"Hm. I've got an idea," Harry said before his arch-enemy, the pre-blindness Draco Malfoy, could make an appearance.

"And?"

"And I'll try it out tomorrow morning. I can take the stuff for Hermione now – there must be a spare bag somewhere…"

He stole a pillowcase instead, tucking away the bottles and packets with care. "Brilliant, you remembered the linen cloth! Right. That's the lot, except for the generic potions ingredients. If I leave those here Lupin won't wonder why the bag is suddenly empty."

"No, now it's only half-empty whereas the last time he saw it, it was full."

"Tell him you got hungry and needed a midnight snack."

"Because that's always the perfect excuse for eating lacewings."

"Mm, mm. Gotta love those lacewings."

"Go away, Potter." But he sounded more amused than exasperated.

"Okay. See you after breakfast. I hope."

"You're not going to break me out for breakfast?"

Harry rolled his eyes and barely stopped himself from telling Malfoy to stop whining. "Give me some time… I need to talk to a few people first. We're going to do this nice and legally…"

"That is the perfect excuse for nightmares."

"Nah – didn't Pomfrey give you Dreamless Sleep?"

"Oh, was that was that was?" Draco's face screwed up. "I thought it was just to put me to sleep."

"I suggested it on my way out. I didn't want you comatose when I needed to find out what you'd seen and done."

Draco nodded sagely. "Ah, those good old-fashioned personal motivations. Well, anything that stops bad dreams can't be argued with."

"'Night."

"'Night."

Harry blew out the candle on his way out, and nearly tripped over his godfather.

"Bloody h-! Oh, it's you. Sorry. Come on."

With Padfoot following, Harry slung his Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders and disappeared from view.

ooOOoo

Hermione was delighted. "He even got the bilbil tongues!"

"It's not Christmas, 'Mione," Ron yawned, coming out of the bathroom. "And do you really have to spread all that junk out over my bed?"

"What better place? It's not like you ever make it. And Christmas is when I finally work out how to make the gloves… And you're going to spoil your appetite if you eat all the jelly slugs. _And_ you're eating sugar after you just cleaned your teeth!" It was obvious which was the greater evil for the daughter of dentists.

Ron shrugged. "If I eat them all I can forget that Malfoy did something nice for me. Stop looking for the catch."

"You do realise that by eating them, you agree to the sale of your immortal soul?" Harry said as he finished his last attempts at brushing his hair flat. It sprang up again immediately – nice to know some things never change, Harry thought with wry satisfaction.

Ron tilted back his head and dropped the last jelly slug into his mouth. "I hocked my soul years back… wanted the Chudley Canons to win."

"Did they?"

"Nah," said Ron, chewing. "Still arguing the fine print to get my soul back. Lawyers should keep me safe from Malfoy in the meantime. Hey, Harry, if it came to a show-down between Malfoy and Ultimate Evil, who would your money be on?"

"Hm. Good question. Are we talking Voldemort here?"

"He's pretty ultimate as evil goes."

"Voldemort… but only if he doesn't stand around going on about how brilliant his plans are, mwa-ha-ha, and how pathetic Draco is by comparison, mwa-ha-ha, here is the itemised list for world domination: socks, apples, sunblock, bald-head-polish, ointment for piles – whoops, that was the shopping list – where's the bloody master plan? Mwa-ha-ha? Here it is… here is the itemised list of his masterly plan which is in action – no way of stopping it now, foolish weaklings, mwa-ha-ha-haaa…! And in the process giving Malfoy time to sneak up and stick a knife in his back. Which, now I think of it, seems kinda likely. You?"

Ron rubbed at his chin, assuming a scholarly air. "Can Malfoy run away?"

"Good question. Let's say no for the purposes of the argument."

"Then, yeah, I reckon Malfoy'd fight like a rat in a trap. First round, throwing a handful of sand in You-Know-Who's scaly face and then kicking him in the fruit-and-veg. If Snake-Face has anything to kick there, or course. Winner by a dirty knock-out."

Harry laughed. "You know, I could see that…"

Hermione snorted, pressing her hand to her mouth, her hair falling forward as she tried to hide her amusement. "I can't believe you're having this conversation. But how are you going to get him out of the hospital wing, Harry? Ron needs to know so he can win some money on Malfoy versus Riddle."

"Hey, money to buy stuff for you, pumpkin," Ron said, sitting down on the bed next to Hermione and smiling with deliberate cheesiness. He held open his arms and Hermione leaned against his chest for a big hug.

"Oh, you're so sweet…" Hermione squealed in return. "My big huggy-wuggy-ronnikins…"

They pressed noses, giggling.

"God, that's sick, you two," Harry said, sticking a finger down his throat and pretending to gag.

Hermione and Ron broke apart, laughing. "Gotcha, mate," said Ron.

"Yeah. Bleakh. There's jokes and then there's… well, whatever that was meant to be."

Hermione grinned wider as she began to pack away the illicit ingredients. "I bet you're not so revolted you can miss breakfast. And getting back to my original question, how –"

"– Am I breaking out Malfoy? I'm not."

Harry grinned as his friends shot him puzzled looks.

"Watch and learn. Watch and learn."

ooOOoo

"Hey, Bulstrode…"

"Potter."

The greeting in the Great Hall wasn't friendly, but neither was it the blocky girl's standard hostile glower directed towards all non-Slytherins (or only Gryffindors – Harry had never bothered finding out). Harry took this as a positive sign.

"They've got Malfoy locked in the Infirmary. Lupin wants to keep him there for three more days. He won't let anyone visit. Seems a bit much if you ask me."

She scowled, a natural expression for her, as she propped her elbow on the table and looked up at Harry who was wondering if he should have sat down to appear non-threatening (as recommended by Robert Python in chapter 1). "What's it to you, Potter?"

"He's helping me with the horse. And it's not right he should be punished for doing something to help all of us here at Hogwarts."

Harry was aware Bulstrode wasn't the only one listening. He didn't turn, knowing automatically that if he did all he would see would be the Slytherins around their table concerning themselves with breakfast – and Harry knew for a fact porridge wasn't half as interesting as they would make it seem should he suddenly look at them.

"So why are you telling me?"

"Because the teachers are all aware Malfoy and I have kind of a muddy history. They'd think it was weird if I suddenly started being his advocate."

"They'd think that because it _is_ weird. And so are you."

When Harry didn't take offence, the belligerent expression softened marginally.

Trudi tugged at Bulstrode's sleeve. "Potter's been okay lately," she mumbled, as if embarrassed at her own words. "Better than the teachers. I don't think he's doing this to provoke us into acting too early…"

"You're not meant to be talking about things like that, you stupid little firstie," Pansy snapped.

Trudi coloured and looked down.

_Things like what?_ thought Harry.

Millicent rubbed her chin. It made a scratching sound. Harry hoped she hadn't started shaving daily – he'd be mortified if she did before him.

"I think it's time to start acting instead of reacting," Bulstrode said slowly. "You might want to go and pretend to be innocent through this, Potter."

Harry didn't pretend not to understand – Millicent really wasn't dumb if she knew he'd just been trying to manipulate her into doing what he wasn't able to achieve on his own. He bowed slightly, jerkily, and walked away, ignoring the prickling between his shoulder-blades of the concentrated stares from the Slytherin table until he slipped down onto a seat at the Gryffindor table between Ron and Luna. Luna gave him a smile and took his hand under the table, squeezing it.

The sun emerged from behind the clouds in Harry's world.

Storms were on the horizon of everyone else's: silence rippled out from the Slytherin table – from Millicent Bulstrode as she stood, her heavy square jaw set firm as the foundations of Hogwarts, and turned to face the professors at the high table.

Several of them flinched as they saw her moving slowly – much in the manner of icebergs approaching supposedly-unsinkable ocean liners – towards them.

"Headmaster? May I have a word, please?"

Dumbledore inclined his head gravely. "Of course, Miss Bulstrode." He conjured up a chair. "Please, sit."

All through the hall, talking died down to whispers which were hushed into silence as Bulstrode sat.

She folded her hands on the table in front of her.

"It's about Draco Malfoy, sir."

"Ah, yes. I believe he is safe and sound in the Infirmary. Madam Pomfrey is keeping him isolated after his ride last night."

"Is it true he went through the barrier?"

"It is."

She pressed her thumbs together. "And is it true he was hexed so badly he needs to be kept isolated for three days? Or that he plotted to murder someone within Hogwarts?"

Dumbledore frowned. "Where did you hear that?"

"So he didn't?"

"No, Miss Bulstrode. Mr Malfoy is perfectly fine."

"Am I allowed to visit him, then?"

"I'm afraid Professor Lupin and Madam Pomfrey have decided to keep Mr Malfoy apart from his fellow students for the duration of his hospital stay."

Bulstrode nodded and took a deep breath (and so did others at the sight). Tap, tap, went her thumbs against each other. "Provision 16c of the Hogwarts charter states that no student may be kept in solitary confinement unless he, she or it is in a serious medical state requiring quarantine, or has been accused with evidence of planning to injure fellow residents of Hogwarts.

"Furthermore, if said student does not fall into either of those two categories and expresses a desire to see his family and/or friends, he is allowed to do so. Is it true that Harry Potter asked to see Draco Malfoy, who had expressed a willingness to be contacted, but was turned down?"

Lupin leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers while many of the students were still scratching their heads and trying to understand what Bulstrode had just said. From where he sat, Harry could see Goyle trying to work it out on his fingers.

"It is," said Lupin slowly. "But, as everyone in Hogwarts is well aware, not only is Mr Malfoy the son of a person beyond the barrier who wishes many of the Hogwarts residents harm, but Mr Malfoy has had recent access to his father and may have returned with information or articles to damage us. So a special case is made under the charter. And as for Mr Potter's desire to visit him, it is also well known that the pair have a history of bad blood."

"So you're saying that the sins of the father should be visited upon the son? Is that right? Is that in the Hogwarts charter? Is it also in the charter that people can't change, and, for instance, Harry Potter can't grow up enough to recognise the fact that Slytherins are just as much a part of Hogwarts as Gryffindors? Excuse me if I feel you underestimate Potter's potential as a person."

Face warming as the heads of everyone in the Hall swivelled to look at him, Harry wanted to hide under a table. He'd never liked being used as a Quaffle. But then Luna's fingers wound through his and Harry could take them all on – any day, any time… yeah… He tightened his fingers around Luna's and was rewarded with another squeeze.

McGonagall looked as if she wanted to hex Bulstrode and possibly Harry into the next millennium. A muscle twitched in Lupin's cheek as he raked a cold glance over Harry (but what did that matter when Luna was holding his hand?), and Sprout and Flitwick eyed each other as if to say, 'Run while you can.'

But Dumbledore nodded and said gravely, "You have a valid point, Miss Bulstrode. Professor Lupin? As our DADA expert, are you that certain of the threat Mr Malfoy poses?"

Lupin looked like he'd just had the ground taken out from under his feet. His lips thinned. "I am, sir. I shall investigate the student over the next few days to determine the nature of the threat he poses."

"Then, Miss Bulstrode, until I am assured that Mr Malfoy has not brought harm back through the barrier with him – and I am sure that if he has it would be unwillingly or unknowingly done – I am afraid the quarantine must stand."

Bulstrode stood. "Thank you for your time, Headmaster."

She strode back to the Slytherin table.

Voices picked up around the room as it became more apparent she wasn't going to challenge Dumbledore to a duel (bets had been three-to-one against after her first confrontation). But it seemed the other students had relaxed too soon.

There was a banging of a goblet on the table, and Bulstrode's voice cut through the hubbub like a blunt knife: "So, we are agreed?"

A chorus of 'Aye's answered her.

Chairs scraped as the Slytherins stood.

Bulstrode's voice, normally slow and quiet, rang beneath the enchanted ceiling: "Brothers and sisters of the Republic of Slytherin, we go now to the aid of Comrade Malfoy, cruelly imprisoned for the crime of self-determination!"

'Hooray!' was the general theme of the shouts as the Slytherins filed out of the hall.

Singing was heard through the doors, given hollow echoes as the Slytherins marched up the stairs:

_Freeeeeeee  
Draaaaaco Malfoy.  
Freeeeeeeee  
Draaaaaco Malfoy._

It wasn't original, but it was effective: an exasperated Lupin threw down his fork, which bounced off the plate, spun through the air, and hit Vector on the side of the head. Sinistra was massaging her temples – her lips seemed to be saying _calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean_. Dumbledore turned to McGonagall and muttered something in her ear. She nodded and slipped into Animagus form, the tabby slipping away out of a side door.

Dumbledore turned and gave Harry a level look. Then winked.

Harry barely noticed; he was too busy worrying what would happen when the Slytherins got to the Infirmary.

_I've created a monster._

Even the warmth of Luna sitting next to him couldn't distract from that thought.

ooOOoo


	50. Chapter 50

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

ooOOoo

Chapter 50: Revolution!

Rumour had it that the Comrades of the Republic of Slytherin stopped outside the Infirmary doors. When a seventh year protested that Millicent Bulstrode didn't speak for all of them in her desire for a peaceful overthrow of the corrupt regime and they should start hexing people to show how serious they were, she countered his objection with a cunning argument consisting of an uppercut to demonstrate the unfairness of brute force. Over the unconscious body of the seventh year, all comrades hastily exhorted the benefits of a pacifistic philosophy. So the doors of the Infirmary were certainly not stormed, as one particularly excitable Ravenclaw second year claimed, nor were they set fire to, painted green and silver, graffiti'd or spelled into an alternate dimension.

It was said that the Comrades of the Republic of Slytherin set up a rotation of members to keep vigil by the doors, where they waved petitions at anyone who tried to enter or exit. The first student who tried to exit without signing suddenly found himself re-entering the Infirmary, despite the pacifist philosophy of the Republic of Slytherin, in spontaneous need of something to take away boils.

The petition to free Comrade Malfoy garnered signatures much faster after that.

This was what Harry heard in the corridors between morning classes – but the rumours were getting preposterous. He was almost certain Millicent Bulstrode hadn't redesigned the Hogwarts coat of arms to put the snake of Slytherin central, replacing it in its former quadrant with a black horse rampant. It was also fairly unlikely Crabbe and Goyle had written fiery poems from the soul to exult the Glorious Revolution – mainly because they could barely write. If a sudden explosion of poems along the lines of:

_See Comrade.  
See Comrade run.  
Run, Comrade! Run!_

happened, well, Harry could believe Crabbe and Goyle capable of at least that. If someone held their crayons for them. However, he wouldn't believe they'd come up with a poem in iambic pentameter, let alone a haiku using the changing colours of autumn leaves to represent the sorrows of Slytherins in a World Gone Mad.

What Harry knew for a fact – he'd seen it with his own eyes when he passed through a corridor on the floor beneath the Infirmary – was the picket on the lawn the Infirmary looked down upon. He'd heard an approximation of singing – something about how the Slytherins would overcome, and how they were very concerned over the present whereabouts of some flowers – flowers that had gone a long time ago.

(He was pretty sure they intended to overcome Lupin and Pomfrey's isolation of Draco, but what did flowers have to do with it?)

And the singing really was awful, although it picked up when Bulstrode, Goyle and Zabini sang together – Goyle had an unexpectedly marvellous tenor and Bulstrode and Zabini sang in counterpoint quite beautifully. Trudi – sweet firstie that she was in so many other ways – couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, and was seen by Hermione wandering around the corridors with one of the older Slytherins, each wearing a sandwich-board reading _The end of the oppression is nigh._

Harry believed Hermione.

He also believed Ginny when he passed her on the way to lunch: she reported that Tamara Willacey, one of the Slytherin girls in her Charms class, had, when timorously asked by Professor Flitwick why she hadn't handed in her homework, stood up and proclaimed: "You can take our points, but you can't take our freedom!"

(To which Flitwick had replied, "Er… you've not got any points left for me to take. I can give you a detention…" and was interrupted by the mass walkout of the Slytherins, shouting, "You'll not send Comrade Willacey to your Filch Gulag! Free-eee-dom! Free-eee-dom! Free-eee-dom!"

Charms class had gone much more quietly with half the class gone and Flitwick gently fanning himself with Ginny's essay. They'd copied notes from the text and crept out as soon as the bell went, not wanting to send Flitwick, who was well-liked, into a nervous breakdown.)

Harry himself passed the morning in relative quiet. He had Transfigurations with an unusually terse McGonagall, followed by DADA with Lupin, who was even less fun than McGonagall and took a point off Hermione for whispering to Harry about Trudi wearing a sandwich-board, and took points off Seamus, who set the note he was passing to Finch-Fletchley on fire rather than let Lupin read it. Lupin's interesting lessons about Boggarts and Hinkypunks were a thing of the past – perhaps it was merely that collecting specimens was so much more difficult, but Harry suspected Lupin's early enthusiasm had been ground down by the long Blockade.

Being the major contributing factor to the revolt of a quarter of the school couldn't have cheered him up much, Harry considered.

Lavender's observation that class should be easier without the Slytherins didn't garner her any points from Professor Lupin – Lupin merely scowled and told them to open their books to page one hundred and seventeen.

Harry bowed his head over his book, trying to make sense of the breeding habits of Kappas – just as nasty as their hunting methods – and considered telling Sirius to drop a word to Lupin about the way he was turning into Snape.

He escaped after class into the warm sunshine, grabbing a roll for himself and an apple for Simon from the Hall before he left, and strolled outside whistling through his teeth. For some reason Harry was oddly happy – he wasn't sure why; he hadn't seen Luna since the hand-squeeze this morning and he still hadn't liberated Comrade Malfoy. Maybe it was the realisation that things were finally moving again – now Hermione had the necessary components for the potion to break the barrier – well, barring the mistletoe, and Neville knew where they could find some – and they were even planning on making some more Mendeleev gloves, so it felt like a long stagnant period had ended. Tossing the apple up and down, he rounded the corner of the castle – remembering only too late that was where the Republic of Slytherin was making its stand – and got a surprise.

A black horse was giving pony rides.

Luna had beat him out to the paddock. And she'd returned with Simon in tow. Simon's head was a little lower than usual, which could have been because he was being patient with the young first years crowding around him or because he was still exhausted from last evening.

Or maybe it was a bit of both.

"He seems to have recovered from his run last night," said a soft voice next to Harry. Harry jumped, and turned to see Dumbledore. "Note how gentle he's being with those noisy children," Dumbledore continued. "He seems so different these days."

"Sir?"

"From that wild animal you found in the forest," Dumbledore explained. He smiled at Harry, but his eyes lacked their usual twinkle as he turned back to the horse.

Harry frowned. "Luna wouldn't have him out of the paddock if he didn't think he was up to it," he said. "And if he's different these days… isn't it a good thing? He's happy."

"Yes. I suppose he is." Dumbledore smiled sadly again as he watched the Slytherins crowding around a horse they seemed to trust more than the headmaster these days. "Well, I had better get back to my office… things seem to be proceeding better without my interference. I expect to see Comrade Malfoy at dinner this evening, but I would appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone I said that."

"You don't want him to stay in the Infirmary?" Harry was puzzled. Why wasn't Dumbledore supporting Remus? It seemed very underhanded. Why didn't Dumbledore simply say he wanted Draco out and be done with it? It would make Draco and the other Slytherins much happier with Dumbledore…

Would they see Dumbledore as having engineered their trust, or did Dumbledore simply not want it?

Or was it both?

"Do you want Draco to find that third option?" Harry thought – tiredness making him say it aloud before he mentally kicked himself.

Dumbledore appeared not to have heard. He straightened his robes. "Enjoy the afternoon, Harry. It looks like being terrible weather this evening, although tomorrow night looks promising."

And he strolled away as Harry wondered why anyone would comment on the weather for tomorrow night when it was only lunchtime.

He was considering going after Dumbledore and asking, when Simon saw Harry and put his head up and whinnied, which made the students around him turn to see what the horse was looking at.

Their expressions varied from barely-veiled mistrust on most to reserved friendliness from Trudi as Harry strolled towards them.

"How's it going, Bulstrode?" Harry asked, ignoring Pansy's sneer. He wondered fleetingly if ignoring her would make her worse or better – Draco didn't seem to care, but if Pansy felt like she'd completely lost her standing she might do something nasty. Nastiness wasn't beyond her, and a woman scorned, et cetera…

Millicent shrugged. "We haven't been oppressed too much this morning."

It was impossible to tell if she said that seriously or not.

"I heard you'd redesigned the school shield."

"No, but thanks for the idea." Her mouth did creak marginally into a smile at that.

"Any word on when Malfoy will be out?"

She shook her heavy head. "No, but I'm hoping –"

"Look," said Luna, who had been helping Theodore Nott off Simon's back. Nott stumbled a bit and grabbed at the stirrup before he fell, then grinned at Trudi as she steadied him. Harry recalled a breakfast two decades ago, and another Nott reading a paper… would that one have had the ability to laugh at himself? Or would –

Simon was looking up at the Infirmary window. The horse pricked its ears and whinnied loudly.

"Malfoy's up," said Harry unnecessarily.

Because there was Draco, leaning on the sill as he surveyed the crowd on the lawn below. The Slytherins cheered and waved their placards until Simon snorted and jumped, making those closest run away from the Muggle monster. Draco waved back. Harry thought he looked more puzzled than pleased, although even from this distance the pale, pointed face could be seen to warm slightly as Simon shook his mane and whinnied again.

The horse was obviously confused by this shift of Draco from normal ground level to several stories up. If might be a good idea to reread _The Horse Mutterer_ to see if Mr Python had mentioned anything about horse logic or the lack of such – Simon seemed to be unable to connect reaching Draco with the front doors of Hogwarts, and was now pawing the ground with frustration.

(On reflection, this was probably a good thing. Filch was still moaning about the effort of getting the hoofmarks off the floor in the corridor outside Charms.)

Draco turned his head, apparently in response to someone else in the Infirmary, and disappeared from the window. Harry patted Simon's shoulder as the horse pawed the ground again.

"He's fine," Harry murmured. "You got him back safely." To Luna, he said, "How is he feeling today?"

"He's a bit stiff. And if Malfoy wasn't already in the Infirmary he'd be seeing Pomfrey anyway… Simon's got bruises on his gums and I'd like to know why."

Harry frowned and ran his hands down the sides of Simon's muzzle. Pleased at the attention, Simon nosed at Harry's pocket and nudged at his hip when he didn't find peppermints or apples.

"Hagrid gave me a salve," Luna said. "Simon hasn't grown scales or flown away, so I guess it's fine for horses."

Harry scrubbed Simon's forehead with his knuckles. Simon yawned. "Seems pretty relaxed today."

"I think he likes the company. I thought it would be good for him to see that Draco's not hurt."

_Yet,_ Harry heard unspoken. "You're not going to hit him again, are you?"

"I just want to find out why Simon's mouth is sore. If Malfoy's going to be ham-fisted with the reins, he shan't be allowed to use them."

"What's he going to steer with? Simon's ears?"

Luna boggled at him, then burst out laughing. Simon woke up and looked around. Seeing it was just Luna, he dozed off again, one hind foot resting on its tip.

"No. But let's tell him that," Luna said. She sobered as the Slytherins began to give them funny looks but only, Harry suspected, because she'd finished laughing for now. That was one of the things he loved about her: she didn't give a fig about what other people thought… or, if she did, not to the degree she'd let them influence her into acting contrary to her nature. When it was time to laugh, Luna would laugh.

No wonder she was in Ravenclaw. Luna was the smartest person Harry knew. Except Hermione, perhaps, but Hermione was smart in a different way, and…

… And he was getting distracted again.

"Are you feeling all right? You keep drifting away."

"I'm fine. It's not a blubberknuckle dazing me or anything." Harry grinned. Then winced. Hopefully she wouldn't think he was mocking her or anything.

Luna nodded solemnly. "No. It's too early in the season for blubberknuckles." Then she winked and turned to the horse. "Wakey, wakey, Comrade Simon. I thought he could give pony rides to… um… to show solidarity," she added to Harry. "But now he's starting to get a bit grumpy, I think. Comrade Millicent, I'll take him back now."

"It's lunch time anyway," Millicent said. She was showing some third-years how to hold their signs properly instead of using them to bash each other "… That's what wands are for," she scolded them. Distractedly, she called over to Luna, "Thanks for bringing Comrade Simon along. You okay for getting him back to the paddock?"

Luna swung up onto the horse without bothering with the stirrups. "Sure. See you at lunch, Harry." She punched her fist into the air. "Solidarity, Comrade Millicent."

"Solidarity, Comrade Luna."

Comrade Simon sprang off into a canter, only slowing as they reached the bottom of Squirrel Hill (Luna said it was bad form to get a horse into the habit of racing back to its stable).

Harry came out of his private reverie of watching the way the sun shone on her hair and turned it to silk to see the Slytherins staring at him.

"Coming in for lunch, Potter?" asked Millicent, obviously trying hard to be friendly, although she didn't call him comrade.

He nodded. "Sure."

_Solidarity, comrades_.

ooOOoo

Professor running-werewolf-of-the-oppressors Remus Lupin must have found time that afternoon – Harry suspected he used his lunch hour at the very least to check if Draco had been sent back booby-trapped or not. And the first-year Potions class he was meant to be taking was taught instead by Hooch, who swore she knew nothing about Potions, didn't want to know anything about Potions, and took the class out to play hide and seek.

It was agreed unanimously by the first-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws to be the best Potions lesson ever, and the students begged Hooch to continue as their teacher.

Harry went to Divinations out of morbid curiosity, and was pleased to find he was due to be eaten by vampires at the next full moon.

That meant he was free to tromp through the Forest searching for mistletoe to his heart's content.

Ron wanted to know why he kept laughing.

Trelawney told him off for not taking his imminent death seriously. Harry decided not to court a detention by telling her it was fairly un-imminent as his standard of death went, but only because tonight he was planning on being too busy _earning_ a detention to serve one.

He snoozed through History (after travelling back to the seventies, Harry was even less interested in history), and found he had a good appetite for dinner.

He'd just sat down and was bravely ladling himself a bowl of the unnamed-meat stew (although with a sudden supply of fresh flour, the yeasty rolls made his mouth water as soon as they arrived on the table) when the side door into the Hall opened.

It revealed Remus Lupin, wearing a neutral expression that showed little beyond tiredness dragging at the lines of his face. Next to him stood Draco Malfoy, holding a sack and looking slightly uncomfortable as everyone stared at him. There was dead silence.

Then, as Draco shrugged and walked in, ignoring Lupin, who went to his seat at the High Table, thunderous applause and whoops broke out from the Slytherin table. Even Pansy was clapping, although her enthusiasm looked forced.

Politeness or politics?

Harry made a mental note of any other Slytherins who looked politically polite.

Draco dropped the sack as he sprang up onto the table and bowed.

There was probably some rule or unwritten protocol regarding walking on the tables – if Snape had been al- there, Harry expected even he wouldn't have turned a blind eye to Malfoy as he strutted down the table to Millicent, grabbing her by the hand and hauling her up to stand next to him for a hug (politics again?) and more applause that rocked the clouds scudding pink across the enchanted ceiling, and a blush on Bulstrode's cheeks matching the rosy clouds. Shaking her head and covering her smile with one hand, she climbed back down, leaving Draco centre stage, as it were.

That was lucky, because Draco hadn't finished his fifteen minutes of fame. He retraced his steps up the table, stepping neatly around the fruit bowls (suddenly full for the first time in weeks, as if the house elves were celebrating something) and over the plates, up towards the High Table and the sack he'd dropped there, while McGonagall's lips pursed and Hagrid's beard twitched with a suppressed smile.

Draco pulled up the sack and, as the room went silent, opened the flap and pulled out a thin rectangle, holding it up.

There was a small gasp from the students who guessed. An excited whisper broke out through the Hall.

"If I may have your attention a moment…" Draco paused until there was silence again. He spoke quietly but clearly.

"In case there are any who haven't heard, I made it through the barrier and back last night. Not something I recommend or plan doing again any time soon. But I took the opportunity to go to Hogsmeade and drop off the letters many of you wrote. As luck would have it, there were many letters waiting there for us. And here they are. I don't know if there is one here for each of you, I'm sorry; I hope so, but I can't guarantee it. Another thing – these letters don't represent all those sent to Hogwarts, only those the parents chose to have held in Hogsmeade on the off-chance a way through the Blockade would be found for them. If you don't get a letter, it may mean your family didn't want to risk private information being intercepted by, for example, Death Eaters…" And Harry wondered if he was the only one who had just realised that there might be some parents who didn't want personal information intercepted by Aurors. But Draco was still talking, so Harry turned his attention back to the Slytherin table. "…Or your families may be trying some other way to communicate with you. I do know that if you choose not to receive your letters in public, I'm happy to see you afterwards to give you your mail. If you don't want to get a letter now, or don't want to face the risk of _not_ getting one, please stand up and let me know now."

He waited for the space of half a dozen heartbeats.

No student stood. Or left the room. Harry doubted it was because the stew was particularly delicious. All eyes were fixed on the white rectangle. Harry heard someone breathe _"…Please let it be from my dad…"_

Draco nodded slightly as it became obvious no-one was going to leave, a faint line appearing between his eyes. He took a deep breath and read the name on the envelope.

"Hannah Abbot?"

At the Hufflepuff table, a blonde girl squeaked and sat up straighter as her pink cheeks flushed pinker.

"Oh, right, there you are," said Draco as he jumped down from the table. "Mail for you."

Hannah put her hand to her mouth. "Who from?" she whispered, but the entire Hall heard her

"Well, it's private mail, so I guess you'll just have to find out by opening it," Draco said.

Hannah took the letter in shaking hands, as if expecting it to shatter. Someone passed her a butterknife, and she slit it open and unfolded the paper inside. "It's from Mum and Dad," she said, and her voice broke on the last word. She sagged and wiped at her eyes. "They're… they say they're fine, and hope I'm fine, too… One of my cousins is getting married and the daffodils are particularly fine this year… Dad's kneazle Pik-Pik won Best in Show… then lost it when he attacked the judge, who turned out to be embezzling funds from the Kneazle Society…" Tears were flowing down her face and Draco seemed torn between empathy and embarrassment at the show of emotion.

He took refuge in another letter from the sack.

"Winston Collins?"

A Ravenclaw stood, face pale and set somewhere between hope and dread. He took the letter as voices started up again, a murmur becoming a torrent…

"Is there anything from –" "Did –" "– for me?" "Can you –" "My aunty should have wri–" "Hey, Malfoy, is there – "

Paler than usual, Draco moved quickly through the crowd, shoulders stiffening briefly when it looked like he would be mobbed, but then it was Remus Lupin who was there, standing next to him, asking people to sit and wait for their names to be called… And then Draco moved through the Hall with Lupin shadowing him to stop any trouble, moving from name to name, handing out letters to friends and allies, unaligned and unknown, enemies and antagonists alike, giving some students one letter and some several (Ron got three and was almost beside himself reading aloud to Harry Molly's admonitions to make sure he remembered to clean his teeth and keep wearing clean underwear).

He only paused three times, when three particular students got a letter apiece along with puzzled looks from Draco, who turned and called out happily to Harry, "Hey, Potter! They're doing just fine!"

Harry was a little bewildered – had Remus missed a hex Draco had carried back? – when he realised, firstly, that the three were the ones who'd hurt Luna, and, secondly, Draco was only pretending to be pleased by their good health.

Determined not to show he didn't have the faintest idea what Malfoy was on about, Harry raised his goblet and called back, "Excellent work, then, Malfoy!"

And Draco nodded with a malevolent glitter in his grey eyes.

And the three students suddenly looked very, very frightened.

And Harry had an inkling where Draco was going with this.

He could lipread enough to know Remus was asking Draco what he'd done, and Draco's grey eyes went wide and innocent as he shrugged and replied _Nothing, Professor._

Harry smiled to himself.

"What?" asked Hermione, who had been rereading the letter from her parents. She folded it lovingly and tucked it into a pocket.

He shook his head and shrugged. "Revenge. A dish best served cold."

She nodded sagely. "Those ancient Klingons really knew what they were talking about."

"They did, didn't they?"

"Oh yes."

Harry, thinking he detected a trace of sarcasm, turned to her just as she turned to Ron. He was probably only imagining she was laughing at him…

Not everyone got a letter. Harry felt a little disgusted that a stamp had been wasted on him by the Dursleys when some of the other students were obviously fighting back tears of disappointment and jealousy. All the Dursleys had to say was that if he didn't write back within a month of receiving the letter, they would consider him dead. The letter was dated as of Easter. While Harry couldn't say he was upset about being completely cut off from the Dursleys, it was unfair of life to tell him he had nominally kicked the bucket where his last blood relatives were concerned while leaving other students wondering if their families considered them, too, dead or, worse, were themselves deceased.

Had Draco taken that into account when he started passing out letters? That must have been why he'd given that little speech at the beginning. But by the faint line still sitting between the Slytherin's eyes, Draco still wasn't entirely immune to the feelings of the letterless in the room, either out of empathy (did Draco have any letters, and, if so, from whom… or You-Know-Whom?) or self-preservation.

Pausing at the teachers' table after giving a letter to Vector, Draco's cold grey gaze flickered from one professor to the next, lingering on Hagrid who had tears running into his beard as he read the letter which had come in an envelope bearing the seal of Beauxbatons, then moving on almost dismissively past McGonagall and Dumbledore who each had two letters. He leaned forward a little towards Professor Sprout as she exclaimed over the letter Sinistra was reading to her (had Sprout received anything? Harry couldn't remember seeing her get a letter). She turned, her jovial face becoming solemn as she nodded at what Draco was saying.

She stood.

"All those who, like me, did not receive mail will remain after dinner for a short discussion on how we might in future send and receive messages."

"How's that going to happen?" Ron said.

"Malfoy might have noticed something about passing things through the barrier," Hermione said. "He might have remembered something after he saw Harry last night. Besides, it's a jolly good idea for everyone who didn't get a message to do something positive towards getting one in the future."

Harry agreed – already some of the tearier-eyed students were talking among themselves as to how they could do this. But he had other things on his mind right now… "I want to go after the you-know-what tonight," he said quietly.

"But what about planning it…?"

Harry cut Hermione off with a shake of his head. "What's to plan? Go out, hack some off a tree, come back."

"Go out, hack off an acromantula or a vampire which, in turn, hacks off your head, don't come back," Ron said as he polished an apple on his sleeve. He bit into it with relish. "Mm. Malfoy can go do the shopping any time he likes."

Harry sighed. "Well, okay, maybe not that simple… we need to get Neville to show us where it is and Malfoy insists on bringing Simon because he reckons horses have great night vision – not what Mr Python says, he says their vision's not that great, it's their hearing you can depend on – so that means we have to tell Luna or she'll deck me as well as Malfoy… we can talk about it this evening up at Squirrel Hill after dinner and go out after curfew for the you-know-what."

"We can talk about it after dinner and go from there," Hermione said firmly. "No running away with crazy plans again… not until we've worked out which parts of them are crazy. Er, isn't Luna having a detention tonight?"

"I'll tell Sprout Simon's feeling a bit dodgy and needs Luna's expertise," Harry said, shrugging, hoping it was just coincidence that had Hermione's train of thought running direct from crazy plans to Luna.

ooOOoo

While dinner was still finishing in the Hall, down in the Republic of Slytherin one person had retired after losing his appetite.

Draco might have been feeling better after the sleep-in that morning (and having Remus Lupin backed into a corner and forced to release Draco after a series of diagnostic spells that revealed Draco to be, despite the werewolf's obvious expectations, magically the same when he came back as when he'd left Hogwarts had tickled his sense of humour… although the memory of Lupin being the only one to stand up and give some protection when the other students had threatened to mob Draco for the letters soured the satisfaction of having bested the werewolf), but the tension in the Hall had left him drained and a little queasy.

And now it looked like he'd be going out tonight in search of mistletoe, back into that bloody forest, and although he knew he shouldn't be inviting more stress into his life and his stomach lurched with dread at what he was about to do and find out in the next few seconds, he was going to go ahead with it anyway, poor, sad Comrade Masochist that he was…

He pulled the curtains around his bed and cast a basic silencing spell for privacy. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out the envelope with his name on – typed and granting the sender anonymity… meaning it could be from his mother, his father, a house elf or the Dark Lord – then cracked the green wax seal and opened the letter.

He smiled in relief as he recognised the elegant copperplate hand, full of long sentences peppered by parentheses, elongated g's and sweeping strokes to the f's. The tidy script was personification of his mother, although anyone who hadn't seen Narcissa in a temper might have been surprised by her favouring of exclamation marks. She rarely used them in formal letters, but this was private for Draco alone. He smiled, holding it close enough that he could smell the light perfume of freesias and for a moment was home again…

_My Dearest Draco  
Although I have been told by a certain authority figure not to write to you, I cannot let a chance go by to tell you that I am always thinking of you, I am always wondering what you are doing, and I am always, always missing you, my darling son. A certain person fears I might give away some vital information by writing to you (and many of your friends may suffer from having more obedient parents than you with your defiant mother!), but the only information I care to give away is that I am well, as is your father, and both of us hope you are keeping yourself safe there at Hogwarts.  
Oh! what I would give to have sent you to Durmstrang instead! But perhaps it is better for you to be where you are and away from the war – yes, it is a war now, Draco, and one I do not wish you to be involved in, no matter what your father and his associates might say. Perhaps these things work out for the best.  
Aside from that, life goes on in the usual way. The Ministry tries to involve itself in our affairs, even sending that ghastly Weasley man and his cronies in to search the grounds around the folly for some reason. Of course they didn't find anything. Lucius threw my favourite house elf (do you remember Miffy?) out the window after she let the Aurors in the front door rather than the serviceman's entrance. Miffy will recover soon, but it irks that her replacement is so clumsy. What else? Your third cousin Bertram (the one who thinks he is the reincarnation of King Tut and built a pyramid in his room to – as he put it- 'keep the moon people from ageing him' after he started getting grey hair) will be married in August, only a few weeks after your birthday. I do so hope all this horrible mess will be sorted out to our advantage before the end of July. It would grieve me to think of you having your coming of age birthday away from the Manor. Although I expect you would be less than delighted by going to a wedding, I think it may be rather interesting (or interesting in the same way watching someone splinch themselves is interesting, that is) and educational (see previous analogy!) to attend. The blushing bride is a young witch (and I never told you her teeth would put a beaver to shame!) from Romania and believes herself to be the reincarnation of the witch-queen Agathis. There is much lively debate and some placing of bets as to what the theme of the wedding will be. I have bet a bottle of cognac against your father's wager of a new shrubbery behind the west wing – I say the wedding will be Egyptian with miniature sphinxes, while Lucius opines there will be a definite Anatolian motif, with guests arriving on flying carpets (the ban has just been lifted, can you believe?) and everybody wearing white robes. I do hope it won't be boring after all the speculation by the guests!  
One of my great aunts wrote recently, and passed on her regards to you. She has a house in Spain and has offered it for…_

Draco read and reread and in his mind he was home until Goyle rapped on the post of his bed and, as politely as Goyle was capable of (for Goyle was being very wary of post-blindness Draco), informed him Harry Potter was asking if Comrade Malfoy would mind seeing him…?

"All right, Comrade. I'll see him now."

Draco sighed, folded the letter carefully along the creases, and thought yet again how home was something you had to work for.

ooOOoo


	51. Chapter 51

Disclaimer: Characters and setting still not mine. Wouldn't mind a Simon.

ooOOoo

Chapter 51: Snuffles is a Good Doggie

They planned it out in Simon's stable, Harry, Draco and Luna, with the rain drumming on the wooden roof almost drowning out their voices and making it impossible for others to listen in. Luna had been allowed off her detention this one evening, but more because Sprout was too busy with the students who'd not had letters to supervise one eccentric Ravenclaw.

The excitement over the letters still raged. Draco seemed almost relieved about the sudden deluge, because after this abrupt contact with the outside world there were things in Slytherin he needed to keep an eye on, and he left immediately after they agreed to postpone the harvest until tomorrow night. He was trusting in Harry to get the details right – details like Neville not mucking things up, and Ginny coming along because a sorceress on your side was definitely a plus. Harry didn't mind the implication that if anything went wrong it would be his fault – once Draco had gone he had the evening to spend with Luna. Alone. Hermione and Ron (Hermione more than Ron) had agreed that, with the rain, it was better to go over their notes for the potion again rather than trudge through a sodden forest with monsters at large and visibility down to nil. They would talk to him later, back in Gryffindor.

In the meantime, he and Luna had time to themselves for the first time in… too long.

Well, almost alone.

There was, of course, the matter of a certain tall, black, bad-tempered chaperone.

For now, however, as the last light of the long summer evening was soaked up by the rain and low clouds and took with it Comrade Malfoy as well as the last long-legged flying insects zigging and zagging their ways homewards, Simon relaxed in the company enough to lie down in the thick oat straw put down by Hagrid, giving a nice bulk for Harry and Luna to lean back against as they talked or watched the rain in cosy silence. Luna, tucked under Harry's arm, moved slightly against him as Simon's ribs moved in and out like the gentlest swell on the sea, and the rightness of it filled Harry's chest with a warmth better than his first butterbeer. But this warmth was the one that was always fresh, always new, always with that bittersweet tang of stealing something from the world – a slice of happiness for him, Harry Potter, a slice all the sweeter for being shared with Luna Lovegood. He should be declared dead by his relatives more often if this was the Heaven he ended up in, he thought, and then had to tell Luna why he was smiling.

She didn't become indignant at the awfulness of his relatives, merely gazed solemnly into the rain which was tinted with silver as the moon rose, just like her eyes. "I guess that means you're up for grabs, family-wise," she said. "Thank goodness. I'd hate for your family and mine to meet up. And now you can come on that trip to Australia to find a bunyip with Daddy and me."

"Not your uncle?"

"Well, we'll have to see."

And there was that touch of sadness again. Poor Luna hadn't had a letter from her father or her uncle. Not even a copy of _the_ _Quibbler_.

Harry tightened his arm around her before the happiness could completely slip away.

Simon's eyelashes fell and the horse began to snore softly. Taking his chance, Harry leaned sideways and turned his head so his lips brushed Luna's. And the warmth in his chest fluttered like butterfly wings when her lips pressed back and he felt them move, voicelessly saying his name as if it was the most precious of spells. He leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes as she traced his ear with fingertips light as cobwebs. And he prayed the moment would never en–

"Woof."

His eyes snapped open. A massive black dog was emerging from the rain. It halted uncertainly in the doorway and barked again.

"Oh, bugger off," Harry muttered.

Snuffles canted his head to the side and cocked one ear. He was probably trying to look pathetic or cute or something. It wouldn't work, of course.

"Oh, poor puppy," said Luna. "He's getting soaked out there. Come on in, Snuffles." She patted the ground. "Here boy."

Harry rolled his eyes.

Had the poor puppy come silently, seen them kissing, then retreated and barked to alert them, or had it barked to find out where they were? Harry hoped for the latter, but given the absurdity of his luck expected the former.

Whatever it was, Simon was awake now. One last snore broken off by a snort that sounded just like Ron waking up, and Simon raised his head out of the straw to see what had woken him. One long-suffering sigh later and the head flopped back. The hoof by Harry's ankle twitched as the horse cantered through its dreams.

The dog shook the water out of its coat before entering. Harry appreciated that politeness more than he appreciated the gleam of amusement in its eyes.

"How's that voyeurism coming along?" he asked snidely.

Snuffles wagged his tail and licked Luna's face with a wide, sloppy tongue.

"Ugh!" she laughed. "Poo – wet dog smell."

Snuffles looked affronted.

"Maybe you could give him a bubble bath," Harry suggested, before remembering Sirius saying a dog leaping with joy into a bubble bath was a dead giveaway as an Animagus.

Snuffles' eyes brightened.

"As soon as the Blockade is lifted I want to get some pet shampoo – Simon's mane is getting too oily and the soap Hagrid has just doesn't deal with it properly. I'll use the shampoo on Snuffles, too – how about it, puppy?"

Snuffles' jaw dropped in a canine grin at Luna.

"Shouldn't you be somewhere else helping Remus?" Harry said pointedly to Snuffles.

The dog yawned.

"We should take him with us tomorrow night," Luna said. "Let's ask Professor Lupin if we can borrow Snuffles."

Harry grimaced. "Er… Let's discuss that later. And I'm sure Lupin wouldn't want his little Gryffindor doggie getting involved in a project _Slytherins_ –" he glared at Snuffles "– are involved in. This is the dog that growled at Draco, remember."

"'A' Slytherin," Luna corrected. "I'm reasonably sure Draco doesn't have multiple personality disorder…"

"Only reasonably sure?"

"…And Snuffles has been very well behaved since that. Simon kicking him might actually have been a good thing. He's a good doggie now, aren't you, Snuffles?"

Snuffles' level stare at Harry while Luna rubbed the dog's ears suggested two things: yes, he was a good doggie who deserved all the ear-rubs that were due to him, and this good doggie wanted to know what the bloody hell Harry was getting himself into this time.

Harry glared back. "I'll discuss it with him later, if you like. Lupin, that is." No he wouldn't. Or if he did, it would be without telling Remus anything too incriminating, such as anything remotely connected to what the real plan was.

Snuffles nodded, or perhaps it was merely coincidence the way Luna's fingers were scratching beneath his chin that made it look like he was thinking hard at Harry: _you'd damn well better._

ooOOoo

While the rain didn't put a damper on the evening, Snuffles' presence did. Harry and Luna checked the new, lighter, summer cover McGonagall had transfigured for Simon (after Draco had mentioned in her hearing that the nights were getting too warm for the old one), found it fitted just as well as the old, and strolled back down the hill towards the castle with an umbrella spell over their heads. Snuffles loped ahead of them, just far enough for Harry to feel comfortable holding hands with Luna. The Animagus was tactful enough to give them some space in the shadow by the doors into the castle – Harry took the opportunity to give Luna one last kiss, then said, "Um… I've just got to go down and see Hagrid…"

Luna accepted the lie with a misty smile that could have meant anything from her believing it to the Martian Space Bunny Colony sending her telepathic messages letting her know Harry Potter was a big fat fibber.

Harry, Snuffles at his heels, set off back into the rain.

They didn't go to see Hagrid. They made it as far as the stable where the vrikolaki had attacked, where Snuffles sniffed around to make sure there would be no-one to see.

And when they were sure, Harry and the dog crept into the gloom, where a lamp high in the rafters spluttered into life and illuminated the cobwebs and the dark stain by the empty loosebox down at the end… Hagrid hadn't been able to lift the bloodstain, although the smell had gone after a month.

Harry shut the doors and dropped the crossbar.

A moment later, the shaggy black dog had become a shaggy Sirius Black.

"I think you'd better explain a few things, Harry."

Harry bit down on his anger – it was almost reflex these days when anyone older questioned him. "I need your word you won't let this get back to Professor Lupin. Or any of the professors. Or anyone other than me, Ron, Hermione, Draco, Neville, Luna and Ginny."

Sirius clapped a hand over his eyes and groaned. "You're involving Neville and Ginny now? Does the headmaster know?"

"I hope not." Although after Dumbledore's superficially superficial comment about the weather, Harry was feeling a little rattled on that score.

"Merlin save us…"

"Someone has to. And I'm sick of waiting for someone else to come galloping in to the rescue."

"The Ministry and the Aurors…"

"Oh, come on, Sirius, you know better than just about anyone the Ministry's as useful in an emergency as a rubber chicken. A headless rubber chicken. And as for the Aurors… the two we've still got here are either in a coma or down in the Dungeons hiding from the Marshmallow People."

"Oh, is that where Price is? I thought I still smelled him around, but… Okay, so you've got a point. But it's incomplete. There are people – lots of people – at Hogwarts capable of helping you carry out a project. Why the secrecy?"

"Because last time Hermione made a suggestion to Sprout, she was told to write children's stories with her marvellous imagination, and Lupin said to run off and let the grown ups handle things," Harry said bitterly.

"He wouldn't have said that…"

"No, I can't remember the words, but that was what he meant."

"He's got your best interests at heart. They all – we all do, Harry. You're just getting impatient."

"Don't you start patronising me, too."

"I'm not being patronising, I'm stating a fact. Don't you bloody well get all moody teenager on me," Sirius snapped. "Do you think it's fun for me knowing you're likely to run into something dangerous and get hurt or killed? I've been trying my hardest to hold off on the overbearing guardian act because I thought you didn't deserve it, but now it looks like you're about to go and do something reckless again and, God, Harry, haven't you any idea how many grey hairs you've given me in the last month, what with your time travelling stunt and insane pets and Slytherin friends? … And yes, okay, I admit Simon's not insane and I've got to say I approve of how protective he is of you and your friends… as for Malfoy, I'm reserving judgement – I know his family too well – hell, his mother's related to _me,_ so that should give you some idea of how leery I am of Draco," he spat, holding up a hand and shaking it for emphasis, "especially given that malevolent fucker who sired him… and all I can trust myself to say about the time travel right now is that you were one very, very lucky lad to come back from it. Yes, I know I was an arsehole to you back then and you hate me now because of it, but as far as I'm concerned that's beside the point. And the point is… it's… I'm not going to let you go out and bump yourself off doing something stupid."

Harry, a little astonished at hearing his godfather swear, said, "You're telling me what to do? You think you have that right?"

Sirius paused, swallowed, then said softly, "I know I have that right. Your parents gave me that right. But… not as an autocratic privilege."

"What do you mean?" said Harry, bristling at the mention of his parents. Just the word 'parents' was like a knife in the gut.

Sirius might have sensed that. He paused another moment before saying, "I mean that we need some middle ground. Somewhere between you running around like it's _Lord of the Flies_ – ask Hermione if you haven't done it in Muggle Studies – and _Nineteen Eighty-four._ Not anarchy, but not a dictatorship, either. Somewhere where you listen to me and I trust you. And vice versa."

"But what if I don't want that?" _What if I can't?_

"Don't you?" Sirius asked. "Are you so sure?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know what I want. I wanted a dad for ages. Until I met him. Now… now I've had so many adults – people who claim they're adults, that is – mucking me about, I don't think having a father's worth it."

"Then I guess it's up to me – with your co-operation – to show you that it is. If it's any consolation, I didn't have anyone to fill in as responsible grown-up until after I left my parents', and it was a bit late then."

"What about Dumbledore? He always stuck up for you," Harry challenged.

Sirius looked down. "In retrospect, it was a bit like making a child be good by offering it candy all the time. I'm not saying Dumbledore's motives were bad. He's admitted that he was pretty worried about me going bad, so I guess he thought if he indulged me I'd stick with the good guys." He frowned.

Harry wondered if he was thinking of Snape, too. Or Regulus. Now there was a minefield to be trod in another conversation. "Who… who was it?"

"Who? The token adult in my life? Your grandfather, actually." Sirius smiled lopsidedly and ran his thumb along his stubbled jaw. "He was the first one who ever took me to task for being inconsiderate of another's feelings. And before you ask, it was your mum. I said something dumb the first time we were all around at your grandparents' for Sunday dinner, something about how she'd brought flowers and it was inappropriate because wizard families didn't do that sort of thing and she would have known if she'd been born into a wizard family… I didn't mean it to be nasty, but Lily was hurt. She was trying to make a good impression, you see… Well, your grandfather – good man, he was – he took me outside after dessert and told me that this was his house and in his house he expected a certain level of manners, and snobbery certainly wasn't good manners in the Potter house, despite what James' behaviour might suggest at times. He said that while he and your grandmother enjoyed my company, they wouldn't allow me back inside unless I was prepared to moderate my behaviour and stop being offensive to the other guests."

"But you weren't trying to be offensive…"

"I… always liked trying to wind people up. What your grandfather pointed out was how I had to remember that people didn't always see that as fun. Or funny. It was very different to Hogwarts, suddenly out in the adult world…"

"Not so very different," Harry whispered, remembering a time in the library with a young Sirius Black. And a time in the evening up on Squirrel Hill. And a time at night on the full moon...

"Maybe not." He sighed. "Probably not, in fact. Harry, I'd never consider myself a good role model for you – quite the opposite, in fact – but I know what it's like to be sixteen and feel like you're the sum and total of all that is capable of giving you advice and protection, and you need no-one other than your friends, whom you can ignore if you have a mind to. But in retrospect it wasn't such a hot theory and I made a lot of mistakes. Oh, I had my triumphs, but they've faded. Dementors tend to take the glittery things from your memory and leave the shadows, and although I try to ignore them I know there are a lot of shadows I made by not paying attention to people who knew better than me. Not so many cared about me as care about you – your grandparents were two who did, and I wish I'd repaid them better than by being so stupid as to trust Pettigrew over Remus. But I'm not completely thick despite appearances, and I don't want you feeling like you've got no adults fighting in your corner. Remus –"

"– Has turned into Snape."

Sirius' eyebrows flew up, then drew together. "I guess it could seem that way." He grimaced. "What an awful thought. But he's definitely on your side. You've no idea how upset he was when you disappeared. And then when you came back and we found out how we'd treated you in the past… He… Well…"

Harry was shaking his head. "I don't want him involved."

Sirius looked angry. And a little hurt, for some reason. "All right. But in that case you're involving me."

"Providing you don't interfere, I guess…"

"I shall be there in a purely advisory capacity. Unless something needs to be bitten."

Harry smiled reluctantly. "Hopefully not. Although Simon tends to take care of that for us, we're not planning anything dangerous."

"No time travel?"

"No. Just a spot of extracurricular Herbology."

"In anyone else I'd suspect they were growing their own drugs. In you… growing your own drugs would be preferable…"

"Hey!" Harry laughed, then sobered quickly. He didn't want to laugh with Sirius. They weren't friends. Not friends, no, but Harry would be an idiot to turn down an offer of help. "All right. Are you free tomorrow night?"

"Well, I _was_ due for a flea bath…"

ooOOoo


	52. Chapter 52

Disclaimer: see chapter 1 for standard disclaimery-thing.

ooOOoo

Chapter 52: Fruit of the Moon

"…But it's Lupin's dog," Draco was arguing. After Thursday's double period of History, he tended to be in an extra bad mood. He'd been quite happy at the idea of Hermione and Ron staying behind to work on the potion, but balked at a dog which seemed to be Gryffindor by association coming in their stead. "You yourself said I mustn't say anything in front of it I didn't want Lupin to know!"

Harry, who'd suffered through double History as well as a particularly irritating Divinations lessson, avoided Snuffles' glower and tried to avoid an argument. "Er, yeah. But I put a special charm on Snuffles…"

Snuffles snorted.

"Sounds like he's allergic to it," Draco sneered.

"Who's allergic?" a third voice asked.

Luna emerged from the darkness with a piece of the night following silently on the end of the leadrope. Silver shoes gleamed like dew in the grass under the wandlight. "Hello. Sorry I'm late. I stopped to see Hagrid."

"What?" Draco hissed, beating Harry's "Why?" by half a second.

Luna gave him a level stare. "We need someone to raise the alarm if something bad happens to us. If we're not back by sunrise he's going to alert Professor Dumbledore."

"And… Hagrid was okay with us going into the Forest?" Harry asked, a little angry. Draco's face was flushed – he was a _lot_ angry at Luna's presumption.

Luna blinked at him like he'd just suggested Hagrid thought Voldemort was a jolly nice chap. "No, of course not. But I told him we were taking Snuffles and Simon. He didn't look pleased, but he realised how sensible we were being, going into the Forest with them. Remind me to stop by his place and let him know we're back before we go back to the castle." She looked around. "Where's Neville?"

Simon's ears twitched. He pawed at the ground and shook his mane uneasily, turning his head and sidling as if sensing something wicked this way coming.

"Oh, this must be him now."

Luna was proven right as Neville hurried towards them. His cloak was drawn tight around his shoulders and his knuckles were pale as he clutched his wand. Simon's ears sloped back at the sight. Luna's hold on the leadrope shifted and tightened further towards the clip under Simon's chin, although probably no-one other than Harry noticed.

"_There_ you are. I thought you meant the barn up at Squirrel Hill… then I checked Hagrid's… he said you were here. How come Hagrid knows about us?"

"Never mind," Harry said quickly. Draco had been remarkably diplomatic since his blindness, even with Ron, but Neville might be too tempting a target. Best not to let anything start when they were going into the Forest. "Luna's only just got here."

"And Harry and I arrived just before her. So all's well that… er… starts well," Draco said, rubbing his hands together impatiently as he eyed Simon. "He's looking a bit skittish."

"Who, me?" said Neville.

"No, Simon. You're just the reason he's skittish. What do you think, Luna?"

Not so diplomatic, then.

"Neville can stay at the front," Luna said. "Simon would probably prefer to stay at the back and make sure none of us get left behind. It's a stallion thing." She scratched under Simon's jaw affectionately. "Neville?"

"Huh? Oh, okay. I'll lead. I know where we're going, after all." He smiled bravely.

"Shame Ginny isn't coming," Luna said. "Might have been nice to have Ron along for the extra wand. Even Granger might have come in useful. Still, I guess she can be more useful working on the potion. What's Ginny's excuse?"

Draco cocked his head. "Hang on. I knew we were missing the obligatory token Weasley. I thought you were going to ask her, Longbottom?"

Neville seemed to be blushing, but it was hard to tell in the dim light.

Draco's eyes narrowed and his nostrils pinched. "You forgot to ask her?"

"Er…" Neville drew himself up. "Actually, Malfoy, I didn't want to drag her into this. It's far too dangerous to expect Ginny to come into the Forest at night."

"Not half as dangerous as going into the Forest at night without a sorceress on our side," Draco snarled. "Or, for that matter, telling a sorceress she's too much of a delicate petal to help save Hogwarts. Think you're up to defending yourself against that, Longbottom?"

Snuffles stood next to Harry. Harry put a hand on the dog's head in case it did something stupid, like defend a Gryffindor by biting Draco in front of Simon.

"Would you bring that firstie Ricci into the forest?"

"What's Trudi got to do with this?" Draco growled. "She's too young and she's not a sorceress…"

"Let's just get on with it," Harry sighed.

"And we simply won't tell Ginny we wanted her along," Luna said with dreamy matter-of-factness. "Oh, and Harry…?"

"Yes?"

"If you ever keep things from me because you think I'm too weak and can't cope, I'll… I'll… I'll do something you won't like."

Neville was staring up at the stars morosely as the realisation of how Ginny would take his perceived slight of her abilities sunk into everyone in the group. Did the wizarding world know what 'thermonuclear device' meant? Draco might know some equivalent – he was smirking.

Harry raised his hands in surrender. "Wouldn't dream of it," he said, knowing a losing battle when he saw one.

There was a snigger from closer to ground level.

"You know, you really need to be more careful with charms you use on Muggle animals," Luna said. "Poor Snuffles seems to be reacting badly to that one." She patted Snuffles' head.

Snuffles licked his nose and tried to look innocent, not a natural look in dog form, either. When Simon bent his head down to investigate his competition for Luna's attention, the dog licked Simon's nose.

The horse wrinkled its muzzle and snorted explosively.

Snuffles squeezed his eyes shut a moment, then shot Harry a look that said: _Yuck. Horse snot._

"Well, that's all of us," Harry sighed. "I suppose we should get moving."

"Right," said Draco. He didn't move, either.

It was Neville who started walking first. He held up his wand, which glowed faintly. "Come on. Soonest begun, soonest ended."

"You should take Snuffles in front with you," Luna said. "I don't want Simon stomping on him."

Snuffles moved towards Neville without further prompting.

"Aren't you going to ride?" Harry said. He'd wondered why Simon had only a headcollar, not even a blanket although the night was cool.

"No. We're keeping Simon around as an extra precaution, not for riding purposes. I'm trusting our eyes, Snuffles' nose, and Simon's ears."

"Can't he see in the dark?" Draco asked.

"A bit better than us, I think, but maybe only if something moves. I'm not really sure about that," said Luna.

Draco looked briefly appalled. And Harry guessed the Slytherin must have been counting on Simon's vision when he'd gone through the barrier. Would he have gone if he'd known differently?

Harry would have liked to have brought up the rear, trusting himself to make sure nothing sneaked up and bit out the back of his neck. Or Luna's. But Simon planted all four hooves and refused to move until Harry was by his shoulder or further forward. And as they moved into the softly rustling forest and Harry tried to fall back a bit, Simon gave him a sharp nip.

"Ouch," Harry whispered. "What was that for?"

"He's herding us," Luna told him.

"Hurting us, more like."

"Don't be a wimp. He just wants to make sure we all stay together so we don't get picked off by lions and wolves."

"Are we expecting lions or wolves?"

"Are we arguing with millions of years of evolution?"

"Not when you put it like that, no…"

"Shut up, you two," Draco hissed angrily. He was just ahead down the narrow trail, and already jumpy even though they weren't anywhere near the deeper part of the forest yet.

They fell silent. Only the muffled sound of their footfalls as they sneaked beneath the trees and the rustle of their cloaks gave them away. Around them were occasional hoots from wild owls and chitters of the bats the owls were hunting. Soft-winged moths flickered through the wandlight at intervals, making the humans jump and the four-footed flick their ears. At one point they paused as something heavy moved through the trees along a trail on the slope above them, and Simon's nostrils fluttered with the quietest of whinnies before Luna covered them with her hand in case Simon gave them away.

A small break in the trees combined with moonlight and the not-quite dark of a Scottish midsummer night gave away the silhouette of a centaur before it disappeared on business of its own. It wouldn't have been Firenze – they would have seen the pale hair. With a bit of luck Bane was on the other side of the barrier, too.

Best to avoid centaurs. Best to avoid everything other than the mistletoe.

That's what Harry was thinking right before they found the unicorns.

ooOOoo

They were walking above a stream lined with ferns and foxgloves whose bright daytime colours had dimmed to shades of grey when they came into a small glade. When Neville halted suddenly, Draco nearly bumping into him, Harry knew something odd was up. But Simon didn't seem upset and Snuffles' tail wagged.

The unicorns must have heard them coming.

Arrayed like a band of silver stars, glowing with more than the reflected light of the moon, they stood in the clearing with their heads turned towards the students. But their heads were up rather than lowered for the charge, so Harry relaxed a fraction.

Simon whuffled a greeting.

The unicorn stallion of the little herd ducked its head up and down and whinnied back just as softly, its voice sweetly bell-like compared to the rumble of the horse's.

"Oh, how lovely," came Luna's whispered exclamation.

The unicorns were exquisite. They were spun from moonlight and dream. They were the first living legends Harry remembered being touched to the core by. They were the best part of magic.

They were blocking the path.

Harry wasn't quite sure what to do about that. He knew that despite the long sharp horns which could run a man through they weren't mindlessly violent, but he also knew that if they felt threatened they could be dangerous.

Simon gave him a nip.

"Ow. What was that about?" Harry grumbled, annoyed a little for having this dazzling moment broken with something as prosaic and painful as a bite from a grumpy horse.

"We're wasting time," Luna said. "Go on, Neville."

"Er… I don't want to annoy them."

Even Draco didn't comment on that.

"Just walk towards them," Luna said. "We'll see what they do."

"What if they charge?" said Neville.

Draco fingered his wand. "Tell them Hogwarts will foot the bill."

Luna ignored Draco. "They might not."

Neville took a deep breath, drew his cloak up over his shoulder from where it was slipping, and sidled forward. Luna followed. Harry didn't follow fast enough and got another nip. He was slightly mollified when Draco hesitated and was bitten, too.

They walked towards the unicorns.

The stallion lowered its gleaming head and moonlight glittered off the sharp horn.

Neville hesitated until Simon, sighing at the great indignity of it all, bit him. Faced with the devil he knew, Neville ducked his head in apology to the unicorn and kept walking. Harry, walking behind Neville, couldn't see but suspected the other boy had his eyes shut.

It was easy to forget how brave Neville was.

With an almost silent sigh of approval, the unicorns parted before Neville, and the herd fell into step around the students and their four-footed companions.

Harry found himself walking next to the unicorn stallion, which touched noses briefly with Simon, horse and unicorn blowing softly in an exchange of breath, then paced the horse in almost perfect silence.

It was shorter than Simon, lighter, and moved like moonlight on water, a gossamer creature from another world with a grace that made the Muggle horse seem like the gangling great farm beast it was. There was an uncomfortable twinge of resentment – Harry didn't like feeling disloyal to Simon, and he stroked Simon's neck by way of apology. He reached out to the unicorn, but it slanted its ears back and tossed its beautiful head in warning.

"Unicorns aren't for people," Luna whispered. "That's why we have horses."

Harry nodded, wondering how true this was. One hundred percent, perhaps.

It was surreal having the unicorns accompany them, strange and wonderful like fairy gold, and just as likely to disappear. It was a moment he would treasure, especially given how fragile it was.

Knowing Simon was there behind him primed to bite, kick, stand on or sneer at anything that tried to hurt them was a deeper treasure. Harry moved closer and patted the horse's neck again.

ooOOoo

They passed near Acromantula territory. Simon's nostrils flared and Snuffles' hackles rose from time to time, but with the unicorns stepping lightly through the trees with them they saw no giant spiders. They saw no vampires or vrikolaki.

They saw only the occasional bat and heard one or two owls. A hedgehog rustling and snortling its way through the bracken. No monsters. Their path was remarkably clear of obstacles – even fallen trees had toppled away from the path and the only branches across it were ones the smallest unicorn foal stepped over with ease. It was as if the Forest wanted them to find the mistletoe.

That impression deepened when the unicorns stopped when Neville stopped, and formed a loose circle around the tree Neville indicated with his wand.

"It's in that oak," he said. "Can you see it?"

Harry squinted. "I can't see anything."

"Who's going to collect it?" Draco asked, nervously peering off into the darkness. The unicorns didn't seem to reassure him as much as they did the others, and now they had stopped he moved closer to Simon.

"Me," said Neville stoutly. "Harry, got the cloth?"

Harry pulled it out of the bag he was carrying. "Here."

"Ta." Neville, with Draco's unasked and slightly rigid assistance, soon had it spread under the tree.

Simon dropped his head and blew at the cloth, taking in the strange smells of fresh linen. The unicorns watched solemnly. Luckily none of them tried to stand on it – the linen had to be untouched by foot.

They'd already agreed Neville should do the charm. Harry hadn't asked if he was any good at climbing trees. They'd find out in a few minutes. Harry took out the Golden Sickle and, with a small pang of reluctance, handed it over.

There was a yelp from Snuffles.

Harry looked around – "What? What?" – expecting monsters to start crawling out of the ground.

But it was just the Sickle. Snuffles was staring at it and shaking as if he'd just climbed out of ice water.

_Oh shit._

"Lupin's damn dog isn't going to get funny on us, is it?" Draco asked suspiciously.

Snuffles licked his nose and, with a visible effort, pulled himself together.

"I don't think so," said Harry slowly. "But dogs are edge creatures. He probably just sensed the magic in the Sickle."

"Oh. Okay." Which plainly meant anything but okay as far as Draco was concerned. Harry passed the Sickle to Neville before anyone could start asking any more questions.

Neville moved to the south side of the tree and began the spell. It was ancient, so ancient it was a chant rather than wandwork, and the medium for focussing the magic would, with luck, be the Sickle. Neville mouthed the words in a language older than English – with a bit more luck his accent wouldn't be too bad – and cut the air before his mouth with the Sickle.

The words crystallised into magic the same silvery colour and texture as a Patronus and hovered around the base of the tree. After Neville had moved around the tree and spoken the chant at west, north and east, he returned to south and spoke the binding charm for the harvest.

Nothing happened.

"Er…" Neville tried again, stressing one of the words slightly differently.

The crystallised words shivered and the silver became gold.

There was a silence, broken when Draco breathed, "That was _bloody_ impressive, Longbottom."

Harry and Luna nodded in silent unison. Snuffles was still staring at the Sickle, head sunk slightly lower than usual.

Neville blushed. "Er, thanks, Malfoy…"

"You're wasted with wandwork," Draco said earnestly. "Why didn't you try and get an outside subject assigned – it's possible to do Chants through mail… I think Beauxbatons can do a correspondence course…"

"Sorry?" Neville asked. It was hard to tell if he was more confused by Draco's sudden reversal of antagonism or the idea there was something he was good at – or could have been good at had Hogwarts offered a course.

"He's right," Luna said. "Of course, a correspondence course is right out at the moment, but there are books in the library. Professor Snape had quite a few – chants are useful for Potions as well as a few specific charms…"

"But I'm awful at Potions!"

"True… but we don't do the ones with chants until seventh year. They're quite rare. I expect Professor Snape was one of the few people here who knew anything about them. It's a shame you can't ask him, although maybe the headmaster…"

Neville, paling at the thought of asking Snape – even though he had been dead for over a month – said, "Er, yes, the headmaster…"

"Or maybe Flitwick. Hmm. We can discuss it back at Hogwarts," Harry said, suddenly gripped by a memory of Sn- of Severus sitting in a tree chanting something over a sketch of a badger. He shivered and looked around. Something about this place was bothering him, and it wasn't just the fact they were out at night and in potential danger… although that was so familiar he could write a manual on it. "Come on. Let's get the fruit of the moon."

"Right. Er… the only branch I could use for getting into the tree is right over the cloth. How do I get up the tree without standing on the cloth?"

Luna pulled out her wand. "Ready?"

"No."

"Well, get ready to catch the branch on your way up. Or possibly on your way down. I can't do this so well…" She hefted her wand as Simon wrinkled his muzzle.

Neville gulped. "I – eep!"

There was a small popping sound and Neville was sitting in the tree.

"There now, that wasn't too bad, was it?" Luna beamed up at him.

Neville shook his head, face pale as the sheet beneath him.

"Come on, you're in the tree, just get the mistletoe and we can go home," Draco pointed out wearily.

Neville put the handle of the Sickle between his teeth (Harry had another flash of memory of a badger climbing out of a hole in the trunk of a giant tree… and what was that odd ripple out of the corner of his eye? An Acromantula web?) and clambered gingerly further up into the tree.

Oh, right. Harry had forgotten how terrified Neville was of heights. He winced in sympathy.

There was a rustle and then a soft plop. Something fell onto the sheet. It wasn't Neville.

Careful not to touch any of the frozen magic hanging in the air around the tree, Harry leaned forward and peered. Mistletoe. More fell. Harry looked up as a third spray landed. "Excellent work, Neville."

"How much do you need?"

"How much can you see?"

"Not that much. A bit more. Hang on a tick… there. Blast. Don't use that, I touched it with my hand."

Harry reached through the hovering golden words and, mindful that touching the linen might damage the harvest, took the latest bit of mistletoe out from the rest and tucked it in his pocket. Just in case. Another rustling and there was Neville, edging out along a branch. He lifted the Sickle and, lips moving, cut at something with the blade held flat. Mistletoe fell and bounced softly on the sheet. Something else was rustling now, too. It sounded like a wind in the trees. Maybe there was a high wind somewhere above the canopy, but down at ground level the air was still. Harry looked around as the rustling came again from somewhere behind him.

"I think we should go," he said softly.

"Why? What is it?" Draco asked, breathing faster as he looked in the same direction as Harry.

"I don't know," Harry said. The unicorns were looking that way, too.

"Neville," Luna called.

"What?"

"Shall I get you down now?"

"Um… can you take the sheet up – hang on…" There was another brief snatch of an ancient chant. The golden magic hovering around the tree shivered and turned as silvery as moonlight or Luna's eyes. "There. You can touch the sheet now. Just use it to bundle the mistletoe inside."

Draco and Harry took their eyes off the outer darkness for a brief moment and did so. Harry gave the bundle to Luna, who put it in her bag.

"Harry? Do you want the Sickle back?"

"Er… I'd rather not have to catch a sharp blade, thanks."

"Fair enough. Here I come…"

Neville swung down from the branch and landed with a thud, losing his balance and falling backwards and sitting down hard. "Ouch…"

The unicorns pricked up their ears and a mare tucked an overly curious foal back to her flank. Simon stepped backwards, taking Luna with him.

Harry helped Neville up. Snuffles, who still looked badly rattled from seeing the Sickle, wagged his tail in a canine effort to say well done. Draco didn't sneer at Neville's clumsiness; he was too busy watching the Forest around them.

"Thanks. Here's your Sickle…"

Harry took it, tucking it into his pocket. "Ta. And –"

And then the Sickle touched something in his pocket and there was a terrific flash of silver and gold light that left black and yellow starbursts on the back of his retinas. The sound of a forest fire roared in his ears. Unicorns reared, and Draco threw an arm across his face to protect his eyes. Luna screamed.

Harry tried to grab something as he flew backwards and into a world with no up or down.

The world tumbled around him and he was clinging for his life to something cold and hard.

And the first thing he thought with a mind too weary and cynical for fear to be allowed in was: _Oh, for Merlin's sake… Here I go again._

ooOOoo


	53. Chapter 53

Disclaimer: Characters and setting belong to JKR and the Warner suits.

ooOOoo

Chapter 53: Broken Universe

_Warning: Spring snow mistletoe is proven to have hallucinogenic properties under certain magical fields, although researchers have not significantly narrowed down the range of these fields.# Its full magical properties are unknown, but research has hinted at an ability to channel temporal patterns of intent. Readers are not advised to handle spring snow mistletoe, but, if other options are lacking, spring snow mistletoe should be harvested and processed only under supervision from either an accredited Potions master or a level seven druid from a family which can prove its genealogical history going back at least sixteen hundred years in the broad geography of the mistletoe collection zone._

#At the time of this publication, research has been halted due to the unavailability of researchers. Three of the researchers are known to have joined He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named; one claims to be her own long-lost twin; two are currently in France awaiting trial for burglary; one is petitioning the Ministry to recognise his claims as the reincarnation of Merlin; and one has disappeared, leaving only a note to say she is visiting Martian Space Bunny Colony Gamma thanks to a generous donation from Gringotts. All have had their funding cut.

(Ministry of Magic Guidelines for Collection of Rare Flora of the British Isles, page 57.)  
  
ooOOoo

The second thing he thought was: _Where's Severus?_

The third was a bewildered: _Why am I wondering about Severus?_

The fourth, as the world spun around him in five dimensions and infinite shades of rustling shadow and he looked around and saw stars moving as if viewed through a kaleidoscope was: _I'm back in Hufflepuff's glasshouse._

The fifth thought was: _Bugger._

What does one do in emergencies?

_Well, first one endeavours not to involve oneself in an emergency. That's step one. However, should step one fail, move on to step two where one takes stock of one's surroundings. As quickly as possible in the event something is trying to eat one.  
_  
Harry's manual would be a best seller. Maybe he could swap signed copies with Robert Python.

Step two showed he was in Hufflepuff's secret garden. Or something very like, and if there were two gigantic fig trees in gravity-defying private universes squirreled away within the Forbidden Forest then Hogwarts needed to do something to rectify this ridiculous example of overkill. Perhaps the United Comrades of the Republic of Slytherin could organise a working bee to raise money for the effort.

Harry realised he wasn't thinking quite rationally. Sanity had been left behind in the real world, along with working prepositions.

_Get a grip_, he told himself fiercely_._

Well, on a literal level, here he was clinging to a root or a branch – no, it seemed to be a root as it arched out of either the ground or a very, very dirty sky and plunged back in – so that was a good start, grip-wise. The Sickle had fallen onto the ground. Light gleamed off the curved golden blade and flickered as shadows swam through the metal. Rather than look at them, he looked deep into the eternally twilit world, through the faintly-glowing mist hanging in thick streamers between the branches, and saw the knotted heart of a great tree. He knew he had to reach out and get the Sickle – it was right next to his hip, for Merlin's sake! – but sudden and utter terror of letting go of the root overwhelmed him in a tsunami. Harry bit down a sob and turned his head, searching for a way out.

To his far right (he was still pretty sure of left and right, even if up and down had deserted him) was a pale smudge. A handkerchief on a stick? He couldn't stand up and see, although he desperately wanted to check just to make sure it was the hanky Severus had left to mark the trapdoor – the trapdoor that would be useless now, opening into a caved-in tunnel.

And as he swallowed against his dinner (threatening to come up in a surge of bile as gravity whirled his inner ears in a mad tarantella), he realised something else:

He was alone.

There was no Luna, Simon, Neville, Draco or Snuffles. Certainly no Severus.

After the first instinctive and selfish horror of being alone in this crazed world, Harry forced a moment's gratitude no-one else was trapped here.

That was good. Wasn't it? Of course it was. Now he was the only one who was going to be trapped here for the rest of eternity – or until he vomited himself to death. Yay. Happy, happy. He breathed in and out quickly, trying not to panic. It was hard to push it back… and fear that gripped his mind like this was an alien sensation. Harry wasn't proud, he'd known terror, but he wasn't the sort of person who panicked in a situation like this. And he should know from experience by now if he was or not. But the giddiness of being in the spinning kaleidoscope made him feel small and helpless, alone and terrified in a dark, stormy sea.

More than anything else in this or any normal world, he wanted to go home.

But where was home?

He looked in the brief direction of up and saw stars. Real stars. Possibly. Real stars shouldn't shiver and spin, then pause and whirl back in the opposite direction.

The world flipped over and Harry was hanging above the sky again, ready to drop into an infinity as black as Voldemort's soul.

It would swallow him whole and leave nothing.

Harry closed his eyes, clung to the root, and threw up. Literally. He opened his eyes for the less-than-edifying-and-more-than-hair-raising sight of his stomach contents zooming up and splattering the ground above him.

The stink of vomit made him retch again. Mist clung to his face. Harry whimpered at its cold touch and squeezed his eyes shut. He opened them as it drew back, just in time to see the shifting gleam of pitch-black eyes. He started, almost losing his grip on the root and falling into the night, but saw that the eyes were simply stars set into the midnight sky. Not Severus. Not even a ghost. They shivered in the firmament and began their lopsided rotation on yet another plane. _Please stop,_ Harry begged, but his throat was too tight to allow anything louder than another whimper. _Please, please stop… let me go. I want to go home. Mum, Dad… I want to go home… don't leave me alone here… I want to go home…_

Perhaps something heard.

The wallowing stars froze, forming a new constellation in the sky Harry hung above.

The stars shattered.

Through shards of broken light, a new darkness soared into the world. There was a silvery glint too hard to be starlight. The ground vibrated as the darkness landed silently and skidded to a halt right under (_no, over – it just feels like the world is upside-down)_ Harry: a darkness taller than a tree, standing four-square upside-down with its pointed ears brushing the remaining stars, more solid than anything else in this insane world.

Simon.

Harry was almost hyperventilating by now, but the tall black shape looming between him and the stars pushed back the panic. He flung out a hand and grabbed a foreleg. The relief was immediate. He wasn't alone. Tears rolled from his eyes up his cheeks. Simon dipped his head for half a second, just long enough to blow steamy air in Harry's hair, then, as the world spun on a new axis and Simon went from standing below to standing above Harry, the horse threw his head up again and glared around at the branches and lingering mist as if daring them to come within kicking range.

"G' boy, Simon." Harry was beginning to love that glare – when it was used on his behalf, that was.

Simon lifted the forefoot Harry was hanging onto. "Nn. Stay he', S'mon. Don' lea' me."

Simon stayed, although the ligaments vibrated faintly beneath Harry's death-grip. Simon seemed to have no problems figuring out which way was vertical, so why couldn't Harry?

Harry forced himself to calm down. He let go of Simon and, with another Herculean effort, picked up the Sickle and tried to put it into his pocket before remembering that had been the trigger for this whole blast from the past.

(As a matter of fact if it hadn't been for Simon, Harry might have been seriously worried he'd been thrown into another time. But if he had been then so had Simon. And that made things… less bloody.)

He let go of the Sickle and felt into his pocket. His fingers touched something rough.

Damn and blast and double damn him for an idiot. This was what must have triggered the magical explosion…

Harry pulled out the spray of mistletoe and angrily hurled it into the mist. It hung in mid-air, glimmering like a star, pinned by shadows and vapour. It winked at him.

It didn't make Harry feel better, but at least now he could put the Sickle into his pocket without any new hell being unleashed. Which was a nice change. Now all he had to do was find a nice, safe way out of here just like he hadn't done twenty-one years ago.

No problem.

Harry shut his eyes a moment and took a deep breath.

Maybe sitting on Simon's back would help. That had helped Malfoy get out of the Forest after the Acromantula attack. And if anything came running out with its mouth open to show big pointy teeth and poisonous slobber, then Simon could run on Harry's behalf.

Sounds like a plan, he thought. Now all he had to do was climb five, five and a half feet, onto Simon's back.

Damn. Why hadn't they taught Simon to lie down?

Simon shuddered and bared his teeth as a tendril of mist reached out and stroked his ebony flank with an almost possessive curiosity. But still he stayed.

Inch by careful inch, Harry dragged himself up onto the twisting root. Simon's nostrils were wide as the horse stared with bulging eyes into the centre of the world and gave a low, rolling snort.

"You and me both," Harry grunted as he struggled up (or down, but he trusted Simon to hang onto up… and right now it felt a little bit like the way he remembered up to be).

Simon ducked his head to nuzzle Harry's shoulder, giving Harry an idea.

The next time Simon lowered his head, Harry hooked his elbows over the crest, feeling like he was hanging off a cliff. Or possibly falling off a cliff. Panic nearly set in again when Simon lifted his head and stepped back, puzzled, but Harry swallowed hard and hung on as the horse lifted him up. Or down. Or sideways. Simon snorted and shifted uneasily at this odd behaviour, and for a moment Harry feared he would bolt, pushed beyond equine courage.

But Simon stayed.

Harry managed to swing a leg over Simon's back and grinned in sudden hope. This could work...

Simon swished his tail as Harry's heel dug in and Harry apologised as if the horse could understand… and heaved himself the rest of the awkward way u- into a riding position on _(?)_ the horse's back. The bony withers dug into his solar plexus especially painfully after Harry had been sick, and the equally bony spine wasn't doing much good to anything below that. Harry gritted his teeth and shifted his hips into a position as close to comfortable as was possible, reflecting girls had some advantages when it came to riding without saddles.

That was when he realised he didn't have a bridle either.

The headcollar was there, but it didn't even have a leadrope to guide Simon. What in the world had happened outside? And how was he – they – going to get back out? Now he was on the horse, it was time to begin part two of his plan for getting out. The trouble was that there was no part two. And while Simon stood as solid as that root or any rock, he was the _only_ point of stability in the world… and Harry couldn't think with the way everything was reeling around him. And then Simon pawed at the ground, rocking Harry and making him nauseous all over again.

Shit. Harry was going to throw up on Simon…

The trees – tree – groaned around them. The mistletoe twinkled, spinning slowly.

"Let's go," Harry husked, and nudged the horse with his heels.

Simon was already of a mind to leave. He half-reared and stamped at the ground with his forefeet, a frightened and angry stallion, snaking his head from side to side with his teeth bared at the darkness in the centre, then wheeled one hundred and eighty degrees on his back legs. Harry clutched handfuls of mane and prayed Simon had somewhere to go Harry didn't know about.

With a bound so strong Harry almost lost his grip on the mane and fell backwards, Simon leaped into the night sky.

There was the sensation of being torn off a surface he hadn't known he was glued to – Harry hoped it wasn't Simon. Then they landed, Simon's forefeet hitting the ground and sending the echo of the jolt up through bone and shock-absorbing tendons through the bony withers to Harry's solar plexus.

Harry gasped for breath. He opened his eyes and saw the most welcome sight of his life: Neville, Draco and Snuffles – all three shocked, with relief bursting onto their faces; Luna, tears running down her cheeks, looked like the sun had risen.

Simon halted before her and lowered his head.

"Harry…" She wiped at her face with the hand not resting on Simon's nose. She sniffled and leaned forward to give a kiss – to Simon, unfortunately, although Harry admitted the horse certainly deserved one after saving him. Harry blinked and tried to focus. He readjusted his glasses, but that didn't seem to help and his uncoordinated fingers nearly poked out an eye.

"Ow. Luna… Wha' happened? An'… an' how come y' standin' up?"

Snuffles' wildly wagging tail slowed uncertainly. Luna blinked and Harry wished he had some more control over the connections between his brain and his tongue.

It was like the time he'd tried firewhisky with Ron and Seamus. Not as bad as Hufflepuff's insane glasshouse, but still with a whacking great spin to the world coupled with a St Mungos-grade disorientation.

At least he didn't want to throw up any more. That was a plus.

"You fell… sort of inside-out," Draco said. Harry was guiltily pleased he looked as pale as Neville and Luna. "_You_ tell _us_ what happened."

"I kinda…" Harry licked his lips and tried again. His mouth was on strike. Maybe it was setting up a revolution of its own. Well, if his mouth wasn't going to be helpful that'd be the last time it got kisses from Luna. Grr. That'd teach it to be unhelpful.

_Er… is that me thinking that? Mouth, stay shut. Brain thinking weird stuff. _He concentrated hard on stringing together a sentence.

"Uh. Ca' we g' home? Don' feel so good. S'mon… Good boy, S'mon."

Well, that was sensible, if not massively well articulated.

Even Snuffles nodded at that. Luna clipped the leadrope on Simon's headcollar and said, "Good idea." She wiped her eyes again. Simon nuzzled her shoulder. Harry wished he could reach out and touch her – she looked like she'd had a terrible fright – but his hands wouldn't let go of Simon's mane. It was as if the terror he'd just had drained away along with the power in his muscles, leaving his brain baffled, while his body, which still couldn't tell which way was up, remained fully aware of how awful the world could be. And now he couldn't put a hand out to Luna and that was almost physically painful…

"Can you walk?" Draco was asking.

Harry shook his head, then wished he hadn't. "Nn. Dizzy. Up is sideways."

"I wonder if it's a hallucinogenic effect of spring snow mistletoe," Neville said quietly. "You're not meant to take it internally. Not unless you want to play with the Martian Bunnies."

"And they're not very playful," Luna pointed out, shaking her head solemnly.

"Er…"

Harry shut his eyes for a moment. "Tell you 'bout i' lader. Uh – later, I mean." It was terrible having to concentrate on forming words like this. What would happen when the Acromantulas attacked and he couldn't shout a curse at them?

He opened them when the gently rolling ship-at-sea motion of Simon walking started. Luna was on Simon's left, her wand in one hand and the leadrope in the other. There was Neville, thick and solemn with oaken magic, walking at the front with the gliding shadow of Snuffles padding next to him, while to Harry's right, ready in case Harry should begin to slip from the safety of Simon's back, was Draco. Draco was so pale he shone like the moon. And every time Luna looked up at Harry, her eyes were shining tunnels to a mercury world complete with its own laws of physics and philosophy.

Simon was a world unto himself. For a moment Harry wondered if the horse fancied a midnight snack of chocolate cake and Ribena, but it was unlikely any horse had ever liked Pink Floyd. The _Animals_ album contained only sheep and pigs and dogs. Maybe that was why it was so bitter, Harry thought, stunning himself with his incandescent wisdom and miraculous insight. Horses carry our dreams. Who'd said that? Harry? He hoped so – it was ever so profound. He needed a book to write these profound thoughts down in.

He wished he hadn't thought of food. Hunger lanced through him.

Hunger as a lance… that was another profound image that should be preserved for posterior… er… posterity.

Trees stretched paisley leaves into the undulating night. The Forest exhaled softly as they passed. Unicorns brought starlight beneath the canopy. Acromantulas wouldn't attack while the unicorns were with them. Harry was on an island and the unicorns were the surf breaking in shades of cream and silver around it, keeping away sharks and sea-going giant spiders.

Harry caught the eye of the unicorn stallion.

For a moment the world steadied and Harry felt the weight of thousands of years of forest speak one word in a voice so deep only his bones could feel it as it pulsed a single bass note through his body. The unicorn blinked and Harry was stranded exhausted and human at the edge of wild magic, wondering what the hell had been wrong with him to suddenly think he needed a book to write down his pithy thoughts.

Surrealism drained out of the world as the unicorn looked away. Harry didn't miss it one bit. It was too much like that time he'd peered too close into Neville's cauldron and inhaled the fumes from his latest botched attempt at appeasing Snape.

He was too tired to walk, but at least the world had stopped spinning. How had the unicorn done that? Strange creatures, unicorns…

He realised he was lying flopped forward over Simon's neck. It couldn't be comfortable for poor old Simon… and it sure as hell wasn't comfortable for poor young Harry. That bony bump over the shoulder was doing terrible things to his solar plexus. Plus it couldn't be reassuring for Luna or Sirius to see their Harry sitting on a horse with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. Maybe he could try sitting up…?

He pushed his hands against Simon's withers and concentrated on sitting up.

But no. The swaying walk kept him just that bit off balance and it was only Draco's hand shooting out to grab Harry's ankle that kept him from sliding a long way down to the ground. Simon stopped. "Don't push your luck, Potter," Draco warned, as Snuffles turned his head and made a small whining sound of concern. Last year them would've been fightin' words, but tonight they were simply good advice. Harry flopped forward again with a resigned sigh. Simon echoed it more hollowly, sounding like he couldn't believe the idiocy of human youth not knowing when to stay put and let their elders and equine betters take care of matters.

Harry shook his head a little against the smooth but coarse mane tickling his cheek and decided this wasn't such a bad place to be right now. He breathed in the distinctive and not-unpleasant smell of horse and it wrapped around him like a warm blanket. Simon would take him home. Sirius was there in case something really bad happened, but the unicorns ushering them through the Forbidden Forest at night were a better shield than any team of Aurors.

He was going home.

Harry wriggled back a little so that he was in a more comfortable position and closed his eyes again, feeling better than he had in a very long time.

Muscle and bone worked with the smooth precision of high-performance biological machinery beneath him. The gentle stride combined with the feeling of being carried home by someone large and trusted stirred an old, old memory.

The Sickle warmed, but Harry didn't notice it.

The light of a unicorn seen through his eyelids was a single candle. And Harry was putting a pudgy hand into a cake with one blown-out candle. His mother laughed as she shook her head in mock-despair and wiped the sticky mess away. And it was his father picking him up and carrying him in his arms. And Harry looked up and there was no pain, no betrayal, simply the love between child and parents, the love that had always been his due. And the runes flickered behind him, spelling out TRUTH, and Harry was being carried home… by Simon, by Sirius, by his dad, by… it didn't matter who. Luna was walking just ahead, next to his mother who was climbing the stairs as she swapped a joke with Sirius, his young face unlined and laughing as he kept a pale, canine eye on the dark trees around them. Was that Remus telling his dad that of course it was no bother baby-sitting Harry if James wanted to take Lily out to the Muggle cinema next weekend? It was nice to hear Remus' voice, too. He'd see Remus when he got home. Harry smiled. He was being carried home to Hermione and Ron, and in the meantime Draco was there to catch him if he slipped, and Neville knew the way…

The Sickle was as warm as his dad's arms; as warm as snuggling in bed on a cold rainy day, Simon's back, or the taste of chocolate cake and Ribena after curfew.

Harry drifted. He only began to vaguely make sense of his world when he saw stars through the trees and realised they were the lights of Hogwarts.

ooOOoo

By the time they reached the edge of the Forest, Harry was feeling somewhat better. Or within a few metres of sanity, at the very least, which was reassuring after the trip into the glasshouse. The unicorns left them silently as his odd dreams, fading into the darkness of the trees. Neville watched them go with a wistful expression. Harry could understand: the unicorns were lovelier than moonlight. Poor Neville didn't have a Simon. He patted Simon's shoulder.

"I think we should dump Potter back at the castle before we put Simon away," Draco said.

"I might be able to walk," Harry said. At least his mouth was working properly now. Maybe his legs would be able to do something by the time they got Simon up to Squirrel Hill.

"We can't get him back into Gryffindor," Luna said. "It'll be too difficult getting him through the corridors at this time of night… I can't afford any more detentions."

"What _did_ you do to those mandrakes?" Draco asked.

"I… um… Harry, do you want to stay with Hagrid tonight? Neville can tell Ron and Granger so they don't worry about you. And we have to see Hagrid anyway."

Draco rolled his eyes as Luna evaded the question, but said, "That's not a bad idea. You're not going to exactly be able to evade Filch in the state you're in. He'll give you something really nasty if he thinks you've been drinking."

"How do you know?" Luna asked.

"I… um… So are we going to leave Harry at Hagrid's or what?"

Harry could have laughed, but didn't think Draco would forgive him. Harry wasn't the only one exhausted judging by the dark circles around the others' eyes.

"All right. I like it at Hagrid's. No Filches. Or Mrs Norissesses. Nev, are you okay with that?"

"Sure. No problem. Can I stay with Hagrid, too? Might stop Ginny going ballistic."

"Well, not immediately," Draco smirked, perking up a little at the thought.

"Thanks for the inspirational optimism, Malfoy," Neville said.

Draco showed teeth in the moonlight. As his smiles went, this one seemed genuine. "Any time."

Simon had brought Harry back to the wrong world. The one he'd left hadn't involved rudimentary light banter between Draco and Neville.

"There's a light on at Hagrid's," Harry observed from the vantage point of Simon's back.

"I told him I'd stop by and let him know we were all safe, remember," Luna said.

Snuffles wagged his tail in approval. Harry wished he'd thought of that before they left – it was courteous to let Hagrid know they were out of danger. Looking back on how annoyed he'd been with Luna for promising Hagrid to do exactly that, it seemed ungracious.

To everyone's surprise, Hermione, Ron and Ginny met them at Hagrid's hut. Ron was holding a small copper cauldron, while Hermione had a basket of little jars, bottles and packets, and a pair of small brass scales. Ginny was fingering her wand as she stared off into the night. Harry didn't like her sullen expression, although the way the angry embers in her eyes sent out a few warning sparks when she looked at Neville suggested Harry was off the hook this time. The three students were sitting on an old log Hagrid must have dragged across to serve as an informal sofa, while Hagrid was sitting on his doorstep, Fang at his feet. He stood up as Harry and his companions came into sight.

"Thank goodness," Hermione said. "I hoped you'd come back here. I wasn't sure if you'd go straight up to the paddock or not, but Hagrid said Luna was going to bring you here first…"

Hagrid beamed at Luna, who smiled back.

Ginny shot a glare even fierier than her hair at Neville, who grimaced apologetically.

"What are you doing out here?" Harry asked, surprised and a little alarmed.

"Don't worry, nothing bad happened," Hermione said quickly.

"You all right, Harry?" Hagrid asked, brow creasing under his wild black hair.

Harry realised he was still clutching handfuls of mane. He tried to sit up, but the world rocked alarmingly. Damn. He'd thought that bit was over and done with… Simon appeared to be standing still, but the rest of the world didn't want to conform to the horse's view. Or Harry's wants.

Bloody typical world.

"I had a bit of an accident. But I'm feeling much better." He tried to smile reassuringly. Judging by their expressions ranging from startled to alarmed, he didn't succeed.

"Going to get off that thing?"

Draco bristled at Ron's slur against Simon as Harry said pointedly, "Simon, you mean? I was thinking of it. Maybe in another minute or so. Well? Why are you here?"

"The mistletoe needs to be processed quickly," Hermione told him. "And under the light of the moon."

"Why didn't you tell us this before?" demanded Draco.

"She didn't know," said Ron, scowling at the Slytherin who'd dared criticise his girlfriend, no matter how obliquely. "Thank goodness we were re-reading –"

"_He_ was rereading, credit where credit's due," Hermione interjected, beaming at her boyfriend.

"Erm." Ron was going red. Draco rolled his eyes – luckily Ron continued quickly before Malfoy could say anything to make him kick off. "There was something in those notes… you know, Snape's notes… but the handwriting was a bit dodgy… one of those bits where he was writing sideways up and around the margin when he ran out of room… I didn't quite notice it before… and it said the mistletoe has to be added to the base during the night of harvest. So unless you want to go back and get some more tomorrow night –"

The collective groan from the returned mistletoe gatherers must have been a bit of a hint.

"– then we have to add it to the potion tonight."

"Okay," said Draco wearily. "Let's get it over and done with."

"Where should we do it?" Neville asked.

Hagrid sighed. "Here's a bit too visible from the castle. And I'm sorry, Harry, but lookin' at yeh right now there's no way Ah'm lettin' yeh go back into the Forest."

"That's fine." Hagrid was the one adult Harry didn't mind putting limits on him, he realised with a large measure of surprise. How strange.

"We need a place outside," Hermione said. "It's got to be under the moon, so no tree cover. Shame there's no hillside out of view of the castle. I wouldn't put it past Filch to go creeping up Astronomy Tower just to look at the scenery. Well? Any ideas?"

Harry and Luna exchanged a look. "Squirrel Hill," they said.

ooOOoo


	54. Chapter 54

Disclaimer: Characters and settings property of JK Rowling and Warner.  
And now let the soap opera (or should it be horse opera?) continue…

ooOOoo

Chapter 54: Marshmallows

"It's one of those ancient mistletoe spells. We… we… er… don't have to be naked or anything do we?" Ginny asked soon afterwards, as they stood around in the small hollow at the top of Simon's paddock. A cluster of boulders shielded them from view of the castle while being open to the light from the moon, which was still short of its zenith. Far off into the distance stretched the Forbidden Forest, a gigantic shadow smothering the hills.

Ron's mouth worked as he gaped at his sister. He made a series of noises like a goldfish eating surface food. Hermione patted him on the shoulder kindly. It was too dark to see if anyone was blushing, but Ron vibrated with some emotion that made his ears radiate heat.

"It was traditional for the _wizards_ working this type of spell to be naked rather than the witches," Luna said.

She smiled far less mistily than usual.

"What?" said Harry. He wished he was still on Simon. Things were much too complicated down here on the ground.

Hagrid shrugged his massive shoulders. "Don't ask me. I'm not makin' this potion, so it don't apply to me, I 'spect."

"N-n-naked?" Neville stuttered in a high-pitched voice. Ron was still making his goldfish noises and Draco was scowling.

"Don't you want to be?" Hermione asked Neville, arching her eyebrows as she slanted a wink at Ron, who shut his mouth and was suddenly and intensely interested in his fingernails. "It's a nice night."

"No," said Draco firmly as Neville choked up with embarrassment. "It's far too cold. Amongst other considerations."

"Like what?" asked Luna with an innocence that didn't stack up against the small smirk she had as she eyed Harry and Draco.

Draco stared at her a moment. "Thistles," he said finally and flatly. He folded his arms.

There was a snort from Ginny, echoed by Snuffles. Harry didn't look at his godfather. He _did_ look at Ron, whose face was stony under the moonlight. Hermione had her hand over her mouth and Ginny seemed unusually fascinated by Simon.

"Good point, Malfoy," Ron croaked.

"Thank you, Weasley."

"Let's just check Snape's notes again…" said Ginny, her face almost as rigid as her brother's as she held back her laughter.

"I'm sure I would have found that by now," Ron snapped. He clutched the book tighter. "Bloody Snape's giving me grief even now…" he muttered, just loud enough for Harry to hear.

"We're wasting valuable moonlight," Harry said. "Besides, we're all tired, and if we get any tireder we risk mucking it up."

"True," said Hermione. "Who wants to start a fire?"

Ginny started one – she was getting quite good at controlled fire conjuration without a wand, perhaps because it was the element of Gryffindor, and she soon had a small fire crackling cheerfully without sending up flames high enough to alert anyone back at the castle. Neville was banished to the rim of the hollow after Simon threatened to panic and trample the cauldron at the sight of him within ten feet of the brewing, and now sat perched on a tilting boulder, a forlorn silhouette watching the proceedings. On the rim of the hollow opposite stood the even darker silhouette of Simon. Occasionally the firelight gleamed red in the eye he kept on the students.

Hermione adjusted the tripod with her wand and balanced the cauldron at just the right height for simmering. Harry and Ginny kept an eye on it and the fire while Hermione and Ron laid out the pre-weighed ingredients in order of addition and Draco prepared the mistletoe with a small silver knife.

("Lucky not everything silver mysteriously vanished right before Simon got his new shoes," Harry said, and Draco gave back what he probably thought was an innocent smirk.)

Snuffles was sitting up next to Neville, who was taking his exile philosophically, and both of them were watching the shadows towards the Forest in case anything emerged from it.

Luna kept an eye on Simon.

And Simon's ears twitched constantly as he listened to those around the fire, those at the edge of its light, and all that was out there in the darkness.

The potion making went smoothly (Harry decided that thanks to the law of averages it was time something did), with nothing more sinister than a sudden billowing of mist out of the cauldron. It filled the hollow and spilled over the rim, over the heads of Neville and Snuffles and under Simon's belly, and then evaporated with a few twinkles, leaving behind a faint smell of peat that made everyone except Simon sneeze.

Draco, who must have felt pessimism negated any bad luck floating around, was busy arguing that the proof of the pudding was in the tasting… or in the case of this potion, in the breaking of a temporal barrier erected by a Dark Lord that the combined efforts of Aurors and Dumbledore hadn't been able to break. He had a point, but as the last twinkles of the mist sparkled out Harry suddenly decided he didn't want to worry about that right now. He didn't feel like worrying about anything anymore. Nice to stop worrying, actually. Draco sneezed as the mist washed over him then yawned mid-harangue about potion efficacy, the testing of, and broke off with a slightly confused look, as if he'd completely lost the thread of what he was saying.

Harry yawned, too.

Maybe it was just the long day, but he was feeling quite sleepy. And a strange sort of happy lethargy had fallen over him like a warm blanket in winter. He leaned back against Luna and watched Hermione decant a potion as thick and silvery as mercury into three squat stone bottles then cap them with wooden stoppers and melted wax. She muttered something and tapped the stoppers with her wand.

"There."

"Finished?" Harry asked her.

"Mm-hmm."

"We've got some mistletoe left," Ron said. He held up a few forlorn berries still clinging to their stalks. "Should we burn these?"

Padfoot yelped as Neville sprang to his feet with a small scream, standing on his tail, and Hagrid, who everyone had thought was dozing, sat up and exclaimed with a roar of horror, "Burn spring snow mistletoe? Don' be daft, Ron!"

"Besides," Draco said from where he was now sitting cross-legged on a flat rock just down from Simon, "I've got an idea about what we can use that for." He brushed away the last potion sparkles that were clinging to his robes.

"What idea?" Ron said. He had jumped and dropped the mistletoe back into the sheet when Hagrid surprised him.

"I was thinking about the spells the Dark Lord uses," Draco said. He rubbed an eye with his knuckles. "One of them is – or was – the Vivicus Charm. It loops biorhythms."

"Loops what?" Harry said.

Neville, who wasn't as sluggish as those who'd stayed in the hollow, had bounded down the slope with uncharacteristic grace and come to a stop by the mistletoe. He cast a warning look at Ron, who spread his hands in a _what's everyone getting so upset about?_ gesture.

"Biorhythms. We learn about them in Herbology, but really they're applicable to every living organism," Neville said. He gently tucked the scraps of mistletoe into the linen, giving the bundle a reassuring pat as if the contents needed comforting. "There. You don't want that catching fire. You _really_ don't want that catching fire. And I think I know what Malfoy might be getting at with the biorhythms." He turned to Draco and flicked a frown up at the brooding silhouette of Simon. He needn't have worried: now that the brewing had finished and the cauldron was off the flames, the horse seemed unconcerned at Neville's presence… or no more concerned than he normally was. The tail swished once. Neville shrugged to himself and sat down by the fire. "D'you think You-know-who is trying for immortality by using Vivicus?"

Draco blinked, plainly trying to organise his thoughts. "I know he's tried it in the past. But all the texts say it's not meant to work."

Harry though back to his last meeting with Voldemort. He remembered sickly skin stretched taut over a noseless face and red eyes. "Maybe it doesn't."

"Or maybe he's only managed to make it partially successful." Draco yawned again, which set everyone off, including Hermione and Ginny, who were coming back down from the lip of the hollow where they'd been checking that Hagrid's roar hadn't alerted anyone at the castle. Even Padfoot yawned, liquid tongue lolling back. Luna's arm went around Harry, which felt nice.

He reminded himself they were discussing Voldemort.

Discussing Voldemort shouldn't be so, well, _nice_. Even Ron and Draco were being pleasant to each other. Harry yawned again as Ginny sat next to Neville with a smile. Ron didn't look cross at their closeness; he was too busy making himself comfortable next to Hermione.

"Vivicus is tricky," Hermione said. "Get it wrong and you change sex. Or turn into a foetus."

Several people said 'Ugh,' or a variation upon such.

"Do you think that mistletoe could be used to counter Vivicus?" Draco asked Neville and Hermione.

"It might be too late for this mistletoe," Hermione said. "It had to be processed immediately into the specific base for our potion. While the temporal barrier-breaking potion isn't finished, it's not like we can take a few drams of this base and use it for another, different potion. We don't even _know_ of any potion to counter Vivicus – if there is one."

"We won't know until we look," Ron said practically. "If we keep the stuff left over we might be able to use something. Or do some experiments if nothing else."

"Where? Here?" asked Ginny. "Nice as it is and all, I think someone might get suspicious if we keep coming up here for midnight picnics with a cauldron."

"We're not using the third-floor girl's bathroom again," Harry said as firmly as he could while Luna was stroking his hair (which wasn't very).

"Ah, you're just worried Moaning Myrtle will try and chat you up," Ron grinned.

Draco lifted an eyebrow, and in the firelight Hagrid's beard could be seen to twitch.

"I know a place," Luna said softly. "But it's special. I'll need to see a recipe and know this project is serious before I show it to you."

That silenced them. Harry could see Draco and Hermione were bursting to ask questions. Luckily, when Draco opened his mouth it was to say something completely unexpected:

"You know, we've collected mistletoe from the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night, Potter was rescued by a horse yet again –"

"– I still don't know how that happened," Harry said.

"Luna unclipped his leadrope and sent him after you. Simon just… jumped. And then came back with you. Where did you go…? And just for the record, Luna, I think it's highly hypocritical of you to belt me after I took Simon through the barrier and then send him running off after Potter…"

"I know, and I wasn't thinking," Luna said. "I'm really sorry I did that, but I'm not sorry it saved Harry."

"Hmph." Everyone waited to see how Draco would phrase _you were ready to send a perfectly good horse after Potter?_ but he surprised them by passing that over and continuing with, "Where _did_ you go, Potter? These near-death escapades of yours are getting stale."

"You're telling me… and you're welcome to take over any time you like, Malfoy.

"I rather thought Weasley could."

"Huh," Harry snorted, catching Ron's eye. "Well, when I put the Sickle in my pocket it touched a sprig of mistletoe and, bam. The continuing story of my life. I went back into Helga's Glasshouse of Secrets. It's in a hell of a state. Or it just doesn't like me – gravity was all off. I couldn't stand up. Simon seemed fine with it, although he didn't like it there. I think we need to find a way to put the Sickle back at some stage… but let's talk about that tomorrow. Tonight is, well, it's been long." He pushed his head against Luna's hand, which had paused in stroking his hair. He felt her move like she was laughing silently, but if she was laughing at him he didn't care: her hand started stroking again. Now he knew why Simon was always nosing around for attention.

"True," Draco said. "And, as I was saying, we've just finished using a magical implement we're not meant to know about let alone possess, then made a potion we're also not meant to know about from a recipe written after a time-travel experiment we – ditto – weren't meant to have carried out – a recipe Snape had written down in a library book, might I add. We're out of our dormitories well after curfew and fraternising in a way that Hogwarts has frowned upon for centuries… I mean, here I am, a good little Slytherin, out here with a Ravenclaw _and_ a rabble of Gryffindors…"

"I was a Hufflepuff," Hagrid put in unexpectedly, not opening his eyes from where he'd fallen back into an apparent doze after seeing that no-one was going to throw spring snow into the fire. "Don' mention it much. Embarrasses the other Hufflepuffs… probably a'cause I got chucked out."

"Oh. That rounds out the full diabolical…ness of our dangerous fraternising, I guess. That's quite a tally we've got going. Before we get caught and have a zillion years detention with Filch dumped on us, I think we should take the rest of the night off from worrying about the rest of the world. In the meantime, a campfire's a dreadful waste without marshmallows. Anyone want one?"

To their continued astonishment, he pulled a tiny crinkling packet out of his robes and tapped it with his wand. It mushroomed into an enormous crinkling packet with the words _Miss March's Marshmallows – no frogs, only puffy fun!_ – written on it in huge fat letters. Smiling happy children dancing in a ring looked like they'd eaten far too many. Harry's eyes widened: one looked like Dudley on a sugar high. Another waved at Snuffles. Draco wrinkled his pointy nose. "Terrible packaging, but it was the biggest packet Honeydukes had." He ripped it with some satisfaction, sending the fat children scrambling for cover.

"You carry marshmallows around on a regular basis?" Ron asked, eyebrows raised, looking like Harry felt, mildly concussed at this sudden Draco-induced turn of events.

"Be prepared for any emergency."

"How do marshmallows work when there's a troll bearing down on you?"

"Ah. Trolls have sweet tooths. Or should that be teeth?" Draco yawned and scrubbed at his face with the heel of his hand. "And if all else fails, you can turn them into wicked fireballs… with the right charm, of course."

"Going to show us tonight?"

"Are we expecting any trolls?"

Yikes. The rudimentary banter between Malfoy and Gryffindors had expanded to include Ron. Harry was amused to see his bewilderment mirrored on Hermione and Ginny's faces. Something odd must definitely have been in the cauldron mist.

Snuffles snorted and lay down by the fire. When he yawned, so did everyone.

Again.

"The contagious yawn strikes again," said Hermione.

Just the word set another round of yawns going. Even Simon was hit.

ooOOoo

They found some sticks. Harry took two – one for him, one for Padfoot. Draco argued it was a waste of good sweets giving them to a dog, and why didn't Simon get some if Lupin's damned dog was? It was the closest anyone came to having an argument since Draco had queried Luna over her sending Simon after Harry, but it, too, didn't escalate. The mist from the potion had left everyone feeling amazingly mellow. The argument was derailed when Luna said she didn't want Simon to risk burning his tongue.

Why she thought Snuffles wasn't in danger, Harry didn't find out until the next day.

They woke Hagrid up. Neville's marshmallow caught fire but Ginny put it out so quickly it was only lightly crisped, and the delicious smell of scorched sugar filled the hollow. "Imagine what their children would be like," Luna murmured to Harry as Ginny and Neville whispered to each other shyly.

Ginny giggled as Draco handed them some more marshmallows. Ron took a handful slightly warily, as if he still wasn't sure Draco hadn't spiked them with some nastiness which would manifest itself later on. Draco took several marshmallows and stuffed them in his own mouth, cocking his head to the side as if to prove a point. As Ron rolled his eyes and swallowed a marshmallow, Draco smirked and said: "I took the antidote after dinner."

Ron choked. Hermione laughing as she slapped him on the back couldn't have helped his pride.

Luna's words caught up with Harry and smacked him in the back of the head. "Huh? Children? What?" Harry didn't want to imagine anyone having children – he knew for a fact Neville was sixteen because they shared a birthday, and sixteen was far too young to be worrying about having a family, especially with maniacs like Voldemort and Fudge ruining the world.

"Well, Ginny's a sorceress and Neville's got to be at least as powerful as you or Dumbledore. When he's not wasting time mucking about with a wand, of course. Do you think that dreadful thing about his parents being in St Mungos might have made his powers so quixotic?"

She was whispering, but that wasn't why Harry was finding it difficult following the conversations. "Neville? Powerful? Why can't he put out his own flaming marshmallows, then?" As if on cue, Neville squeaked and began waving his stick frantically. His burning marshmallow lit up the hollow until Ginny scolded him and put it out. Harry tuned out Draco's "If you can't cook them properly you shan't have any more… here, Weasley, you'd better take over from him…" and frowned at Luna.

Luna shrugged. "Your marshmallow's going to catch fire."

"Huh? Oh, bugger!"

Harry blew on the marshmallow until the flames went out. It had gone only a little bit black on one side, and the lovely golden bubbles and aroma more than made up for it. He bit into it cautiously – for some reason melted sugar managed to hang on to heat better than water and Harry didn't want his tongue to get scorched. Luna nibbled on hers with delicate teeth. The tip of her tongue was incredibly interesting for some unknown but deep and primordial reason Harry couldn't fathom, and when it flickered out and licked off the last crispy shell of cooked marshmallow from her upper lip, Harry's world narrowed down to Luna's mouth. It –

The muffled clumping of hoofbeats interrupted his thoughts (or lack of such). "Simon! Bad horse!" exclaimed Luna. "Draco, he's going to steal the bag!"

"Don't let him stand on the bottles!" Hermione gasped, jumping up.

Lured by the irresistible smell of hot burnt marshmallows, Simon had come down to investigate. They shooed him away, back up to the top of the hollow. He stood there with his rump to them and sulked. Harry resolved to give him an extra apple the next day, and suspected he wasn't the only one planning that by the guilty looks he saw on Draco, Luna, Hagrid and even Hermione's faces.

Even Snuffles shot an apologetic look at the horse's backside as he licked his gooey marshmallow off the stick Harry held for him.

They took a quick vote and, with Hagrid's permission, agreed they would stay outside for the rest of the night (not that there was much left of it). Hagrid magnanimously offered to say he'd taken them out for an early collection of dew. The students thought that was a fine idea, although they'd only admit to it if anyone actually asked. Hopefully no-one would notice they'd been away. Luna said she had slept outside the dormitory on several occasions without anyone noticing, and Draco said that he'd already told Millicent what he was doing and she would cover for him… and if Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini or Nott said anything, he'd personally make their lives hell.

Ron said Seamus and Dean wouldn't say anything. They were good mates, even if Seamus had been acting like a bit of an arse lately.

Hermione said she'd charmed the curtains around her bed closed and soundproofed like she did every night – her room-mates would think she was still there.

Ginny smiled and said she'd done exactly the same thing.

They toasted marshmallows until the fire burned down to embers and, one by one, drifted asleep where they sat. Hermione transfigured leaves into blankets, her wandwork earning herself a sharp glare from Simon, who'd recovered from his sulk enough to go and graze for a bit then return to watch those down by the fire ("I swear I thought I was going to lose points there," she giggled nervously) and grateful thanks from all the others except Draco, who turned a handkerchief into a duvet and sent a glare so poisonous around the hollow that nobody dared laugh at the happy skipping bunnies on the cover… bunnies Luna shuddered at.

"I'll protect you from the evil Space Bunnies," Harry whispered in her ear.

"Yes, but who'll protect you?" she replied solemnly as they snuggled down side-by-side to watch the embers.

ooOOoo


	55. Chapter 55

Disclaimer: Characters and settings not mine. Plot (if such a nebulous ramble can be glorified as such) is. Space Bunnies reference is from a computer game (i.e. not mine, either, darn it).

Spoilers warning (because I haven't posted one in ages): this story is AU from the end of book 4 onwards, but this chapter contains spoilers for book 5.

ooOOoo

Chapter 55: Keeping Mum, Malfoy Style

Padfoot curled up between Harry and Draco, on the other side of Harry to Luna. It was quite snug, Harry decided. It was a shame he'd eaten so many marshmallows because the sugar wasn't going to let him get to sleep anytime soon, even if he could sleep through the potted thunder of Hagrid and Neville's snores from the other side of the hollow.

He sat up and poked the fire. A faint gleam alerted him to the fact he wasn't the only one awake: Draco's eyes were slitted half-closed as the Slytherin stared up at the stars.

"Y'awake?" Harry whispered.

"No."

Harry snorted quietly. There was something pale near the fire. "Hey, a marshmallow." He picked it up and blew off the dirt.

Draco's lip curled. "Are you going to eat it?"

"No. I'll see if Simon wants it. I felt kind of mean earlier, telling him to get lost after he carried me out of the Glasshouse."

"What happened there?"

"Um, I don't want to wake the others…" Harry untangled his legs from the blanket. He was careful not to wake Luna, who had one hand curled by her mouth. Her mouth moved; Harry leaned close just in time to hear her mutter: _"Those Space Bunnies must die…"_ It was a little disturbing, but she looked so delightful he wanted nothing more in that moment than to kiss those half-parted lips, warm and soft as they looked in sleep, but another pale pair of eyes had opened and they weren't Luna's or Draco's: Snuffles was awake.

The Animagus regarded Harry sleepily.

Harry ignored him and crept up out of the hollow to where a darker lump against the first hint of morning suggested a horse might be asleep.

Draco followed him. Making even less sound and to Harry's great displeasure, so did Snuffles. Harry was a little wobbly on his feet still. He skidded on a rock and would have grazed his knees, but Draco grabbed his elbow. "Ta," Harry whispered.

Draco shrugged, but continued to steady him the rest of the way up.

Simon lifted his head as they approached, but, lazy beast that he was, didn't stand up. He accepted the marshmallow from Harry's hand trustingly, then rolled it around in his mouth and dribbled it out. Perhaps it was the strange texture, because Simon adored sweets.

"Well, it was dirty anyway," Harry said. "No, I don't have anything else. Eat the ruddy thing off the ground, you picky horse," he scolded in a whisper as Simon checked his pockets as best as he could without actually getting up. Simon sighed a great hollow sigh and stared off mournfully at the treetops of the Forest.

"So?" murmured Draco.

The two boys and dog settled themselves on the side of the horse away from the hollow. Simon didn't seem to mind them leaning against him, although he had his feet tucked on the opposite side which made it hard for him to turn his head around to properly investigate the dog that was so impertinently taking advantage of the horse's body heat. He settled for whuffling in Draco's hair, sending pale strands out like a dandelion clock before Draco hurriedly brushed his hair down again with one hand as he pushed the horse's nose away with the other.

Harry quickly ran through the nasty minutes he'd spent in Hufflepuff's Glasshouse, including the mistletoe he'd thrown away there and how Simon had seemed unaffected by the switches in gravity.

"Funny how he knew where to go," Draco remarked. He patted the horse's shoulder. "I wonder if it was the shoes?"

Harry frowned, thinking. "Probably. It was funny how he seemed to, I don't know, to sense where the centre of the world was, though. I wonder if all horses can do that."

"What, run around rescuing people trapped in splintered dimensions?"

"Er… yes."

"Huh. Hell of a research project finding out." Draco's teeth gleamed in the night.

Harry grinned, too. "I wonder how you'd get funding?"

"Hogwarts must have something. I hear the Ministry gives out grants for the weirdest projects. Luna should apply – she might be able to prove her Space Bunnies."

"I wouldn't be surprised. Although she doesn't seem to like rabbits much."

"It's the cute little twitching noses. Never trust something with a twitching nose."

Reminded of Wormtail, Harry couldn't disagree. But… "You made a cute ferret."

"That is never to be mentioned again."

"Fair enough. So… what were you saying before about the Vivicus Charm? I've never heard of it before."

"Not many people have. It's not practical. And… I'd rather not say anything more in front of a creature you've warned me is virtually a mobile listening device for Lupin."

"He won't report back."

"I don't want to chance it. It, um, involves people who aren't us."

"Death Eaters?"

"Don't look at me like that, Potter. Yeah, some. But not necessarily in a way that would make them your enemy."

"I don't want to surprise you or anything, but Death Eaters have been trying to kill me for a while now. So if this person is a Death Eater he's bound to be my enemy."

"Well, I guess you're right. I mean, Snape hated you and you hated him… that was pretty genuine. He was a Death Eater, so that must have made him ever such an obvious enemy. And I guess the way he spied on the Dark Lord and gave his life defending Hogwarts kind of made him your enemy, too…"

"All right, point taken. You're not saying there's another spy out there, are you?" Hope kindled for a moment.

"No. In fact I'm not saying anything until that cur of Lupin's is sent out of earshot."

"Snuffles, go on. Back to the fire. Go on, boy. _Now_, Snuffles." Harry pointed and glared until Snuffles slunk back down the slope, burly frame still radiating displeasure at the 'cur' comment. Harry watched until the dog curled up on the blanket next to Luna.

"That thing does a worse sulk than Simon," Draco remarked.

Harry nodded, deciding for the sake of continuing peace not to mention how irate Draco got whenever anyone referred to Simon as 'that thing'.

"Okay. What'd you want to talk about?"

"Well, first I want your wizard's oath that what I tell you isn't going to be passed on in any way, shape or form to anyone else."

"You've got it, providing it's not going to be used to harm me or anyone I care about."

"Very Slytherin of you. And that's fair enough. But let me add the proviso that should you wish to act in any way on this information, it will be in accordance with my wishes, otherwise it will be as if you had never come across this information."

Harry's head churned. "Again, fine, providing no harm to me or mine."

"Good. Because I only learned of the Vivicus Charm because it hurt someone I know, and I don't want you using the information against the people involved. Except the Dark Lord, of course, and anything you can do against him is fine by me."

He kept his voice very low.

"Sounds promising. So what do you know?"

"Not too much. Only that he – the Dark Lord – began trying out some spells seventeen and a half years ago. At some point a young woman was called in to assist. She got hit by the backlash of one of his spells… or so she thought. She found out later it had been a deliberate experiment done on her because she was six months pregnant and her husband had displeased the Dark Lord somehow. Don't ask how he'd pissed him off, because I don't know.

"Well, the Dark Lord was experimenting with the Vivicus Charm. It works by looping the biological imprint of the body back to the point of application of the charm. The mind keeps freewheeling in time, fortunately, otherwise you might as well be repeating your life over and over again. But the body stays young. It sounds like the ideal way of obtaining immortality except for a few nasty side-effects, which the Dark Lord was trying to unkink when he chose the pregnant woman for his experiment. He'd tried it on Muggles, I think, maybe even a Squib or two, but because of the difference in magical gradient the results were, er, messy to put it nicely. But with a Pureblood witch the charm worked like, well, like a charm. Apparently the experiment was a raging success… providing you weren't the mother or the baby, of course. It froze the development of the baby she was carrying for two whole months and probably would have kept it that way indefinitely. But of course the baby was too much use as a research subject for that to be allowed.

"The woman and her husband found out the Dark Lord wanted to use the baby for further experiments. So they took all their courage – and took a big chance, under the circumstances, given they didn't know how deep loyalties ran – and confided in a friend. Their luck held true, and the friend, instead of turning them into the Dark Lord as traitors which would have advanced his standing in the Death Eaters enormously, the friend agreed to help them counter the Vivicus. Damned brave of him, too, because they were all going against the Dark Lord's orders, and you know how You-Know-Who gets when anyone stands between him and immortality." Draco paused to give a meaningful stare at Harry's scar. "To make a complicated potions-based story short, she and her husband and the friend who countered the charm worked in great secrecy and developed a new potion… and all I know about it is that it's got some mistletoe involved somewhere. And that it worked. So the charm was broken and the baby resumed normal development and was born in the normal fashion as a normal, healthy infant, although the stress of extended pregnancy may have been the reason the woman was never able to have any other children. The Dark Lord decided that line of research had been a failure, thank Merlin. He went with another variation on the charm. The husband became busier with the political side of the Dark Lord's agenda, but I think the woman and the friend were still involved with the research –"

"You've got to be joking," Harry exploded with a whispered hiss. "How could she help the monster who'd treated her unborn child like a guinea pig? And how could Vo-" (he truncated the name at Draco's wince) "-oldie think she would _ever_ be trustworthy after he'd done that to her?"

"He didn't know she found out she was used as the experiment. She never let on. Neither did her husband or their friend. And I guess the Dark Lord always thought she was fanatically loyal to him… he knew other members of her family, you see."

"Merlin…" Harry's mind whirled. It spun out a startling thought. "She… was she your mum? Were you the baby?"

Draco regarded him without expression. "There's a reason I'm an only child. I very nearly wasn't even that."

Harry sucked in a sharp breath. "I don't get it. I _really_ don't get it. How can your parents support him after what he did?"

"Father is Machiavellian… and that's putting it politely. Mother rarely lets anyone see her true feelings. But I suspect she's always waited for an opening. Revenge served up cold and all… That's why you mustn't ever tell anyone how I know about the charm. Certain people might get suspicious. And I don't ever want anyone tracing back something this dangerous to my family, not when I could have kept my mouth shut."

"If I hadn't already sworn to keep it secret, I would now," Harry said sincerely, awed if slightly astounded by this confidence.

"Huh. Gryffindors."

"Mock us at your peril, Slytherin." Harry grinned, although he was trying hard to hide how appalled he was at this latest story of the adventures of Tom Riddle.

Draco snorted.

"So you were born two months late? That's… strange."

"I'll say. Glad I don't remember any of it. When Mother gets cross with me she tells me the story of how she and Father were going through an astrological stage and wanted an intellectual Gemini child. Unfortunately, what with the delay, they ended up with a flashy Leo."

Harry laughed softly. "Ouch. Like me. So when's your birthday?"

"July thirty-first."

"Oh. Double ouch. _Just_ like me. And Neville."

There was enough moonlight to show pale eyebrows rising. "You're pulling my leg."

"Nope. No pulling of legs going on. It's been too strange a day for shenanigans like leg-pulling."

"Or larrikins."

"Or lollygagging."

They chuckled. It was a little forced, as if both of them needed to lighten the atmosphere after the horrible things Draco had told. Then Harry said, "What in Merlin's name does lollygagging mean?"

"I don't really know. Er… a larrikin is a foolish person, isn't it?"

Harry stretched out his legs. "That'd be us," he said comfortably. "You know, I think there was something fishy about that mist that came out of the cauldron."

"Not fishy. Mistletoe-y. Mild intoxicant. Kind of. I never would have told you all that stuff about my birthday otherwise."

"I won't tell anyone if that's what you're worried about."

"I know. But it's still, I don't know, kind of embarrassing."

"If you say so." Harry rested an arm back on Simon. Simon was real and good and nothing to do with Voldemort or vile experiments or potions. His fingers drummed on the horse's rump as he considered something. Simon twitched his tail in his sleep. "The friend. That was Snape, wasn't it."

"Yeah. That's how come I know there's a potion to counter the Vivicus. I just don't know how you make it."

"Knowing there's something is a start. Although I'd like to be sure Voldie is really using the charm before I try chucking potions at him."

"You'd feel a complete pillock standing there with him dripping wet and completely failing to melt."

"I don't think I'd be standing there long in that case," Harry said. "There would be a definite and immediate breaking of sound barriers as I leg it over the horizon. And how come it's suddenly me who's throwing potions at him? Why not you?"

"Because I'm Slytherin and cunning, which means letting the idiotic Gryffindor gallop around shouting 'huzzah!' as he tries to be a hero while running a ninety-nine percent chance of getting bumped off," Draco stated, as if such facts should be obvious to Harry.

"Thanks. That's very kind."

"I have long been famed for my kind nature."

"That's what your mother wants you to think."

"She loves me." Draco smiled sweetly.

"You have a very strange family."

"And you've only met three members of it. Not counting Sirius Black and Aunt Bella, of course… they're the completely mental branches I try not to think of."

"There're more Malfoys? Merlin help us… Hang on – your mum doesn't know how the potion and charm work, does she?"

"She's our best hope on that score now we don't have Snape. We could try asking Flitwick, but…"

"I think he's getting suspicious of our questions." Harry paused. "You don't think you mum'd seriously go up against Voldie, do you? I mean, your dad's his biggest supporter. Your mum wouldn't disobey her husband, would she? He's –"

"Don't tell me what my father is. Even if it is true." Draco sighed heavily. "As for Mother, I got a letter from her. She never said as much, but there are hints she's displeased. She kept calling Father 'Lucius'. She only calls him that to his face. Otherwise it's 'my husband' to her friends or 'your father' to me. I think Father did something beyond the pale…"

"Kill Snape?"

"That'd be one thing. Mother wouldn't have liked that."

"They weren't…?" Harry hadn't got any hints of a romantic attachment between Severus and Narcissa, but people change over the years…

Draco blinked and then frowned in mild horror. "No. I really couldn't see that one happening. But they did respect each other and Mother wouldn't have forgotten him countering the Vivicus charm. In effect it saved my life as well as hers… or gave me one; let me know when the verdict is in on a definite time for a person to begin being, um, a person." He scratched his nose, frowning as if annoyed at his inability to find the right words. Well, Harry was exhausted, too. "Mother wouldn't have forgotten a debt like that – not one which came from allowing the existence of her only child."

"Shame your dad didn't remember that before he…" Harry trailed off. "Sorry."

Draco shrugged, although it was obvious Harry had stung him, however unintentionally. "Yeah. Well. So you can see why you can't say anything to anyone… I probably shouldn't have, but I needed you to see how I might have some insight into the Vivicus. It doesn't mean you have free rein to go blabbing to your chums the details. If any of this gets back to the Dark Lord my parents will be dead – and he'll be so paranoid after Snape betrayed him he won't need more than a _sniff_ of a hint of the chance of someone possibly considering betrayal for that someone to end up on the business end of his wand."

Harry couldn't in all honesty say he minded if it was Lucius, especially after he'd slipped Tom Riddle's haunted diary to Ginny… and corrupted Severus, let's not forget that, he reminded himself… but he hadn't disliked Narcissa from the little he'd known of her. He didn't _like_ her, of course, especially after meeting the snooty adult version at the World Quidditch Cup, but it certainly didn't give him any right to put her life at risk. Besides, the whole point was moot. "Your parents are safe from anyone finding out. Blockade, remember?" He sighed. "Even if your mum knows the key to the charm and the potion to counter it, we can hardly owl her for the recipe."

Draco scowled at his hands, which were locked around his knees. Harry had often caught him staring at his hands when pondering deeply on the nature of reality... or possibly the nature of his cuticles. "I know. I hope I don't have to ride through that barrier again…"

"It was bad?"

Draco cut a scathing, sideways glance at him. "No. It wasn't bad. It was fucking appalling."

"Hmm." Well, we don't have to solve all the problems tonight."

"No, we're taking the night off from striving for world peace, remember?"

"Oh, that's right." Harry smiled. He leaned back against Simon and stared up at the stars until the memory of a prophecy evaporating into mist intruded into his thoughts… he skipped past it, trying not to think how gullible he'd been, being lured into the Ministry by the promise of seeing his father's ghost… a lie planted in his mind by Voldemort, who had managed to slip into Harry's mind through his scar. Sirius had nearly died when he came to save Harry. The Occlumency lessons with Snape should have stopped Voldemort's access, but things had boiled over between Snape and Harry, culminating with Snape catching Harry about to look into his Pensieve, and…

Things would have been different if Severus rather than Snape had been the teacher. Or maybe if Harry's curiosity hadn't taken over his good sense yet again. He'd found out later from Hermione that looking into someone else's Pensieve was about as bad as manners got. But if so, why hadn't Dumbledore told him when he pulled Harry out of his in fourth year?

In retrospect, Harry knew he should have gone back and apologised, but he'd been too angry with Snape for shouting at him. Again. The memory of Snape hurling a jar of cockroaches at him hadn't been great motivation either.

Snape probably wouldn't have listened, and there were loads of jars of nastier things than cockroaches around. Mind you, if he'd brained Harry with one of those, maybe Harry would have been unconscious in the Infirmary when Voldemort threw all those images of his father's ghost, trapped and suffering in a small glass sphere, out for Harry to see. Maybe then he wouldn't have seen them and fallen for them.

It was a funny old world. Things could have been so different if only he'd been conked by a jar of cockroaches. He'd occasionally wondered what Snape had hidden in his Pensieve…

If he'd learned Occlumency, Harry wouldn't have fallen for the Voldemort's tricks and he wouldn't have gone to the Ministry of Magic in the middle of the night. But he had. And there, instead of finding his father, he'd found a broken glass sphere with a recording of Trelawney spouting some nonsense about defying the Dark Lord. Harry had had nightmares for months afterwards, his mind replaying the horror of seeing Sirius get hit by a curse from Bellatrix LeStrange and stagger backwards through a moving curtain… but it wasn't the first time being an Animagus had saved Sirius' life: he'd not been able to explain it to Harry beyond it being an instinctive move that had him change from a wizard with terrible injuries to a shaggy black dog with terrible injuries that was spat back out by the curtain and rolled unconscious behind the body of a Death Eater. Quick action by Moody and Tonks had got him out of the way and safely back to Grimmauld Place. Remus, Molly Weasley and Tonks had nursed Sirius back to health, although it had taken some time for his magic to regenerate enough to allow him to turn back into a man.

Harry was glad Voldemort hadn't known about Sirius' Animagus form. Although why Wormtail hadn't mentioned it to his master, he didn't know. Harry made a mental note that when the Blockade ended he would force Sirius to be more cautious; it was likely Voldemort knew about Sirius being an Animagus by now – the sight of a large black dog at the MoM that night must have been discussed at Death Eater meetings – or tea parties or down at the local Death Eater pub or whatever it was Death Eaters did to socialise – by now. Pettigrew hadn't been there that night; he was the only one who might have made the connection between a large black dog and Sirius Black in time to finish off what Bellatrix had started. In fact things might have been very different right from the beginning of fifth year if Sirius had accompanied them to King's Cross station the day Harry went back to Hogwarts instead of staying at home where it was safe – oh, he'd wanted to go to the station, of course, but when Harry had pointed out how much more valuable Sirius was to him long term rather than as a dog barking farewell on a platform, Sirius had seen the sense of it (although he'd definitely not been happy about it). Harry wouldn't have put it past Draco, whom Harry had seen on the platform, to put two and two together and get an Animagus who was important to one Harry Potter, and Draco would have passed that on to his father, who would have passed it on to Voldemort, who would have found Sirius somehow and used him to bait a trap so Harry gave him the prophecy... But he hadn't.

Funny old world.

And why was Harry worrying about all that now? It wasn't as if any of the maybes had ever happened. Sirius was alive and Voldemort hadn't seen the prophecy – Harry and Dumbledore were the only ones who knew the full version.

But the memory of that prophecy evaporating before his eyes kept intruding. If Harry had learned Occlumency or been unconscious in the Infirmary and not been tricked into going to the MoM, he never would have heard the prophecy. Harry had; Voldemort hadn't. So maybe things had worked out in his favour after all. Maybe the universe hated Voldemort. That was a cheerful thought. Maybe something about the universe wanted Harry to hear the prophecy and learn about how his birthday and his defiant parents had sent him hurtling down this tunnel of fate… him, Harry Potter, and not Neville Longbottom, also born on the same day.

And now it turned out Draco shared the birthday, too. What a strange coincidence.

"I don't suppose your parents defied him three times or anything?"

"You've got to be joking. They wouldn't dare. Twice, maybe," Draco added, after considering for a moment. "Maybe that was what got Father off-side with him. And countering the Vivicus Charm was definitely against his wishes, although no-one was supposed to know what his wishes were, of course – he could hardly tell Mother she was his guinea pig."

"Hmm. I don't suppose he ever… oh, I don't know… marked you as an equal in any way?"

"What?"

"Just asking."

Draco stared at him. He blinked. "Actually… after I was born he was trying to be all jolly. Well, as jolly as someone can be when they have glowing red eyes, although apparently he could be quite charismatic when he was younger. Pre-scales. So he picked me up – I think I was about a week old – and jounced me up and down, and said in his attempt-to-be-jolly-Uncle-Dark-Lord way, 'Mark this one; he's going to be trouble'."

"Oh." It didn't sound like much. Certainly not enough to let Harry off the hook, prophecy-wise.

"Then I threw up on him."

"Huh?"

"Don't laugh – apparently I had a bit of trouble holding down my food when I was very young. I grew out of it. Millions of babies have that. In my case, it resulted in projectile vomiting."

"You threw up on the Dark Lord?"

"All over his face. I was a week old. It was hardly premeditated. He shouldn't have been throwing me up and down after I'd just eaten. Needless to say, he didn't want to be my godfather after that."

"Oh, Merlin… What an awful thought."

"Yeah. Must have been bad enough for you, having my deranged second cousin assigned to assist your moral development – look what I nearly got."

"So who is your godfather?" Harry was half expecting to hear Draco say Snape, but was a little disappointed.

"I don't have one. It got too political. So I guess I'm responsible for my own moral welfare." He smirked at his hands, as if they had just done something clever.

Strange Malfoy person from a strange Malfoy family…

Harry considered matters for a time, weighing up scars and prophecies and the nature of equals.

"It sounds like _you_ marked _him_ as an equal," he said eventually. "Good shot."

ooOOoo


	56. Chapter 56

Disclaimer: is this necessary by now? If so, I hereby reassert my non-ownership of the characters and settings herein. They belong to JK Rowling and Warner.

ooOOoo

Chapter 56: Responsibility

As good as his word, Hagrid took them back to the castle the next morning. The fine day of yesterday had worn out, and grey clouds were moving in from the north-west. They matched Harry's mood, which felt a little flat and definitely in need of some sun. Simon accompanied them as far as the gate of his paddock and whinnied forlornly as they left. Harry felt a little mean. It must be lonely for the poor horse out there – horses were social creatures.

"When the Blockade is ended we should find him a girlfriend," Draco said quietly. It was the first thing he'd said in a while. Harry hoped he wasn't regretting his mistletoe-induced confession from the night before. It wasn't like Harry could do anything more to assure Malfoy that he had no intention of betraying his confidence. He shrewdly guessed that Draco might be more worried about Harry's unintentional spilling of his secrets. Harry hoped he wasn't as stupid as every Slytherin seemed to think he was…

"Good idea," said Harry, conveniently forgetting that as soon as the Blockade was ended either Hogwarts would be under siege again (and they would be forced to hide Simon for his own good) or, in the happy event Voldemort was defeated, a certain tall, black, bad-tempered horse would be claimed by his owner, especially if that owner was a wizard.

Harry wondered if the charm in Simon's chest was a tracking charm. He hoped not – the longer they had Simon the better. Maybe they should hide him regardless of whether Voldemort was defeated or not. (Harry's mind conveniently shied around the issue of theft.)

They trudged wearily up the steps into the Entrance Hall. Hermione hurried off to hide the stone bottles ("…Of the dew we collected," she announced loudly in case anyone passing by was curious – Harry nearly clapped a hand over his face at her attempt at subterfuge. Hermione must be very tired; normally she wasn't nearly so clumsy) in her dormitory room, while the others veered right and into the Great Hall for breakfast. No-one felt inclined to bother getting washed up, although they were rather rumpled and a little dirty after spending the night outside.

They sat at the end of the Ravenclaw with Luna. Although the sight of Malfoy among the Gryffindors startled a few Ravenclaws, they were polite enough not remark on it too loudly. Snuffles took advantage of Lupin's popularity with this House and soon filled his belly on offerings. Up at the High Table Lupin seemed to be trying to catch his pale eye, but Snuffles appeared oblivious; his tail wagging as he made the rounds, graduating out from Ravenclaw to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff and even accepting a roll, half a fried egg and some bacon rinds as well as pats from Trudi and her friends at the Slytherin table. Millicent ignored the dog, but after eyeing Draco for missing limbs and finding him not obviously damaged, she gave Harry a nod that in certain lights might be considered friendly.

Snuffles wagged his tail at her in passing. Harry noticed her hand pause over a scrap of bacon, but her jaw firmed and she continued her conversation with one of the seventh year girls from the Quidditch team.

Pansy, something gleaming in her eyes Harry didn't like, offered half a roll. Snuffles didn't take up the offer, to her quickly-masked displeasure.

"Don't worry, Harry. If she tries anything nasty with that dog I'll see to it she regrets it. Or, better yet, I'll tell Millicent on her." Draco smirked sunnily at Pansy and waved. She quickly averted her eyes, a faint blush rising in her cheeks and her lips pressing together. "But I think that dog is quite capable of taking care of itself," Draco finished, passing Ron the flagon of pumpkin juice he was reaching for.

There were gasps of shock from the table and the room went silent.

Draco blinked. "Oh, for… I haven't poisoned it, you know."

Ron grinned as he poured himself a goblet. "I didn't think you had. And thanks."

"You're welcome," Draco said, scowling. "And the only reason I'm being polite is because I'm scared you might set your little sister on me."

Ginny snorted pumpkin juice through her nose and dissolved into a fit of the giggles. Ron was laughing, too. Neville was finding it hard to keep a straight face as he handed a handkerchief to Ginny.

"What'd I miss?" Hermione asked, joining them. She'd taken the time to take a quick wash and brush the worst of the leaves out of her hair.

Ron reached over and disentangled a twig she'd missed. "You missed Malfoy and me not having a punch-up. The rest of Hogwarts is still getting over it."

"What?"

"The student body is stunned by a display of good manners," Draco said. "Youth of today, I don't know…"

"Not like it was when we were firsties, is it?" Ron said, shaking his head.

"No, you two were worse," Hermione said. "And at the beginning of second year I swear on my grandmother's grave I overheard McGonagall and Snape discussing tactics for preventing you two ever being in a room together without some form of adult supervision."

"He started it," Ron and Draco said together, then looked at each other in surprise. Muscles worked on their faces as they tried not to laugh – Harry guessed they weren't quite ready for any level of friendship beyond an armed truce.

There was a sound like a muffled sneeze. Snuffles had finished his breakfast rounds and was back sitting next to Harry's chair, crumbs flecking his muzzle and amusement sparkling in his eyes. Harry brushed the crumbs away but left the amusement – he hadn't seen it much there of late.

"Hagrid tells me you've been out collecting dew," came a soft voice from behind Harry's right shoulder. He jumped and turned.

Remus quirked an eyebrow down at him. "Did you have much success?"

Snape had used a mild voice like that right before he went into a spitting rage. Harry tensed. "Not too much, I'm afraid, sir."

Remus' smile was brittle at the formality. "Hagrid said it went well."

Harry shrugged. "We saw some unicorns and they seemed quite happy – I guess that makes things slightly more positive on balance, even if we didn't get quite as much dew as we'd hoped."

Remus scratched Snuffles' ears. "Were the unicorns in good health, Snuffles?"

Snuffles wagged his tail. He looked just like a dog pleased with attention from his master. Harry admired the act.

"You know, Harry, you've been spending a lot of time –"

"Ah, Harry," came a new voice. Dumbledore smiled down at the students, his eyes twinkling slightly more than they had been lately. Harry wondered if he'd received good news in one of the letters Draco had brought back. "I hope you didn't forget our appointment this morning?"

"Er, what time again?" Harry said. _What appointment?_

"Is now convenient? Sorry to interrupt your conversation with Professor Lupin, but I'm afraid I have to cover a class this morning, so it has to be either before or after classes."

"Uh, now's fine, sir."

"Excellent."

"Headmaster?"

"Yes, Miss Lovegood?"

"Can I have a key to one of the smaller potions laboratories? I want to try making up some new shampoo for Simon. His mane is getting a little oily." She gave Dumbledore a hard stare as if she was trying to impart the secrets of the universe.

Harry blinked. Ron and Hermione, Ginny and Neville exchanged astonished blinks among themselves. Only Draco seemed unfazed by Luna's reversion to Lunababble.

Dumbledore's snowy eyebrows raised. A small smile hovered in the corner of his mouth, but it might have been a snarl in his beard. "Oily, you say? Dear, dear. I wonder if it's all the magic that's been going on around him. It can do strange things to edge creatures, perhaps even trigger latent magic into becoming more active."

Luna beamed. "That's what I thought."

"Let me know how your research into the… ah… shampoo goes, Miss Lovegood. I find myself strangely interested in what results our equine friend might give, especially in light of his ease in acclimatising to our magical environment."

"Yes, sir."

"Good, good. Hagrid tells me the dew-gathering went well, and it should give enough for the third-year potions project I wanted to conduct." Remus frowned at Dumbledore's words and Harry hurriedly masked his surprise at how Dumbledore appeared to be covering for them. "Now, Harry, have you finished your breakfast?"

Harry choked down the last of his toast as he stood. Ignoring Lupin, he followed Dumbledore out of the Hall, up the stairs, and along the corridor to the gargoyle, which sprang aside at the password ('gobstopper'), and was then carried up the stairs and into the office where Fawkes chirped sweetly at the sight of Harry and flew over to sit on his shoulder.

"Hello, Fawkes," Harry said, stroking the soft feathers. He had a sudden thought. "Can Fawkes get through the barrier, sir?"

"No. Unfortunately Fawkes, being a purely magical creature, is unable to pass through it."

"Is that why a horse went through? With special shoes, of course?"

"Perhaps. But I believe Simon to be quite a special sort of horse."

"Aren't all horses like Simon?"

Dumbledore smiled and offered Harry a sherbet lemon. "Mr Malfoy was most kind to think of me," he said when Harry looked at them in surprise, having thought even Dumbledore would be out of sweets by now. "And no," he continued as Harry took one, remembering with a twinge the last time he'd sat here and been offered a sherbet lemon – Severus had looked at the sweets like they were poison; "Simon is a singular horse. I don't suppose he has done anything out of the ordinary lately?"

_Like leaping through a magical barrier and rescuing me from a crazed dimension?_ Harry paused on the edge of lying. "I'm afraid that as I'm not really sure what ordinary horse behaviour is, I couldn't say."

"Ah." Dumbledore looked pleased. "I'll take that as a yes." His blue eyes twinkled like mad. "As you seem safe and sound and the last time you were in the Infirmary was when you were visiting Mr Malfoy in the wee hours of the morning, I can presume you and Simon have been taking good care of each other. I'm very glad of it."

"Sir?" Harry said weakly, not even considering asking how in Merlin's name Dumbledore had known he had sneaked into the Infirmary.

"I allowed you to look after Simon because I didn't think he would be a danger to you. And also because I didn't think you would be a danger to him. Remember, Harry, that this horse is here because of events beyond his control. A horse in a human world cannot by any stretch of the imagination be seen as a person in charge of his destiny. As those who control his life, it is up to us to keep him safe and consider his welfare in our dealings with him. We cannot in all good conscience take a creature like a horse – a creature with no free will – we cannot take Simon into the field of battle and make him face dangers and assume the consequences for choices of which he has no comprehension and thus no hope of making without risking damning himself. To do so would be to betray his trust in us – a trust he has given us without knowing or even caring whether we are worthy of it or not."

Harry reeled slightly in his seat, and not only because he'd had very little sleep. He felt like he'd just been given the harshest scolding he'd ever had in his life. Even Snape at his vilest hadn't left him with this raw, missing-layers-of-skin feeling he had now. "I wouldn't want to do that to him, sir," he whispered.

"Good. While I trust you absolutely with the safety of Hogwarts, I wish I could say the same about your regard to your own life… or your expectations that others are invulnerable."

"Voldemort is the only one attempting immortality," Harry replied stiffly, still stinging too much to be pleased (or terrified) by the implicit responsibility Dumbledore's words gave him.

"Quite."

"But I think you're wrong about Simon," Harry blurted out. "He thinks. I'm sure of it."

Dumbledore's face looked as sorrowful as Harry had ever seen it. "No, I'm afraid not, Harry," he replied softly. "Simon is a horse. As much as others might wish him to be something more, he is and remains a horse. A rather superb one, but still a beast that is limited by the parameters of its nature. It is cruel to expect more from him."

"But sir, I think he can make choices. I know he's very sure about the difference between right and wrong. Wrong gets you bitten." He rubbed his upper arm at memories which hadn't faded as fast as the bruises.

Dumbledore sighed. "Perhaps you are right. It would be a most gratifying honour for Hogwarts to boast the world's first philosophical horse. But until that is proven, I must ask you not to expect him to solve the riddles of the ages, and instead treat him like a creature that will follow you into danger simply because you ask it of him. You would not be the person I think you are, Harry, should you exploit trust like that. Now, about the Sickle in your pocket…"

Harry, already mentally staggering from what rang in his ears like a moral warning handed down from on high, felt the blood drain from his face. It was almost certain Dumbledore wasn't talking about money. He drew the Golden Sickle out slowly.

The blade gleamed in the morning sunlight. A blue spark the colour of Dumbledore's eyes shot around the edge so fast Harry thought he had imagined it. Dumbledore's eyes clouded a moment, and his hands gripped the edge of his desk until the knuckles whitened.

"Ah, yes; there it is," he croaked after swallowing several times.

"Are you all right, sir?" Harry asked. The headmaster was alarmingly pale.

"Yes, yes… it… my goodness, that was a… an intriguing idea of mine, hiding it thus."

"In the cup?"

"Yes. I trusted you would be the only one able to work that one out. And you did. Well, well. Very good, Harry."

"Your memory is back?"

"Oh yes. All of it." He winced. "It's been some time since I took a Bludger to the head… I seem to recall that being somewhat more pleasant. Possibly because I was rendered unconscious…"

Harry looked around. "Shall I call for a house elf?" A cup of tea looked needed at the very least, if not something stronger from Pomfrey.

"Allow me."

Dumbledore picked up his wand and in the next second a full tea-tray was sitting on a pile of marked Potions essays, steam issuing from a teapot which had fat yellow bees flying around the sunflowers in the porcelain. Harry watched as one bee bumbled up against the handle and zoomed off up into the lid. There was a pile of pumpkin pasties and macaroons and even – his eyes widened – marshmallow squares on a matching plate.

His eyes shot up at the headmaster, who was pouring milk into three cups. The cow on the jug swished her tail as the jug trembled in the headmaster's grip; Dumbledore wasn't recovering quickly from seeing the Sickle. Perhaps the marshmallow squares were just a coincidence. Harry picked up the teapot and poured. Dark brown tea – strong, just the way he liked it – streamed into one cup, part of the stream bouncing up and then down into the next cup, which in turn generated another arc of fragrant tea into the third. Harry twitched in surprise but didn't spill anything at the sight. Soon all three cups and a bowl Dumbledore had half-filled with milk were full, and Dumbledore was putting spoon after spoon of sugar into his cup. Harry took half a teaspoon of sugar for his own and wondered that Dumbledore's teeth hadn't all fallen out. He blew on the hot tea and the sunflower petals in the china rippled.

"I believe Miss Lovegood takes two spoons of sugar?" Dumbledore said.

"I… don't know," Harry said, feeling a little stupid. Shouldn't he know these little details? Was Luna who the third cup was for, or was Dumbledore off on a little mental jaunt of his own?

"Well, we shall just have to ask her. Go and let them in, Stephanie, there's a dear."

A vaguely familiar young woman in yellow robes curtseyed and moved from portrait to portrait and out of the room. She was back in a trice, Luna following, Snuffles at her heels. The woman in yellow robes winked at Harry before she sat down and picked up her needlework. He quickly looked away.

"One spoon or two, Miss Lovegood?"

"One and a half, please sir."

"Very good. Come, sit down. And Snuffles – did you have a nice night out in the Forest, my friend?"

Snuffles waved his tail gently and darted a slightly guilty look at Harry.

"It's all right," Harry told him. "How did you know we were out in the Forest last night, sir?" he asked Dumbledore.

"I didn't tell him," Luna said quickly.

"No, and I am glad you thought to tell Hagrid just in case something went wrong," Dumbledore said. "He did not tell me, before you ask. If you must know, I was out for an early stroll and met up with a centaur. He was concerned you had made it out of the Forest safely."

Which didn't explain how Dumbledore knew Luna had told Hagrid. Hogwarts held no secrets. It was amazing Harry had been allowed to keep the Sickle so long. He sighed and stared at the golden blade glumly.

Dumbledore was putting the bowl of milky tea down on the floor. Snuffles lapped at it thirstily and snapped up the macaroon Luna offered him.

Luna took another macaroon and dunked it primly in her tea.

"Marshmallow square, Harry?" Dumbledore's eyes had regained their twinkle, although the blue was more faded this morning.

"He only likes marshmallow if it's been set fire to and scorched beyond recognition of being a foodstuff," Luna said. She licked crumbs off her fingers.

Snuffles sneezed into his tea. It sounded suspiciously like a snigger.

"You must have been out for a very early stroll," Harry remarked. "Why didn't you join us?"

"I think my presence might have stifled certain developments," Dumbledore said airily. "More tea, Snuffles?"

Snuffles wagged his tail.

"That's a very clever dog," Luna said. "He seems to understand everything you say."

Dumbledore patted Snuffles on the head. "Dogs are very clever creatures."

Luna nodded. "Did I tell you about Simon?"

"His mane seems to be getting a little too oily and you want a room in which to do some experiments? I'm sure a little oiliness wouldn't do him any harm – it might even be a positive thing."

"It couldn't hurt to try developing some new potion to counter it."

"Horses are remarkably delicate creatures – you wouldn't want to try something he proved allergic to... and they are, perhaps, somewhat vain." Dumbledore stroked his beard and stared at Fawkes. "Simon wouldn't like it if, oh, for example, he found himself looking silly after someone had tried a potion on his mane that turned it pink."

"That might be going a little far," Luna said, her own eyes gleaming now with silvery fervour. Her spoon was about to stir through the bottom of her cup. "It's certainly something I should be mindful about."

She smirked. Harry shuddered at the sight – there was more he needed to know about Luna than how she took her tea. That smirk was definitely…

"Do you have a room in mind?"

"Yes, sir – one of Professor Snape's old rooms. He let me use it when I wanted to try making Mendeleev gloves…"

"Ah, yes, I recall I still have the letter from you father granting permission somewhere… What ever happened to the gloves you made?"

"I didn't make them. I got most of the way and then Professor Snape set fire to them."

"Really? That sounds a little extreme, even for Severus' teaching methods."

"Well, they were attacking us at the time."

"What a shame. All in a day's work for the Potions master, in that case. What ingredients do you think you will need?"

"I don't know yet. I suppose a key to the ingredients storage room is out of the question?"

"Yes, it is. If you would like to write a list for Professor Lupin, he can help you. Unless there is some reason for your not wanting his involvement?" he added as Harry and Luna exchanged unhappy looks.

"Well, Lupin has been –"

"_Professor_ Lupin, Harry."

"Yeah, him… well, he's been a bit… um… lately."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Can you be more specific than 'um'?"

"He's turned into Snape."

Dumbledore didn't bother correcting Harry's second omission of a title. "In what way, Harry?" he asked gently.

"Well, he's… always angry at me…" Harry managed weakly "…and he keeps trying to, um, tell me what to do…" he _really _wasn't building a strong argument here "… and I've noticed even you have started treating him like Snape."

Dumbledore stilled, as did Luna mid-dunk of her second macaroon. "Really? How so?"

Damn, Harry was far too tired this morning – and that problem with his tongue saying the wrong things seemed to have resurfaced. Harry stared down at his cup of tea. He hadn't drunk enough to see any tealeaves, and Divination wouldn't have helped him get out of this one. Besides, the only Grim in the room was sitting at his feet staring up at him gravely. He shrugged. "Just… little things," he mumbled.

"He means the way you undermine him in front of the students," Luna said. She caught the soggy, over-dunked half of the biscuit in her palm before it could drop on the desk, and ate it out of her hand Simon-fashion and with such nonchalance Harry doubted she had any idea what she'd just said.

Dumbledore paused as Snuffles made a choking sound. "Do I, Harry?"

Harry shrugged wretchedly. "Er… Look, I'm only sixteen. Don't ask me about how to handle staff matters."

"Miss Lovegood?"

"I'm sixteen, too."

"You're fifteen," Harry said, and could have smacked his forehead for getting distracted so easily.

"My birthday was while you were back in time."

"Oh. Happy birthday. Sorry I didn't get you anything."

"Thank you. And all I wanted was you to come back safely."

Silence. Harry's ears were burning with a mix of pleasure and continued embarrassment.

Harry finished his tea. The clink of his cup on the saucer was the first sound other than a ticking clock and the soft rustling sounds from Fawkes, who was preening.

"Miss Lovegood."

"Sir?"

"Thank you for your observation."

Harry waited for the _but._

It didn't come.

"When you reach my age it is easy to dispense advice to others, but far too difficult to listen to your own."

"Any age, I think, sir." She smiled.

Dumbledore managed a smile back. Harry was surprised to see real affection there instead of anger at her presumption.

"Quite right. I do, however, have high hopes of Mr Potter being the exception to the rule. You will keep in mind what I said earlier, Harry?"

"Yes, sir. And sir… may I keep the Sickle just a little longer?"

Dumbledore nodded – more to show he was thinking than as permission, unfortunately. "Are you planning on showing it to Professor Lupin?"

"At some stage I suppose I have to. He's the only one left with his memory still altered. I'd like to try getting it back into Helga's glasshouse, and he might have some ideas about that. Plus it's only fair for him to have his memory back."

"True. But make sure the Sickle is in a safe place in the meantime. There are stories about how powerful it is…"

"Yes, sir. Er… do you have a safe place for me to leave it?"

"Yes." Dumbledore looked at Luna. "Miss Lovegood, come back a little later and I will give you the key you need. The password is 'masquerade'. I trust you to go no further than would be allowed under other circumstances. I am trusting to your discretion, you understand. I expect you will find a safe place there."

"Thank you, sir. And sir…?"

"Yes?"

"You can't… hurry things along, can you? It's dangerous having… things like this."

Dumbledore sighed and stroked his beard. His hand still shook slightly. "I'm afraid that anything I do can only adversely affect matters. Some things are only able to be achieved from within."

Harry felt his scar wrinkle as he frowned in puzzlement. "What matters?"

"Harry, please keep me informed of what you are planning for breaking the barrier. I realise that you and your friends have already done a great deal and I do not wish to take your successes away from you, but there are those of us who wish to help. We cannot do so if you persist in mistrusting us."

"Well, I can't speak for the others, sir," _especially Draco, and if he thinks I so much as hinted about what he told me last night he'll hang me by my intestines from Astronomy Tower,_ "but the last time I asked for help from others, I was told to go away and let the adults deal with things."

"Is that what I told you, Harry?"

He hung his head. "No, sir. In fact I don't think I thanked you for your help… and your trust… back then."

He felt it before he looked up and saw Dumbledore's warm smile. "My trust was never misplaced."

Harry swallowed and tried not to wriggle with embarrassment, as he always did when he got a compliment. After years with the Dursleys he doubted he'd ever be able to take compliments in his stride, let alone know how to deal with them graciously instead of appearing gawky or arrogant. "Thank you," he mumbled. "I just…"

"Wish history wasn't such a weight? Things that were destined to be could instead have been altered? As do we all." He patted Snuffles on the head. "If only we had the ability to mould history to our will. Wouldn't the world be a different place."

"Wouldn't we be in a lot of trouble, because Voldemort would be able to do that, too," Luna said. She popped the last bit of the macaroon in her mouth.

"Precisely. Your common sense is as refreshing as a summer breeze, Luna," Dumbledore said, sounding quite sincere instead of massively patronising as anyone else would have. Luna smiled back at him.

Harry tucked the Sickle back into his pocket. "Luna, do you have a place in mind for us to store this?"

"Yes. When I get the key. The closet in the little passageway?" she said to Dumbledore.

"That's certainly safe. And well-warded. If you intend to open it, even with the password, I would like you to make sure one person stands near the door to go and get help, just in case. I'd come myself, but I might prove more of a hindrance, as you know. Snuffles here is a fast runner. Make sure he's with you." His eyes twinkled down at the Animagus, who cocked one ear. "I'll get the key to you at lunch," Dumbledore promised.

"Thank you, sir."

"Feel free to come to me, Miss Lovegood. You know I am eternally interested in how Simon is getting on."

"Yes, sir. If it's any help, I think he's having a marvellous holiday. It's not like we really expect him to do any work or anything."

"No, merely rescue students on a semi-regular basis." He winked at Harry.

Luna's eyes widened. Something had tickled her sense of humour. "Oh. Well, looking at it that way, maybe you should put him on staff wages."

"I'll see what I can do by way of a peppermint allowance."

Luna grinned as she pushed her chair back with a screech that made Snuffles wince. "Come along, Snuffles. Bye, Fawkes."

Fawkes paused in his preening just long enough to warble a brief farewell.

As Harry stood to follow Luna and Snuffles out the door, Dumbledore said quietly, "And Harry…"

"Sir?"

"What I said about betraying Simon's trust – I speak from experience. Even when you deal with those who are not horses and who do have free will, it is possible to betray them utterly even without meaning to, simply because of your own foolish expectations and blindness to their needs. I would not wish you the burden of learning this in an applied lesson."

Harry swallowed. "Yes, sir. Thank you." He paused at the door. Just down the stairs, Snuffles had also come to a halt. Was he waiting for Harry? Although it was hard to tell due to all the shaggy fur, something about the dog looked strung as tight as steel cables holding up a bridge. Breathing a little harder and speaking softly in hope Snuffles and – especially – Luna didn't hear, Harry said, "Sir… were you talking about Severus?"

"Amongst many others, Harry."

Harry bowed his head. "Even now you've looked at the Sickle and you know that you did what you had to do or alter history, you can say that?"

There was silence. Harry kept his eyes down – he didn't want to see if Dumbledore looked as old as the weight of the silence implied.

Finally there was the whisper of a sigh. "I believe you will be late for class if you don't hurry along."

"Yes, sir."

Harry closed the door as silently as he could.

ooOOoo


	57. Chapter 57

Disclaimer: Characters etc belong to JK Rowling and Warner. Hello Kitty belongs to – I'm not sure. Not to me. Possibly to Japan as a whole.

ooOOoo

Chapter 57: Bad Hair Day

Taking a few minutes before class, Harry popped back to Gryffindor to get changed into clean robes. _I wonder what Luna's hiding place is going to be? Dumbledore seemed to think she knew of a good one. It'll be weird not having the Golden Sickle on hand… but it'll be a relief not to have to worry about losing it, or some Death Eater getting hold of me _and_ the Sickle and giving it to Voldemort. _As he took it out of his pocket, he realised something wasn't quite right. There was still a weight in his pocket. Something else was in there – but it wasn't a last sprig of mistletoe; his hand closed around something round and so warm with ripe magic he could almost smell it.

He drew it out.

It was a fig.

Harry stared at it as it lay in the palm of his hand, heavy and plump and pulsing with power that belied its apparent innocence.

"What the hell…?"

There was a noise from the stairs. Harry quickly stuffed the fig into his trunk and closed the lid. He tucked the Sickle into the pocket of his fresh robes and shrugged the robes over his shoulders just as Dean walked into the room.

Dean's eyes darted around, and for a moment Harry wondered why the other boy should look so guilty. What had Dean said about him this time? Should Harry say something nasty first, draw his wand or –?

"Hey, Harry."

It was hard to draw a wand on someone who sounded friendly, even if he sounded worried along with it. "Dean. Looking for something?"

"Er… just my notes…" Dean snatched up a Muggle-style writing pad from his bed. He visibly relaxed as he held it behind his back. "What about you?"

"Thought I'd better get changed. I didn't want everyone complaining that I smell like a horse."

Dean smiled. "More so than usual?"

"Well, it's better than Seamus' aftershave."

Dean's smile grew into a cautious grin. "It's the one thing he hasn't set on fire. God knows why – it's so bad you'd think it would spontaneously combust."

Harry laughed. "And since when has he started shaving? More than the once a month of the rest of us, that is?"

"Wishful thinking on his part. Er… do you think Bulstrode has started?"

"Shaving? Merlin, I was hoping to be up to once a week at the least before she did… Don't tell her I said that – she's almost friendly to me these days."

"Your secret's safe with me." Dean tucked the pad into his bookbag. "Coming down for Charms?"

"I'd better." Harry picked up his own bag and followed Dean down the stairs to the common room. "I've missed too many classes in the last month – Flitwick isn't going to accept magical misadventure as an excuse… not again."

"True." Dean hesitated before the exit, breathing a little quicker than necessary. "Er… I just wanted to apologise for being a git to you."

Harry appreciated that, but: "Are you going to apologise to Luna?"

"Would it help?"

"Only one way to find out."

Dean nodded and forced a watery smile. "True. Next time I see her…"

Harry felt much better. He still felt tired and grumpier than he had any right to be, even after only a few hours sleep and an unpleasant trip down memory lane – or memory alternate dimension – but it was a relief to see someone not being a complete burk for once.

ooOOoo

Down in the Republic of Slytherin, Comrade Malfoy was in the bathroom. He held a bottle upside-down over his hand.

Nothing came out. Not even a spark.

"Ah, crap! I'm out of goop!" he swore. He _knew_ there had been something he'd missed getting in Hogsmeade. Too late now. It was hardly as if he could saddle up Simon and go for a quick canter down to the village.

Speaking of Simon, the horse had snuffled in his hair and blown strands hither and thither… that should have been the first hint the magic in the bottle was running low. He stared morosely in the mirror at his stubborn hair, which was worse than he remembered it ever being before he'd started using Sleekeazy. Maybe it was this bad because his hair had grown out quite a bit since his last trim. There was a reason why he needed to keep it slicked back, after all, and now it was so long that even his widow's peak had grown down past his ears, almost to his chin…

"I look like a frigging dandelion clock!" he swore. And wondered if it was worth leaving the dormitory. Or the bathroom.

"You still in there, Comrade Draco?"

Double argh: the new fashion was for using the informality of first names for each and everyone, not just close personal allies and girls you didn't hate (unless you did hate them and they knew it, and you kept calling each other by your first names just to be spiteful… Pansy would regret deeply and profoundly ever toying with Draco Malfoy). Draco reminded himself for the hundredth time that getting the hang of this easy way of dealing with people like they were best buddies was part and parcel of developing The Common Touch, which he would need at some point if he was ever going to do a decent job of running the universe. In the meantime, slapping 'Comrade' in front of it mitigated the cringe-factor somewhat. Draco just had to hold out until the comrades on the Committee for Nomenclature Standards of the Glorious Revolution changed the policy back to family names. Until then he just had to put up with it.

Abject political correctness and its advocates would be First Against the Wall when Draco took over.

But right now he had a more important issue to consider than the future of global politics.

"Comrade Blaise?"

Thank Merlin it wasn't anyone else – Zabini wasn't a complete pillock, and the situation mightn't be completely unsalvageable… although it would require him doing something he'd promised himself a long time ago he would never stoop to…

"You okay in there?"

"No. Do you have any Sleekeazy?"

"You've got to be joking. Last time I used that my hair grew backwards. I was bald for a week."

_Bugger it._ "Oh, that's right." Damn wizards and their idiosyncratic hair. Thrice-damn Sleekeazy for not having a proper level on the bottle to tell him when he was running out. And a side-order of damnation for Draco, who'd laughed at Zabini. Now would be a perfect time for Zabini's revenge. But Draco knew his weakness.

"Comrade Blaise – can you go and see if any of our female comrades are still around? There's a box of Droobles bubble gum in it for you if you can help me."

ooOOoo

Perhaps it was tiredness, but Harry couldn't shake the dark mood that unaccountably dogged him after the meeting with Dumbledore. His morning wasn't improved by the mild heart-attack he sustained when Draco and two other Slytherins walked into class ten minutes late. By the gasps from the rest of the class, the yelp from Snuffles, who was attending classes with Harry for some inscrutable Animagus reason of his own, plus the small 'meep!' emitted by Professor Flitwick as he'd toppled off his stack of books, Harry wasn't the only one who'd been given a shock.

It wasn't so much the ten minutes as the way Draco's normally slicked-back hair had been firmly brushed down with water and then spell-dried so it looked silken. It was now held in place at the nape of his neck by a silver clip in the shape of a snake. It was that in addition to the slight sneer Draco put on in self-defence when everyone stared at him.

It didn't help when Draco drew himself up haughtily and his pale eyes glared around the classroom as if he couldn't believe the collection of inferiors he had to put up with.

Draco had never looked so much like his father.

Small wonder one Ravenclaw had shrieked: "Merlin have mercy on our souls! The barrier is down and Death Eaters are among us! Flee, flee for your lives!", jumped out the window and barely been saved from death by three-story drop by a fast wand-wave from Flitwick.

Zabini, slightly less pale and shaky since the Economic Committee of the Glorious Revolution had appointed him treasurer and given him real power within the House, smirked to do Slytherins though the ages proud as he slunk in through the door and took advantage of the commotion to hide the fact he was massively late. Millicent, coming in and closing the door behind the ferociously-scowling Malfoy (whose expression now made Harry wonder about possible genetic connections between him and Snape), rolled her eyes and muttered, "Was that really necessary?"

"Well, Brian's always been a little bit nervy," Hermione said, biting her lip before she could laugh.

"I _meant_ Professor Flitwick stopping him from falling on his head," Bulstrode growled.

Harry was briefly amused, but that didn't last long before what felt like a dark cloud settled over him again. He scowled at the notes he was taking all the way through Charms and then again in Potions, where Sprout had them make a draught for exterminating alphids, which had been sucking the sap out of the fidal roses she was growing for the seventh-years.

Halfway through Potions even Ron grew exasperated with Harry's surly attitude.

"Give us a break, mate," he growled as Harry shredded daisy roots too roughly to be used in the potion. "What's eating you, anyway?"

"Maybe the fact we've spent the night making a potion that actually means something, then have to come in here and faff about with this… this… tripe," he muttered under his breath.

The grey-brown mass roiling in the cauldron did look a little bit like tripe. Or Dudley's old clothes being specially greyed by Aunt Petunia before she considered them suitable for Harry.

"Look, we'll finish the potion up tonight after curfew," Ron said, wrinkling his nose as he stared down at the revolting gloop. "Luna's going to find us a place, and then we'll be done with it. What's the problem?"

But Harry couldn't explain what the problem was. It had something to do with the finishing of the potion and the finishing of something else.

He dumped the roots in the potion.

The potion immediately turned a violent purple. There was an ominous sound, something like a flatulent tar pit might make, and Ron grabbed Harry by the neck of his robes and yanked him under the table.

Someone screamed. There was a hissing noise that sounded exactly like a cauldron full of ooze boiling over onto the fire.

Purple dripped off the table.

There was a clang as a metal lid slammed down on the cauldron. For a split second, Harry was back twenty-one years, watching Severus cap a roomful of cauldrons before the contents could turn into a deadly aerosol poison.

_"Evanesco."_ The purple muck swirled around itself and disappeared. Sprout's face, red, angry and upside-down as she looked under the table, appeared in Harry's vision. It gave him a bit of a start – what with the combination of an irritated instructor, potion gone to pot and trouble on the horizon, he'd half been expecting to see Snape. Sprout was a bit of a disappointment.

He really must be very tired.

So was she, by the harried lines around her eyes and mouth. She spoke in clipped sentences. "You two. Get out here. Now."

It was highly rare to see her this angry. Even the stray wisps of hair escaping from her bun frizzed in an annoyed manner. Cowed, Harry and Ron clambered out from under the table to find themselves the focal point of Sprout's fury.

She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. "At what point did I tell you to add bark to the potion? I seem to recall there was a part of the lesson where I made sure that everyone knew the consequences of putting even the merest _shred_ of bark in the potion. Yet you two seem to have put – can you guess? – bark in the potion. How is it that two students who have been in my Herbology class for six years do not know what bark is? Because it would seem you do not."

_Blimey_, thought Harry, _she's channelling Snape. _

And it suddenly dawned on him what was wrong: they'd almost finished with the notes Severus had written for them. Severus was dead without forgiving Harry for tricking him – Harry would never be able to say sorry… Harry hadn't warned him about how he would die – or he had, but only in the certain knowledge Severus wouldn't remember. And all this time he'd been happily using Severus' notes while there was no way he could repay him, let alone save his life…

"Potter, has that potion affected your hearing?"

…And Dumbledore had wished Harry would never find out what it was like to carry the burden of betraying someone's trust.

_If wishes were horses…_

"Potter?"

"Harry? What is it, mate?"

_If wishes were horses…_ Harry wished that the idea he could feel pressing behind that thought would come clear. He rubbed his forehead and realised people were talking at him.

"Er… sorry?"

Sprout, torn between anger and worry, said, "Are you all right, Potter? You took a bit of a funny turn there…" She ignored the snigger from the Slytherin side of the room – Harry thought it sounded like it had come from Pansy Parkinson and Crabbe. Goyle was watching Draco for a hint of how he was meant to react. Draco's expression was bland, as was Bulstrode's, but Harry suspected there was a flicker of concern there which meant Harry must have been acting pretty weird.

"I… think the fumes were getting to me. Sorry, Professor. And it was my fault the potion went wrong, not Ron's. I wasn't careful enough with separating out the cores of the roots."

"Hmm. Do you need to go to the Infirmary?"

"No, ma'am."

"Well, in that case you can sit down quietly and write a paragraph on why the potion reacted as it did. Weasley, go and assist Granger and Longbottom.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Yes, Professor."

Ron busied himself with helping Hermione and Neville, who had almost finished and only needed help with decanting the potion into bottles.

Harry stared at his blank bit of parchment and tried to force his tired mind into working and giving him that precious bit of insight he'd almost had just for a second back there.

ooOOoo

But by lunchtime he still hadn't got it, and the frustration only darkened his mood further. Remus was up at the High Table, and by the narrowing of his eyes when he saw Harry, it was obvious he still had questions Harry needed to answer. Harry didn't feel up to thinking of convincing lies, so he grabbed a chicken roll from a table as well as a couple of apples and stomped out of the castle, deciding to visit Simon and give him the owed apples instead. Snuffles followed. Remus did not.

Harry caught up with Draco on the way; Draco had been walking slowly, kicking at the occasional stone, hands in his pockets and apparently deep in thought. He nodded to Harry.

"Nice clip."

"I've heard quite enough about it, thanks," Draco said in a chilly voice.

Harry shrugged. But he couldn't resist adding, "Guess there were a few silver items that didn't end up on Simon's feet."

Draco shot him a poisonous glare. Harry smiled back sunnily, taking a leaf from Luna's book. Draco shook his head in disgust. Harry took heart in someone being in a worse mood than himself, especially as it was Draco. Then he felt a little guilty. "Did you bring anything for Simon?"

"No. I'll bring him something later." Which meant Draco had forgotten.

"Here." Harry gave him one of the apples. "I brought two."

"Ta."

They continued to Squirrel Hill in silence. Thunder rumbled occasionally, but in a half-hearted way which suggested the sky mightn't open up on them right now. Maybe. If it was in a generous mood.

Harry found Luna had already beaten them up to the paddock. She was busy doing something to Simon's forelock. Harry hoped she wasn't testing out spells to turn it pink.

She wasn't – not quite.

"Did you know," she said as he approached, although she didn't seem to have seen them coming and they was walking quietly, "that horses in shows have their manes plaited?"

"No, I didn't," Harry replied, while Draco cast a puzzled look over Simon, frowning at the way Luna had turned Simon's mane into a series of black lumps running along his crest. "I haven't had much to do with horse shows."

"Well, in shows horses have their manes plaited. Their tails, too. Although I think Arabian horses don't have to have their manes and tails plaited for some reason. But I thought it might be nice to practise on Simon. I want to take him to some shows when the Blockade is ended."

Draco tilted his head to the side. "Are you allowed to take stallions to the local shows? The way everyone goes on about them you'd think they were too dangerous for the general populace."

Simon's eyelashes rose and fell slightly with his breathing. His head was lowered as he half-dozed, which was lucky. If he'd taken exception to Luna plaiting his mane and forelock he could have used his superior height to stop the indignity. One back foot was cocked at rest, and his bottom lip drooped a little, as it often did when he was sleeping standing up. He seldom looked less dangerous except when he was flat on his side and snoring. Harry patted him on the rump.

"Well, some shows will let him attend." Luna pulled on an ear and Simon twitched, waking up a few degrees. "Especially those shows where people with mares go to see if there are any good looking stallions at stud. I'm sure loads of people would like to send their mares for a visit with you, Simon, especially after you strut your stuff at the stallion parade."

Simon's eyelashes fell again. His nose was just above the level of Luna's knees now.

Luna frowned and continued with the plaiting. She'd done his entire mane into plaits which she had doubled over and wound around themselves until Simon looked like he had a row of small black pinecones marching down his neck, and was now apparently doing to same to the forelock.

"How long have you been out doing this?" Harry asked.

"I had a free period."

"And you spent it playing My Little Pooka with Simon?" said Draco, sounding a little indignant. "And… and are those _hair bobbles_ you've got in his mane?" The indignation was swiftly growing.

"Aren't they jolly?" Luna smiled mistily as she tucked the end of the plait under and under again, then fastened it with a band of pink. Having his forelock off his face wasn't a great look for Simon – it accentuated his slightly Roman nose, making his head seem heavier and slightly sinister despite (or because of) the cheerful pink dotting his crest.

Harry leaned forward for a closer look. Yes, they were hair bobbles. The elastic was pink. And surely horses in a show should have something a little bit more discreet than – what the hell were those plastic bobbly bits meant to be? They were pink like the elastic, and had a white marshmallow-y face on them. The pink was extra vivid under the overcast sky. He readjusted his glasses. The face appeared to be that of a white… was that meant to be a cat? … a white whatever with a pink ribbon over its left ear. Words bent around the edges of each bobble…

"…'Hello Kitty'?"

Draco was leaning closer now, too. His cheeks grew spots of pink that matched the elastic, although Harry would have bitten out his tongue before telling Malfoy _that._

"What in Merlin's name have you inflicted on my horse, Lovegood?"

Simon's eyes opened. His head raised.

Luna kissed Simon in the centre of his forehead where the hair swirled outwards. "Doesn't he look sweet with all the Hello Kitty bobbles?"

"No. He looks like a bloody idiot. He's a boy horse – boy horses shouldn't wear Hello Kitty hair bobbles. You've Lockharted him!"

Simon put the back hoof, which had been tilted at rest, firmly on the ground.

"I don't think he likes your tone," Harry said.

"Well, _I_ don't think he likes being made a laughing stock."

Luna patted Simon's cheek affectionately. "He loves Hello Kitty. Don't you, Simon? You look quite darling."

Snuffles sat back, tongue lolling in canine amusement. Harry passed a hand across his mouth just long enough to hide his own smile.

Simon didn't seem to mind Hello Kitty. Or looking quite darling. But he laid back his ears as Draco took out his wand.

"Hush, Simon," Draco said. "This is for your own good."

Simon's ears remained back, but he kept still as Draco swished his wand. There was a green and silver spark that touched between the horse's ears and then bounced down the crest from plait to plait before leaping into the air above Simon's withers and disappearing.

The plaits remained, coiled up on themselves, but the pink had gone.

Not so the bobbles.

Harry peered closer. "Er… Malfoy… were you wanting to get rid of the cuteness factor? Because you didn't, um, succeed. Not _quite_, anyhow."

Draco leaned forwards and squinted.

"Blast. Those Hello Kitty symbols must be dreadfully powerful to stand up to that spell…"

The elastic was now green and where there had been a pillowy white cat face on a pink background was now a silver snake on a green background. The snake had eyelashes and had kept the bow, which was now Slytherin green. Around the edges of the bobbles were the words _Hi Hissy_.

Harry grinned.

"It's cute, Slytherin style."

Draco was still scowling. "Well, at least the colour is more Simon. He's a very Slytherin sort of a horse."

"Rot," said Harry. "He's the bravest horse ever – he's got to be a Gryffindor."

"He's capable of thought process. That makes him a Slytherin."

"No, it makes him a Ravenclaw," Luna put in crossly. She didn't seem to like the Hi Hissy. Something was bothering her, anyway. Her shoulders sagged as she regarded Simon, who didn't seem to care what colour or manner of decoration he was wearing. "And I've got to get down to see Professor Dumbledore to get a certain key. You two going to stay up here?"

"No, I'm hungry," Draco said. "Hopefully the werewolf will be busy with something else by now – last thing I want is him hassling me with questions about where I was last night."

"Well, he's a professor. It is his business," Luna said reasonably, while Snuffles' ears shifted to a slightly piqued angle. Harry patted him on the head, hoping Draco wasn't going to say anything too nasty about Remus in front of Sirius.

"I know. But it should be his business when I say it is," Draco replied, grinning wryly. "Oh, what it is to be me and shackled by the rules of mere mortals…"

"The pain, the pain, the pain of it all," Harry supplied in his driest voice, as Snuffles sneezed. "I'll stay up here for a bit – Lupin's more likely to try me for answers – he's not daft and he won't want to stir up the Slytherin Republic by persecuting you."

Draco perked up at the thought. "I knew there were benefits to having to cope with calling everyone 'Comrade'. I could be a martyr… That'd be brilliant. Come on, Lovegood. Potter – you're not hungry?"

"I bought a chicken roll with me."

"Hmm. Enjoy, Potter."

"Bye, Harry."

"Bye." Harry watched them go. His brief good mood evaporated before they'd reached the bottom of the hill.

"Well," he said to Simon, "I don't think green and silver is really you. I hope you don't mind if I…?"

He twitched his wand and sent a variation on Draco's spell skipping down Simon's crest from poll to withers.

"Much better."

Cute little golden lions waved to him from red bobbles. Each lion was wearing sunglasses and a toothy grin. Harry smiled with satisfaction as he read the new phrase _Yo Leo_.

Simon shook his head. Then, seeing Harry handy, rubbed his head up and down on Harry until the itch was satisfied. The plait in the forelock had been knocked loose. Hoping Luna wouldn't see this as some form of treachery, Harry undid it and fluffed out the forelock, parting it so it fell in front of the horse's ears and down in slightly wavy curtains either side of the dark eyes. "There. Much more you."

Simon didn't really suit plaits. While it showed off the elegant curve of his neck to advantage, his nose was a little too coarse. Simon seemed happier to have his forelock back hanging down, and showed his appreciation by treating Harry like a scratching post again.

It wasn't very comfortable. Harry pushed the bony head away then patted Simon's nose and stared off at the hills behind the castle, wondering if he should saddle up Simon and ride off to check out the barrier over there. It might be better than double Transfigurations… but not if McGonagall transfigured him into a pocket watch to remind him to get to class on time.

Shame. It was a warm day, even if it looked like it might rain later on. Harry left the cover off Simon and sauntered back to the castle. He'd still not worked out what it was that was bothering him.

ooOOoo


	58. Chapter 58

Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to JKR and Warner.

A/N: This story is AU from the end of book 5 on. But a few spoilers for book 6 might come through by accident.

ooOOoo

Chapter 58: Dark Horse

Instead of going back to the Hall for lunch, Harry wandered through the corridors, occasionally checking outside the windows to see if it had suddenly clouded over in case he had to shoot back up to the paddock to put the cover on Simon, letting his feet take him where they would, until he found himself in a dusty, disused corridor, staring at a locked door.

Snuffles made an inquiring whine.

Harry looked down, surprised. He'd almost forgotten about his shadow. There was a noise like someone taking a breath and then Sirius was standing next to him. Harry glared at him, but Sirius didn't try opening the door.

"You're taking a risk, aren't you?"

Sirius shrugged. "You've been quiet long enough." He tilted his head, just like Snuffles did when he heard a strange noise. "So this was Sn-ape's secret room."

"Mm." This was the first time Harry had spoken with Sirius since before they'd gone out to get the mistletoe, he realised. And just how much had Sirius remembered after seeing the Sickle?

"Where he took you after you fell back through time."

"Yes."

"And helped keep you safe from assorted idiots in the castle."

Harry wasn't sure how he should respond to that. Sirius had said it as if commenting on the weather.

He pressed his hand to the door, testing the wards. They seemed to remember him – before he quite knew what he was doing, Harry had spoken the password and the door was swinging open with only the faintest creak from hinges which hadn't been oiled in over twenty years.

He stepped inside.

After a pause so short it was barely a pause, he felt Sirius move up behind him.

The room seemed smaller than Harry remembered. A couple of blankets were folded, gathering dust in opposite corners. And there was the box. It made a little jiggling motion, as if it were a dog someone had left behind and now it was relieved to be found again. Harry patted it sympathetically – he had the impression that if it had a tail, it would be wagging furiously now. A small sketch pad had been left on the box. Harry picked it up and found that it hadn't yellowed too badly around the edges, even though it was Muggle paper.

He leafed through a few pages, pausing at one of himself – obviously a test sketch, before Severus had done the one he'd put the disguise spell into, because it was rough and didn't even show Harry's scar. Apart from the nose it looked like James. Harry turned the page quickly.

There was the badger. It had been quickly done, Harry remembered, but it was rendered so beautifully Harry half expected it to bumble snuffling and growling off the page. And there was a quick sketch of a horse's head, a little bit like Simon although somewhat more chunky than the thoroughbred was in real life. Harry still had the sketch Severus had done of Simon; he'd tucked it away in his trunk where no-one would ask questions.

"I didn't know he could draw."

Harry jumped. He'd almost forgotten he wasn't alone.

"I thought I saw a badger…" Sirius tried to take the pad, but dropped his hand when Harry moved it out of immediate reach.

"Yeah, maybe…"

"That badger – I remember it, now… I've still got the scars in my cheek. Was that a spell of some sort?"

"Er, sort of…" Harry wasn't sure he wanted to give away Severus' secrets – not this one, certainly.

Sirius laughed humourlessly. "Yeah, I remember the badger, all right…"

Harry snapped the pad shut. He didn't want to be reminded of that incident… but Sirius was nodding as more memory apparently came back.

"It bit me. And you – you had your wand at my throat and you said… Harry, would you really have…? Not over a spell-creature Snape made…" His eyes narrowed at the window. "Bloody hell. Damn it to… That was Snape, wasn't it? The badger, that is."

Harry scowled down at the closed sketchpad, his hand resting on the black cover hiding what should have remained secret, and didn't reply.

Sirius shook his head, taking Harry's silence for assent. "Snape was an Animagus? Now that I don't believe."

"He wasn't. He… there was some weird stuff we encountered in Hufflepuff's glasshouse. It turned him into a badger."

Sirius showed his teeth. It wasn't a smile. Harry looked away at the flash of something that might have been fury or bright pain crossing his godfather's ravaged face. "A badger with artistic pretensions. Well, well. Our Snape certainly was a dark horse."

Something went click in Harry's brain.

"Oh my God."

"What?"

"Oh. My. God. I'm so stupid. I am so, _so _stupid that there's a picture of me in the dictionary under 'stupid'! It's been right in front of me all the time and I didn't see it!"

"Er, Harry…?"

Harry spun to face Sirius. Sirius backed up a step at the expression on Harry's face. "A dark horse! Snape was a dark horse. Snape _is_ a dark horse, Sirius! Snape is Simon!"

Sirius' forehead creased. "Harry…"

"No, listen, it all makes sense!" Harry looked into the corridor to make sure no-one had followed before he shut the door and cast the soundproofing charm. He paused to gather his thoughts.

"Right… start at the beginning… There was the battle as Voldemort finished putting the barrier together. Snape died – that's what we were told. But no-one ever found a body."

"Malfoy said –"

"I know what _Lucius_ Malfoy thought happened – Draco told me. Lucius thought he killed Snape. But what if he didn't? What if he hit him with a spell that caused Snape to metamorphose into an alternate shape that could diffuse the hexes?"

"Like I did when dearest darling Bella smacked me with a heartcore curse? But that was because I was an Animagus and changing into a dog is second nature – literally – for me… don't tell me Snape went around giving pony rides to his students on the weekends!"

Harry ignored that last acid comment. "He had an alternate shape. Like you. And he took it when Malfoy – Lucius, that is – blasted him. But something must have gone wrong. Snape lost his memory; he thought he really was a horse. And then Draco and I found hi- he found us. And had just enough memory to help us get back to Hogwarts and protect us from the Acromantulas. Remember how he reacted to Remus?"

"Many animals react to Remus in werewolf form like that – some even when he's not in werewolf form, either. It's just one reason why he'll never be given Hagrid's job."

"What if it's more? Snape _loathed_ werewolves. Then Hagrid and I managed to pen him, and Luna –"

"Why would he respond to Luna so well? That makes no sense."

Harry considered this. "She's confident around horses. He must have relaxed at finally having someone around who knew what she was doing."

"She was doing really advanced dressage moves on him. You're not saying Severus Snape, Potions master and git extraordinaire, goes off in his free time to horse obedience classes?"

"Leave that for now. Here's the evidence…" Harry ticked it off on his fingers "… Simon appears when Snape disappears. Simon has a charm in his chest –"

"A tracking charm from his owner."

"– a charm for changing shape. Simon gets upset at the sight of Neville near a cauldron –"

_"I _get upset at the sight of Neville near a cauldron! People in Outer Mongolia get upset at the sight of Neville near a cauldron!"

"– Simon knew where the centre of the glasshouse world was. Simon bites people when they annoy him – Snape got sarky or maybe threw things… no, don't ask, that's another story… Simon likes Dumbledore and Flitwick and the Slytherins. He's indifferent to anyone else."

"Simon adores you. That's not exactly Cuddly Snapey we all know and remember."

"He's had his memory wiped. But the clincher is that when I was back in time I told Severus about Simon and he was surprised – strangely surprised, I thought at the time – and he asked me if I was sure Snape from my time, er, dimension was dead. Isn't that weird?"

"No. I'd ask the same question." Sirius looked close to a stroke when Harry had said 'Severus'.

"And then he drew a picture of Simon – I've got it in my trunk – and it's the spitting image of Simon, right down to the nose and the attitude. Severus said he just drew a generic black thoroughbred, but I don't believe that… not with what other evidence is out there…"

"Thin evidence."

"I think Luna knows more than she's told anyone," Harry went on excitedly, ignoring this last bit. "Except Dumbledore. I reckon he's in on the secret, too. Luna telling him Simon's mane is getting oily… which it is, and there's another sign… and Dumbledore looking like she'd just told him Christmas was going to be twice this year."

"I get oily hair when I've been a dog for a while and not had a bath. Horses also have oil in their coats to protect them from the weather – it's perfectly natural mammalian biology."

"But Luna's really intense about it. She… she probably plaited Simon up with Hello Kitty stuff just to embarrass him into changing back into Snape. It should have done the trick… that must have been what that odd conversation she was having with the headmaster was about, when Dumbledore said horses could be vain and wouldn't like their manes to go pink… Oh, Merlin… Snape's going to kill her if he remembers that crack about strutting his stuff at a stallion parade…"

Sirius' face grimaced for a split second, as if he was trying not to smile. "Luna's really intense about the Martian Space Bunny Colony. It doesn't mean there really is such a thing."

"Okay. Fair call. But why would Dumbledore get so interested in it?"

"Dumbledore is a kindred spirit to Luna. He's also probably humouring her. I know I would in his place… were I a kinder person."

"Dumbledore knows he's Snape. He all but admitted it."

"If Simon was Snape, Dumbledore would have made him change back."

"Maybe he can't."

"He's the greatest wizard of the age and you think we can succeed where he failed? Come on, Harry…"

"Okay, then maybe he didn't want Snape to change back immediately or something like that… he said that Simon's having a nice holiday…"

Sirius shook his head impatiently. "Dumbledore would have changed him back."

"I hate to break it to you like this, but Dumbledore does some pretty weird stuff. Leaving a member of staff as a horse for a few months wouldn't be unusual by his standards. For all we know he's done it before…"

"Harry. Dumbledore wouldn't leave even Snape as a horse. Simon is Simon."

"He's Snape," Harry insisted doggedly.

"So prove it."

"Okay, I will. Come on. This time we're going to look at the charm in his chest… carefully. Without alarming him in any way."

"And if it is him?"

"Then we change him back. We can use the Sickle if we have to – it's about truth. And Simon's not truly Simon… he's Snape."

Sirius put a hand on Harry's chest before Harry could open the door. "Change him back," he said flatly. "Change Simon into Snape. Have you actually considered what you'd be losing? Because there's no way you can win if Simon is Snape and you change him back."

"You were just saying there's no way he's Snape!"

Sirius sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. "I've been spectacularly wrong before," he muttered. "And you've been hurt. I don't want to be wrong now – because if I am then you're going to be hurt again."

"Sirius… I'm going to do this with or without you. I'd rather it was with, because you're an expert on Transfigurations. And transformation charms – Snape was working on a charm to run along the lines of the Animagus transfiguration."

"Snivellus was hopeless at Charms."

Harry glowered. "His si-" he caught himself; he'd already betrayed Severus' confidence enough today. Simply bringing Sirius in this room and letting him learn about the sketch pad and the true nature of the badger was bad enough "…he wasn't that bad. And stop calling him Snivellus. Certainly not here."

Sirius snarled silently and glared around the small room as if it offended him on some bone-deep level. His face was still flushed and he took several deep breaths before he rasped quietly, "I'll need your Invisibility Cloak. And you're not to do this until after class has finished today. You've missed too many classes, and if McGonagall thinks I'm encouraging you she'll have words with both of us."

Harry nodded. His throat stuck before he could say _thanks_. He nodded again.

"Good. Now go and get your books. You're going to be late for class as it is."

Harry replaced the sketchpad on the box and took a last look around at the little room. There was a faint inhalation noise and a black dog stood in the place of Sirius. It looked up at Harry then jerked its nose towards the door in an unmistakable hint.

The box jiggled sadly as they left then, getting no attention, sighed to itself as the door closed behind them. The lock clicked as the lid lifted slightly and the box yawned carefully, not letting the sketchpad slide off. With another small sigh the lid closed again and relocked itself.

ooOOoo

Harry wasn't late, but it was a near thing. Transfiguration class had performed some brand of temporal magic, it seemed, slowing time itself from two periods into an epoch. Harry couldn't concentrate through any of it and hoped vaguely he'd be allowed to take advantage of Hermione's notes afterwards. Hermione was trying to tell him something about Luna getting a key made from magic which needed to be held literally in the palm of someone's hand, but Harry wasn't really listening. Then McGonagall got cross with Ron for whispering to Harry when Ron wanted to know if there was something wrong with Harry – he looked like he'd taken another Bludger to the head and Ron wanted to know if Harry was all right, especially after the fiasco in Potions – but Harry wasn't listening to Ron, either. It was just lucky Sirius had already taught him the spell for turning wombats into Beaters' bats, or Harry would have been in real trouble for not listening to McGonagall. As it was, she took a point off because his bat had whiskers and the emblem of the Australian team on the handle. (She might not have taken that point if Scotland hadn't been creamed in the last pre-barrier Quidditch match by Australia.)

Harry didn't care. He didn't even care when he nearly got a detention after he spent half the time looking out the window, telling himself he was doing the right thing.

He'd always known he wouldn't be allowed to keep Simon.

ooOOoo

Snuffles was familiar to the residents of Hogwarts, but even so the sight of the big black dog following Harry up to his dormitory after classes finished for the day caused a ripple of comment from those who were still dropping their books back before going down for dinner. Harry paid no attention to them.

He dug the cloak out of his trunk and found the sketch of Simon. "See?" he whispered to Snuffles as he thrust it in front of the dog's nose. But Snuffles snorted in a canine way that suggested the Animagus thought Harry was reading far too much into a pencil sketch, however well executed. Harry looked at it in grim satisfaction and with that golden feeling of Doing the Right Thing glowing in his chest. It was a shame the way the dark, leaden knowledge of how No Good Deed Goes Unpunished was squashing the glow. He refolded the picture and replaced it carefully in his trunk, knowing that if everything went right it might be the only picture he had of Simon, and led Snuffles down the stairs, out of the castle, and up to the paddock.

It hadn't rained. Not yet, although thunder still growled along the horizon. Simon wasn't displeased to have Harry visit twice in one afternoon. He walked down the hill to meet him and whickered softly as Harry opened the gate. Harry received a nudge to his knee. It was Snuffles, trying to hint that Snape wouldn't in a million years be so happy to see Harry.

Harry sighed. "He's lost his memory. I told you that already. And he hasn't kicked you over the moon – that's got to be a hell of a bad amnesia."

He patted the horse on the neck a little self-consciously, given that this might be Snape, and noted with a sigh that all the bobbles which had been there when he left were still there, carrying their little Yo Leo characters in proud Gryffindor red and gold.

"Maybe it's best if we get these out before we try anything… Snape'll go ballistic if he changes back with his hair in plaits."

There was a snigger from knee level.

Harry's mouth twitched at the image of Snape taking Potions with his hair bundled up in little plaits. He turned away so Simon didn't see him smile. Just in case. He clipped the leadrope on Simon's headcollar and led the horse into the little stable, pausing at the door to cast a perimeter charm on the fence that would alert him if anyone came into the paddock.

It was dim inside the stable. The low clouds soaked up the evening light and didn't leave much left over to show the outline of a black horse and a black dog inside an unlit shed. Even so, Harry didn't want to risk anyone coming up and seeing Sirius. "Here's the cloak." He passed it to Sirius, who changed back into human form.

Simon pricked up his ears, but otherwise seemed fairly unconcerned these days about Sirius' transformations.

Sirius slung the cloak over his shoulder. Simon boggled at the floating head, but then when a hand became visible and patted him on the nose, he seemed to accept it as normal. "Hello, Simon. We've come for Harry to prove you're a nasty greasy git of the old school, while I, your supporter, maintain you are a fine horse and not some variety of reject Death Eater."

Simon snuffled at his sleeve.

Looking triumphant, Sirius patted the horse's nose. "There. Snape would have turned back just for the chance to punch me in the mouth. Or stood on my foot at the very least."

Harry rolled his eyes. "He's _lost_ his _memory._ How many times do I have to tell you?"

Sirius regarded him levelly, hand resting on Simon's nose. "And if you turn this poor, relatively blameless beast into Snape, what then? He's going to get his memory back. And you don't seriously think Snape is going to be your friend? You'd sacrifice your friend Simon – who seems rather happy as a horse, far happier in fact than I've ever known Snape to be when he wasn't torturing something – you'd turn Simon who is so fond of you he'd jump into a weird dimension to save your life into Snape, who wouldn't pi- er, spit on you if you were on fire?"

"Severus went into a weird dimension with me. He was the one who found the Golden Sickle. For me. Because he was my friend."

"Merlin's balls. Maybe you remember Severus 'Death to all Potters' Snape a little differently from the rest of the world, because –"

"I remember Snape just fine. And yeah, he hated me almost as much as I hated him. Maybe a little more… we never stopped to compare notes. But he tried to stop Quirrell from killing me during Quidditch that time. And when Fake Moody was going to kill me, it was him and McGonagall who came with Dumbledore… And I'll show him the Sickle and he'll remember –"

"What? How he hated you _before_ Dumbledore crocheted booties with our memories using the Sickle he helped you get when you pretended not to be James' son? And don't mistake anything he might have done to keep you safe in the past as friendship when you know damn well it was his duty as a teacher… and what he owed James – well, what he thought he owed James – for saving his life… and before you ask me if I regret what I did the night of the Shrieking Shack, let me tell you I do. No more now I have my memory back than I did while I thought it was James rather than you I nearly got killed."

Sirius broke off as Simon's ears went back.

"Merlin – that evil glint in his eyes is pure Snape," Sirius continued in a quieter voice. "You used to see that all the time. But Simon spends half his time dozing. He's the most relaxed creature at Hogwarts. Apart from Crookshanks, of course." He ran a hand down the long nose and Simon's ears resumed a friendlier angle.

Harry hung his head, scuffing the thin layer of straw with the toe of his sneaker. "I still have to try. Dumbledore would want him back, even if nobody else does."

Sirius was still stroking the horse's nose. "Just keep in mind that you're going to get Snape back. If this poor horse really is him, of course, and I feel like I'm committing a gross slander on Simon just by entertaining the suggestion. Poor beast. Simon, you're a fine horse, even if you keep trying to kick me. I think you're a champion just for the way you brought Harry back last night. And if I thought for one second you really were Snape, there's no way I'd be touching you."

Simon yawned.

Sirius' mouth twitched. "Still, if this is Snape, I'll be dining out on his humiliation for years to come. The rest of my life, perhaps. Any time he gets snide at me, I can just remind him how much he likes having his ears rubbed." He drew his free hand along one of the neat ears under discussion and Simon's eyes half-shut in bliss.

Harry shook his head. "I knew this was going to be a mistake. He's got exactly the same expression as you get when you've got your head in Luna's lap… that's going to stop, by the way."

"All right… but she knows just the right spots to rub."

"She doesn't know you're an Animagus or you'd get your nose whacked. You don't see some sort of hypocrisy in laughing at Snape for having his ears rubbed when you, with your intact memory, deliberately seek out other people's girlfriends to rub your ears for you?"

"I stand firm in my rejection of the charge of hypocrisy. Or I refuse to submit myself to the degree of personal introspection which would allow me to acknowledge the truth of such a charge. Hmm. You know, Luna's going to be upset to lose Simon. Malfoy, too. They won't be best pleased with you over this."

Harry nodded. "But I think Luna knows Dumbledore wants Simon – er, Snape back. Maybe he sent her out there right at the beginning because he knew she'd be the best one to look after a horse. He seems to know her quite well. And you're not telling me Malfoy wouldn't be ecstatic to have his Head of House back… he's the whole reason I got mixed up with Simon in the first place, because he went out looking for Snape after the battle…"

"True, true. But I'm only saying they're going to miss Simon. As will you. I just want you to go into this with your eyes open."

"Why are you telling me this when you don't even think he's Snape?"

"Because you need to think things through. Consequences matter."

"Is this the voice of experience?" Harry asked cuttingly.

"Yes," Sirius replied mildly, "it is." He was still stroking Simon's ears. Simon seemed almost asleep now. Sirius stepped back. "Well, let's get on with this. Where's the charm?"

"In his chest. Can you feel it?"

Sirius crouched down and placed his hand between Simon's forelegs. "No… oh, yes. I think that's it… How strange." The floating head lurched and Sirius caught his balance by grabbing Simon's front leg. Simon sniffed his hair. Sirius chuckled and pushed the horse's nose away. "Oh, for… fond memories though I have of this cloak, it's a real sod to do magic with it getting under your feet. How good is the perimeter spell you put up?"

"Hermione taught it to me."

"Excellent, then. Here."

Harry took the cloak and frowned. "Are you sure?"

"I was standing on it. I don't want to wreck James' cloak." His mouth set in a firm line. Harry decided not to argue, but Sirius wasn't concentrating on him, anyway. Harry wadded the cloak and tucked it away in his robes as Sirius asked, "Can I borrow your wand? Preferably without letting Simon see you give it to me… thanks. He doesn't like people holding wands, does he? Good boy, Simon… Well now, that is strange… Harry, I think you're on to something. It's certainly not a tracking charm. And it's not quite stable. Here – I'll highlight it for you…" The wand twitched, as did Simon, and there was suddenly a thin yellow light emanating from Simon's chest. Grey-black lines in shades of graphite curved through it. "It's very strange. I don't believe I've ever seen a spell like it. It looks very much like a snap-back point charm – a spell to return something to its rightful state. I think I've found the trigger… you see that little whirly sparkly thing off to the right?"

"Maybe…" If he squinted carefully, it was as if he could see into Simon's chest. Harry could see something that wasn't yellow or grey-black, but it looked like a pale, amorphous light more than anything. It spun like a top. It didn't seem to sparkle, but then Harry supposed Sirius was more experienced at seeing these things.

"You know, I reckon that if I hit that whirly sparkly thing at just the right angle with a variation on the simple stop, it should send the charm around the other way. The negative spin should cancel out the wobble in the resonance on the sine of the spell…"

"Like with prior incantation?" Harry never would have made the connection if Sirius hadn't pointed it out: now it looked the most obvious thing in the world.

"It's a very similar principle. There's an arithmantic balance for working out the correlation if you need proof. I could run up a few graphs for visuals. Well? Would you like me to run a few more tests first?"

"Do you think it would be better if we used the Sickle to spin it?"

"I don't know how to use it. But let's see what Simon thinks of it."

Harry gave Sirius the Sickle. Sirius showed it to Simon, who sniffed at the blade and lipped at the handle.

"Do you think he can sense the magic?" Harry asked hopefully.

"I think he can sense the salt from everyone holding it," Sirius replied. "Horses love salt. Watch." He held his hand out flat. Harry had seen Luna do that on occasion, and Simon reacted the same way now as he had then, licking Sirius' palm. He'd tried to do that to Harry, but Harry didn't like having spit on his hands.

"But you haven't been holding salt."

Sirius smiled at Simon, who was still licking his hand. "Sweat. It has salt in it. When the barrier comes down, you should ask Hagrid about getting a salt lick for him."

"Oh. But… are you sure he didn't sense anything from the Sickle? The first time he saw it, he went kind of funny."

"Funny like me or Dumbledore when we saw it?"

"Er, not quite." Harry tried to remember. "More… surprised."

"Like the first time he saw me change into a dog?"

"Yeah. Maybe." Harry deflated a little, disappointed. He'd been hoping the Sickle had jogged Snape's memory. But maybe it couldn't do that while Snape was a horse. Maybe the Sickle could trigger the transformation. "Are you sure you're not getting… I don't know… some sort of idea on how to use the Sickle?"

"I'm sure I'd have noticed by now if sudden illumination entered my brain. Hum. Let's see if holding it against it does anything to the spell…" Sirius pressed the flat of the blade against Simon's chest. Simon craned his neck around, trying to see what Sirius was up to, his ears flicking back and forth with curiosity. Harry held his breath, wondering if this would be it – if the Sickle would trigger Simon's transformation back into Snape.

Nothing happened.

Harry let out his breath, disappointed. "Damn it."

"Sorry."

"No you're not."

"No, I guess I'm not." Sirius grinned, unrepentant as he handed the Sickle back to Harry, who put it in a pocket. "You know I don't want this horse to turn into a second-rate Death Eater."

Harry scowled, then jumped as his wand twitched. "Perimeter spell," he whispered, and darted out the door to check the fence.

It was just a blackbird which had landed on it. When it saw Harry it flew off, wittering an alarm call.

"It's okay," he said to Sirius, who had ducked behind Simon. "Only a bird."

"Good." Sirius patted Simon on the rump. "Mark how I'm patting him on the backside. There's no way I'd pat this horse on the bum if I thought he was Snape."

Harry sighed. He fancied a headache was coming on. "But you admit that spell is odd?"

"Odd, yes, but Simon's been through some odd stuff. Battles and barriers. Those silver shoes resonate right through him. I'm surprised you can't feel it."

"I didn't know you could feel magic."

"Of course you can – that's how come your Malfoy friend picked up on the curses in Simon when he was blind."

"So how come you can do it?"

"Loads of practice as a dog. No wand, you see."

"Right." That made sense. "So are you sure about the spell?"

"Well, it could be an anti-theft charm – there are some which rebound on a wizard trying to steal a magical artefact, and this one has the backnote which would allow it to be used on an animate object like a horse."

"But it's not an anti-theft charm?"

"No. Well, I don't think so. It's got the wrong dynamic. It's a transformation charm – almost into Transfigurations rather than the field of Charms, but just this side of the border. I think. I'm not up with current arguments."

"That's a first."

Sirius grinned down at Harry. "I'm argumentative, not current."

"According to Moody, you _are_ the current argument. So given all the evidence, how can you still think Simon isn't Snape?"

"Because I don't want him to be. I've grown almost fond of Simon." Sirius chuckled. He clapped Harry on the shoulder, suddenly serious again. "You sure about this?"

He wished the Sickle had worked. _No. _"Yup."

"As you wish."

"Hang on, the plaits…"

"Harry, I'm only going to do this on the condition we leave the plaits. I almost wish it _was_ going to be Snape, just to see the look on his face when he finds himself sitting naked in a stable with his hair in cute little plaits. _Finite alloincantatum."_

In a terrible split second of horror as Sirius spoke the spell and flicked the wand, Harry realised that they should have put Simon's cover on him. Snape was going to throw a fit when he found himself naked in a stable – not to mention how insane he'd go when he found his hair in plaits. Too late for that now – Harry winced as the spell flew out.

The spell hit Simon in the chest.

Black and yellow lines of magic streaked out and crackled. Bubbles of magic fizzed off the horse's back. The stable lit up with the light of wild magic.

The magic died out, leaving a tall, dark horse looking very startled.

"Bugger," said Harry. "It didn't do anything. Maybe you should try a-"

Simon's nostrils flared and his ears went flat back.

ooOOoo


	59. Chapter 59

Disclaimer: characters and settings still belong to JK Rowling and Warner.

ooOOoo

Chapter 59: See Snuffles Run. Run, Snuffles, Run!

Simon's ears were flat back. All his muscles bunched up, bulging along the crest beneath the plaits, and his tail switched once with a snapping sound.

"Er, maybe it was an anti-theft ward after all…" Sirius said, interrupting Harry, who was about to ask Sirius to try the spell again.

"Sirius, get rid of the wand," Harry said in a quiet, intense voice. The last sparks of magic crackled off the spell in Simon's chest and the horse had its black eyes fixed on Sirius.

Sirius threw the wand aside.

But that didn't stop Simon's charge.

The thunder of hooves was unnaturally loud in the small space. Harry was brushed aside by Simon's shoulder, nearly getting trodden on as the horse cannoned forward. Sirius yelped, turned, and changed into Snuffles as he leaped out of the barn, Simon hot on his heels with his teeth bared and snapping at the dog's hindquarters. The black dog, tail clamped between its legs, sprinted down the hillside with the horse thundering after it. There was a second during which Harry picked himself up, then he ran out the door just in time to see Simon catch up with Snuffles. For the split second while his heart froze in dread, he was sure the horse had caught the Animagus, but then Simon stepped on his leadrope. The horse checked and almost went down. There was a snapping sound, and the clip broke. In a few stumbling strides Simon got control of his legs again, swished his tail and went straight back into a gallop.

Snuffles had gained a few meters but Simon rapidly closed the gap.

Harry shouted, "Simon! Simon! Get back here, Simon! Bad, _bad_ Simon!"

Simon ignored him.

There was a howl: Simon caught up with Snuffles and Harry's heart seized a second time as a terrified black dog was bowled over by an enraged black stallion. By sheer luck Simon was travelling too fast to stop, galloping right over the dog. Before Simon could turn again and get a better kick in (or use his teeth, or his front feet and full weight to crush the dog's chest), Snuffles picked himself up and scrambled uphill towards some rocks as the horse bounced jerkily to a stop. Harry darted back inside to get his wand and was running down the hill just as Simon came storming back up, the horse's ears still flat back and teeth bared.

Snuffles was limping. One back leg dragged and the dog's mouth was open, panting with shock. Simon bared his teeth to snap at the dog. But Snuffles tripped on his own big paws and the horse's teeth clicked on air. Snuffles picked himself up as Simon wheeled and –

"Sirius!"

– and the dog ducked under a kick that would have smashed his skull in.

The black dog dodged a strike from a front hoof, and zigged into the tumble of rocks that made up the steeper part of the hill. Simon skidded to a halt, tail swishing with fury, and cantered around to cut off Snuffles' escape from the other side when Snuffles seemed ready to try going uphill towards Harry.

Harry could see Snuffles crouching in the rocks, trying to make himself invisible. Outside the shelter of the rocks, Simon tossed his head up and down. The horse paused with its head lowered, and pawed at one of the rocks. It seemed to be considering its options. The silky black tail twitched once, and Simon moved forward with all the determination and cold menace of a shark.

Silver shoes scraped and skidded on the rocks. The horse stumbled a little but wasn't deterred. Snuffles whimpered as it looked certain the horse was about to follow him in between the boulders and finish what it had started.

But Harry was already there, bounding down the hill and leaping up onto a smaller, flat rock between Snuffles and Simon. He had his wand out, but Simon ignored him. The horse didn't look silly anymore with his mane all plaited up: it was hard for half a ton of muscle, bone and fury wrapped up in satiny black hide to look silly when it was bearing down on you with its teeth bared.

"Simon! Back off!"

Snuffles barked at Harry.

Simon went to push past Harry. Harry sent up a few sparks from his wand. It wasn't much, but it did briefly distract the horse from its quarry. The horse reared, trying to intimidate Harry.

Harry wasn't going to let anything intimidate him at the cost of Sirius' life. "Simon…"

Simon shook his head angrily, ready to push Harry out of the way. "Simon!" Harry said more sternly. He shoved his wand behind his ear Luna-style before the horse could get even more worked up at the sight of a wand in a wizard's hand, and held out his hands to show they were empty.

He half expected the horse to bite them off.

Simon, his flanks twitching with rage, did not. But he shook Harry's hands off when Harry tried to take hold of the headcollar. Harry, who had hooked a finger around the strap under the muzzle, was pulled off balance. He fell.

"Ah, fuck!" he swore as his elbow cracked sharply on a rock and sparks of agony shot up his arm. He tried to ignore them and pushed himself up before Simon could jump over him. Simon, who'd been about to do exactly that, subsided a little, bouncing up and down, then, at a movement from Snuffles, Simon reared and pushed forward, knocking Harry down with his knees and chest.

Harry fell on his back, seeing stars and silver as two hooves descended towards his head. The noise when they struck was deafening.

There was dead quiet. For a few heartbeats Harry thought it was a very literal dead quiet before he realised his heart was still beating. Hammering in his ears, in fact, and his ears were still tingling from the sound of silver shoes slamming the rock he was lying on.

Simon was looming over him, almost eclipsing the sky which was thickly padded with clouds almost as dark as the front hooves either side of Harry's head. One hoof lifted and stamped hard at the ground, ringing off a stone right by Harry's ear. It almost deafened him.

Harry grimaced at the pain in his ear and looked up.

Simon wasn't watching him. The horse angled its head, shaking its mane (or attempting to, because plaits weren't helpful for that sort of thing) at Snuffles, who had dragged himself up between two halves of a boulder with his teeth bared.

Harry tried to say something, but his mouth was too dry.

He swallowed and licked his lips. "Si… Sirius… change. Change back into human form. Right now. Please, Sirius."

There was a yelp of canine pain that swiftly became a human moan, and Sirius was half lying, half sitting in the crack. His face was deathly pale and already beading with sweat. "Harry…"

"Sirius. Stay where you are. He thinks the dog is threatening me." Harry reached up and patted Simon on the knee. "Hey, you daft horse. I'm right here, you know." He'd been trying not to sound frightened, but he didn't think he succeeded.

Simon lowered his head to blow a quick snort of hot air into Harry's hair, and lifted his head again. He seemed to be looking around for the dog he'd just been chasing. Why he didn't associate Sirius with the original cause for his fury, Harry had no idea. Maybe Simon really hated dogs… or maybe it was the lack of wand.

"Don't touch any sticks, Sirius," he croaked.

"Okay. Harry. Get up. Now."

Sirius sounded terrified. Harry realised it was because he, Harry, had nearly had his skull crushed like an egg.

"It's okay, Sirius."

_"Get up,_ Harry."

Harry obeyed. He levered himself up on the rock, wincing when his banged elbow pressed against the hard surface. The next time Simon lowered his head to check on Harry's progress, Harry caught hold of the headcollar. Much more carefully, this time. Simon snatched his head back up too fast and Harry had to let go of the headcollar, but the next time Harry tried Simon wasn't quite so jumpy and raised his head slowly enough to lift Harry onto his feet. The horse even backed up a couple of steps to allow Harry to regain his balance.

Harry stood there a moment. He felt like he'd just been hit by a jellylegs jinx. "Good boy, Simon," he said at last in a croaky voice. He patted Simon's neck. "Settle down, Simon." He leaned into the horse's neck and rested there for a moment. Simon. It was definitely Simon. Even when Harry shut his eyes his nose told him it was Simon he was leaning against.

_What the hell had he been thinking?_

Simon smelt of anger and horse and hay. He didn't smell like potions or magic. Simon was still Simon. Harry was just going crazy, that was all. His idea he could have been Snape was insane – more than that, it'd nearly got Sirius killed. All those things that had made such perfect sense… Sirius had warned him he was seeing something that wasn't there. Sirius had been right – and Harry hadn't listened.

"Back up, Simon." He put his hand on the horse's chest – coincidentally over the spell – and pressed.

Simon backed up with greatest caution, his hooves ringing and sliding on the rocks. Harry made sure he was out and safe. Horses' legs were amazing examples of biological architecture, Robert Python had pointed out, but were also delicate. Harry hated to think of Simon breaking a leg. He hated even more to think of Simon killing Sirius. That could very well happen if Harry let Simon get upset again today. Or ever.

"Stay here, Simon. There's a good horse. I don't want you hurting yourself on the rocks."

Simon didn't seem to like the idea of Harry hurting himself on the rocks, because he flicked his ears worriedly and tried to follow when Harry went back between the boulders. But Harry pushed Simon's nose back and the horse took the hint and stayed. Harry scrambled over to where Sirius was still leaning against the split boulder.

"You're grey."

Sirius grinned through pain. "You look pretty pale, too. My leg hurts. What's your excuse?"

"My theory was wrong and I'm embarrassed," Harry muttered, still feeling light-headed and trying not to think about how close he'd come to being killed. Harry felt the blood drain from his face when he looked down at Sirius' thigh – beneath the robes there was an odd lump above the knee. That couldn't be right.

"Hold still a minute." He lifted the robes carefully. "Oh. Shit."

"How does it look?"

Harry swallowed as his stomach threatened to rise. "It looks broken." The bone was all but poking through the skin. It was beginning to discolour around the break, as if blood was rushing into the area. "I need to get Madam Pomfrey."

"No! No, she doesn't know I'm here. Get Remus. Or Albus."

Thunder rumbled overhead. Harry looked up at clouds so low and solid they grazed the hilltops.

"I can't leave you here. It's about to start pissing down!"

"Harry?" said a voice that wasn't Sirius'.

Luna.

Harry locked his gaze with Sirius'. Sirius looked just as horrified as Harry felt.

"Luna? Luna, stay back and look after Simon for a moment, please…"

"He's fine. He's – Harry? Oh, Merlin! Mr Black, do you want me to get help?"

"I – I – I…" Sirius stuttered.

Harry turned, crouching, to look at Luna. She had moved over the rocks nimbly as a rabbit (although the comparison would be taken as an insult), and now she was kneeling on a boulder overlooking them, concern etched in her face.

"Why," he asked softly, "did you call him that?"

"Don't be silly, Harry. It's not as if he could be anyone else. I'm glad he's decided to stop hiding as Snuffles – it can't be healthy to spend all that time in Animagus form. Mr Black, do you want me to get a stretcher, or would you prefer not to let anyone else in the castle know you're here?"

"Can you get Remus, please?" Sirius said. Sweat beaded on his pale forehead and his breathing was fast and shallow.

Luna nodded. She pulled out her wand and conjured a blanket. "Here, Mr Black. You need to keep warm. _Femur sanguino impedimens. Sinepod immobilus._ And that will stop the bone moving. Do you want me to put up a screen to stop anyone from seeing you?"

"Not necessary," Harry said. He felt around in his robes and realised he must have dropped his cloak. "_Accio invisibility cloak."_

Simon shied as the cloak rippled down the hillside. Harry arranged it over Sirius' already blanketed form.

"Can you change back into a dog?" Harry asked.

Sirius opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Luna, her pale eyes wide. "Oh, no. He mustn't do that! It's dreadfully dangerous. The edges of the break might grind against each other as the form shifts. That could send splinters into the bloodstream."

"Er… Sirius broke his leg in dog form…"

Luna's jaw dropped. "And then changed into human? What on earth possessed you to do something so stupid, Mr Black?"

Sirius swallowed. "I…"

"I asked him," Harry said miserably. That was twice now he'd nearly killed Sirius by asking him to do something stupid.

"Well, that's something to ask Professor Lupin to check for," Luna said shortly to Sirius, who blinked up at her owlishly. "But in the meantime we have to get you under shelter before you get chilled." Luna drew a stretcher out of the air with her wand. It was lavender and had yellow sunflowers on it, but looked serviceable. Very gently, she and Harry managed to manoeuvre it beneath Sirius. Despite Luna's spells there must have been some movement of the break. Sirius made a small noise. His eyelids fluttered as Harry gently laid his head back on the stretcher and his eyes rolled up in his head.

"Sirius? Sirius?"

"He's just fainted for a bit. Best thing for him. Put the cloak over him."

Harry did so, tucking the blanket around Sirius as best as he could without jostling the broken leg. A large, fat drop of water hit him on the head. He looked up and another raindrop broke on the right lens of his glasses, making him blink.

Luna looked up and frowned at the pewter sky. "Drat. It's beginning to rain. We need to get him under shelter right now. Hypothermia won't help him one bit." She tapped the stretcher with her wand and lightened it.

Under her calm instructions, Harry picked up one end as she picked up the other. The invisibility cloak draped over Sirius make it look like they were carrying nothing, but even with the lightening spell they were carrying quite a weight.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked. "We mustn't drop him."

"We won't. I'm stronger than I look. So are you."

Harry wondered if there was an insult or a compliment in there. Probably neither – just Luna pointing out facts as she saw them.

It was tricky getting the stretcher and its cargo out from the rocks. That was when the hard work started: Harry had sprinted down the hill in a handful of seconds. It took much longer to get back up. And now it was beginning to rain in earnest. It was warm rain, or as warm as rain got in June in Scotland, which meant things weren't as bad as they could have been. But the wooden handles of the stretcher became slippery and so did the grass. Harry and Luna didn't skid, but it was a near thing.

They got the stretcher into the barn and put it down at the far end with relief. Rain was beginning to rattle on the roof. Harry straightened, stretching out his arms, then turned as the meagre light coming in through the door was blocked. Simon. Come out of the rain and curious about what they were doing.

Luna patted the horse on the nose as she said to Harry, "You're a faster runner than me, so you should be the one going to get Dumbledore. And then you can tell me what happened. I'm presuming it involved Simon?"

"Er, yes. But I think I should stay here…"

Luna shook her head. "I'll look after him." She twitched her wand and the wall jumped closer, suddenly putting itself between Sirius and Harry. Harry jumped. Simon didn't.

"It's okay," said Luna. "It's just an illusion. See?" She poked her hand through the wall. "Just in case anyone come up here. I'm afraid it doesn't work on horses." She pulled Simon's head back when he tried to poke his nose through the illusory wall.

"Oh. Good thinking." Harry had to raise his voice as the rain was very loud now. It was like being inside a drum.

Luna grimaced at the roof. She took out her wand and cast a quick spell upwards. The thunder lessened, although Harry could see the rain was still hammering down just outside the door. She rested her hand on his arm. "I'll look after him and make sure he's warm and dry. Besides, I also have a couple of questions to ask him. Go."

Questions? But she shooed at him and Harry went, casting a shielding spell against the rain as he sprinted down the hill for the second time that evening.

By the time he reached the castle he was gasping for breath and his backside hurt from where he'd skidded on the wet grass and fallen. He wanted to find Dumbledore, but couldn't. Even McGonagall wasn't around. He literally bumped into Remus as he was running around a corner coming back from Gryffindor tower.

"Oh! Sorry."

Remus dropped his hands, which he'd put on Harry's shoulders to steady him. "That's all right. What's the rush, Harry? Have you been out wading in the lake?"

Harry looked down at his sneakers, which were squelching. The shielding spell hadn't been quite broad enough. And why couldn't he have bumped into Dumbledore – or even Sprout, who could go and get Dumbledore? Well, Sirius would want Remus more than anyone else, Harry admitted to himself reluctantly. "Er, it's your dog. He's broken his leg," he said quietly, mindful that there were other students passing by. Some gave him puzzled looks, which he ignored, trying to look like there was nothing unusual going on. "Can you come right now?"

Remus drew himself up, looking extremely worried. "Where is he?"

"Up at the paddock…" Harry took a step back at the look of fury that passed over Remus' face.

"That horse…" Remus said in a low voice. A hint of gold peeked out from his eyes and for a moment Harry was uncomfortably aware he was standing in front of a werewolf.

"Stop it," Harry growled, pushing aside his momentary fear and the guilt that followed it for his thinking of Remus as a dangerous beast. "Just… are you going to help or not? It's not like I can ask Madam Pomfrey."

Remus nodded crisply. "I need to get a few things. Who's with him?"

"Luna."

Lupin's eyes widened momentarily then narrowed with anger just as brief, but he didn't comment. He turned on his heel and strode off down the corridor. "Come."

Harry followed. They stopped in Lupin's office, where Lupin grabbed a small bag and a couple of bottles. He tucked them inside his cloak with care, where they clinked against the other contents. "Now," said Lupin, "take me to him."

ooOOoo

"Sirius… how are you?"

"Bloody sore. Did you bring some Boneset?" Sirius also appeared uneasy, and wouldn't look at Luna for some reason.

Lupin sighed and sat back on his heels. The rain thrumming on the roof was still muffled by Luna's spell. Luna herself was holding onto Simon's headcollar. She'd taken down the illusion of the wall as soon as Remus came inside, and then the horse had tried to nip Lupin. Fortunately for everyone Lupin had chosen to ignore that. He was now squatting next to Sirius and pulling bottles out of his bag. "Yes. But the bone's not straight. I'll need to put it back into place."

Sirius laughed humourlessly. "Brilliant."

"What are you going to do?" Harry asked. He was standing between Remus and Simon. Just in case.

"Well, the muscles have spasmed and contracted…"

"Oh, is that what they've done. How jolly," Sirius put in, grinning like a skull.

Remus clasped his shoulder briefly. "No comments from the cheap seats. The bone is out of proper alignment. It needs to be straightened. _We_," he added deliberately, looking at Harry, "will have to pull it back."

Harry swallowed.

"Aren't there spells for that?"

"Yes. And Madam Pomfrey is very good at them. Unfortunately I'm not and we can't involve her."

"Dumbledore…"

"…Is busy stopping some Hufflepuffs from starting a riot – they seem to think the Slytherins are fashionable, and want to begin their own republic."

"Huh," Luna said. "Copycats. Simon, you stay here and be good." She patted him on the nose for emphasis. "I know some osteotic regeneration spells."

Harry remembered the ones Snape had taught him and suggested them to Remus, who frowned. "They're Dark Magic, Harry. Where did you learn them?"

"From Severus."

"What?"

"Don't ask," Sirius said grimly, although he might have been upset because of his leg instead of the reference to Harry's time travel. "You won't like what you'll learn."

"What?"

"Just trust me, Moony. Some things you don't want to know."

Harry interrupted, "Look, are we going to fix your leg or argue all night?"

"I'll have the arguing if that's all right by you," Sirius replied, with a pale shadow of his normal grin. "What about your spells, Luna?" He still wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Oh. Those're the ones I know," Luna said, downcast. "Why are they Dark, Professor Lupin?"

"They – oh, this isn't the time for magical morality… Sirius, I'm going to put you out for this one."

"Fine by me."

_"Somnambulus."_

Sirius was asleep in the next second. And by a minor miracle, Simon didn't attack Remus. Harry had forgotten to caution him about wands in front of the horse.

"Will that horse stay still while we work?" Remus had remembered all on his own. That was promising.

Luna opened her mouth to say yes, frowned, and went and tied Simon's second-best leadrope to a piece of string she'd threaded through the wall. After another moment's thought, she took a long piece of cloth from the roll they used for scrap, and put it over Simon's eyes as a blindfold. "Now he will."

"Right," said Lupin, as Harry considered bitterly how Snape, even if he had lost his memory of being a human, would have had the sense to scrape the blindfold off against the wall. "Now, if you could come over here, Harry, I'll need you to put your weight on Sirius' torso. Luna, I'll need you to guide the tractor spell."

ooOOoo

Harry felt very pale by the time the bone was put back into place. His teeth chattered slightly although he wasn't cold. It had been the sound of bone grinding against bone… He sat at Sirius' side while Remus murmured spells to reduce the bruising (the sight of the incriminating semicircle of a horse shoe incited a glare from Remus at an indifferent Simon). He conjured a wrapping out of the air that spun itself cocoon-like around Sirius' thigh, extending down the knee to the ankle and – Remus had Luna turn around for that bit – up to the waist. Harry could only hope he'd remembered to leave holes in the right places so Sirius could go to the toilet, and then wondered at himself for thinking something so prosaic after his godfather had nearly been killed. It was slightly shaming, too cold to be properly human.

"I hope you left a hole so he can go to the loo," Luna said. She'd turned round after Remus had pulled Sirius' robes back down.

"Of course I did," Remus snapped wearily. "I may be an amateur, but I'm not a complete fool with it."

"I'm sure that's not what she meant," said Harry, cross at any slight of Luna (although at the same time he was relieved that worrying about things like people in magical plaster being able to go to the toilet was acceptable behaviour in the wizarding world).

"I might have meant it a little bit," Luna replied honestly. "It's hard to know if someone knows how to look after broken bones properly when they dismiss Morgana's osteotic range as Dark Magic. But I'm sorry. It was rude of me."

Remus squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He looked like he had a headache. "I think we need to get the headmaster up here."

"Will Mr Black not be alright with what you did?" Luna asked, casting a worried look over Sirius, who was still unconscious and even paler than Harry felt.

"He should be fine. But I'd like a second opinion."

"I'll go and get him if you like," Luna offered.

"Are you sure?" said Harry, not liking the thought of Luna going out in the rain. It wasn't that she couldn't look after herself, it was that… he didn't like her going out in such filthy weather.

"Yes. I think you should stay and look after Mr Black. He is your godfather, after all."

And how had she learned that? Had Harry let it slip in conversation? He couldn't remember. "Er… right."

"I'll be back as soon as the Glorious Hufflepuff Revolution has been crushed by the Powers That Be. Bye."

There was an uncomfortable silence in the little stable with Harry and Remus carefully not looking at each other, thinking their own dark thoughts, Sirius snoring softly, and Simon standing still, any equine concerns of his completely usurped by a blindfold. The silence lasted until Luna and Dumbledore appeared half an hour later.

Remus sat up as the two figures hurried in through the doorway, shaking the rain off their waterproof spells. Simon, despite the blindfold, turned his head and whickered. It was possible he knew the sound of Luna's footsteps by now.

"Albus, thank goodness. How goes the revolution?"

"Professor Sprout is dealing with matters. Hot cocoa and a few handkerchiefs for some of the younger students, but detention for the seventh year fomenters of discontent, I'm afraid. She's quite cross – seems she's had a bad day that started with sixth year Potions and kept going. Hello, Harry."

He might have noticed Harry's guilty foot-shuffling. "Sir."

"And Simon – ah. You've started wearing blindfolds for the summer. And… that's an interesting look for your mane. My word, fashions _have_ changed for horses since I was a lad. My poor old friend. Here, let me take the blindfold off you at least." He did so, and Simon nudged at his shoulder in a friendly way.

"No peppermints, only sherbet lemons or jelly babies, neither of which you've ever liked. You'll just have to settle for the pleasure of my company." He ruffled Simon's forelock. With a sigh and a small shake of his head, he took out his wand. One small wave later, and the Yo Leo bobbles had vanished and the plaits all unwound and unplaited themselves, leaving the mane as crinkly as if Aunt Petunia had been at it with her hair crimper.

"Headmaster, if you'd please?" Remus said stiffly. He'd stood, back straight and stiff when Dumbledore removed the blindfold, and now he eyed the horse with dislike. "It might be best to put that animal outside."

"Nonsense. It's pouring down and Simon's not got his cover on. He'll catch his death."

"He's already nearly given Sirius his," Remus growled.

Simon's ears went back. Dumbledore stroked the horse's nose. "Let me check on Sirius. In the meantime, no more talk of putting Simon out of his home. He can stay or leave as he chooses." His tone as he unclipped the lead from the headcollar was mild, but Lupin clamped his mouth shut angrily at the words.

Surprisingly agilely given his age, Dumbledore crouched next to the stretcher which was still floating just above the ground. He took out his wand and ran it over Sirius' motionless figure, a small white light following just behind the tip of the wand. The light went pink over the liver and then pulsed crimson over the break in the thigh.

"Hmm. Has he been drinking much lately?"

"Er, he's been a little stressed," Remus said.

"Understandable. As for the leg, it's definitely broken but already setting nicely. Did you use a boneset potion?"

"Yes. The last of mine – I've had it since before the barrier went up but it should still be potent." Remus frowned.

Dumbledore looked up. "I'm sure we'll be able to get some more before the next full moon – even if we have to make it ourselves."

Remus nodded and looked at his shoes. Was the transformation into a werewolf bone-breakingly bad? Harry wondered. Hermione must know about the potion, maybe they could… Harry shook his head. Hermione was right: he really did have a rescuer complex.

Dumbledore cast a few more silent spells, spells Harry guessed were diagnostic by the way they hovered and didn't sink into Sirius' body, and then stood.

"You've done an excellent job, Remus."

"Thank you."

"He'll need painkillers for the next few days. It's a nasty break and the bruising was worse. Such a shame Poppy can't see him, but she'd have kittens."

Harry nodded glumly along with Remus and Luna.

"Shall we take him back to the castle?" asked Remus.

"It might be a good idea. I'm not sure if we should lift him right now, however. The spell holding the bone in place is still quite fragile. It needs to harden more before we can risk jolting it. Sirius, are you awake?"

Sirius had stirred. There was a low moan along the lines of: "WherethehellamI?"

Dumbledore's eyes creased around the corners into a warm smile. "You're in the stable, Sirius. Dear me, that was a nasty bang you had. Painkillers seem to be the order of the day. Do you have some handy, Remus? Ah, excellent… Here you go, Sirius…"

He held up Sirius' head and tipped the bottle at his lips. Sirius drank. Relief spread across his face as the potion took immediate effect.

"There," Dumbledore continued, carefully letting Sirius' head back down on the stretcher. "Now. What happened?"

"Er," Harry began, not sure how much he could say without incriminating Simon. "It was my fault. I asked Sirius to look at the charm in Simon's chest…" He paused at Dumbledore's raised eyebrow.

The headmaster darted a look at Luna over his half-moon glasses.

Luna was frowning fit to crack glass. "Why would you do that?" she said in a shrill voice. "You know how Simon hates having that charm touched!"

Sirius blinked and managed a watery smile. "I've come to realise that, yes."

Harry bit his lip and crouched down next to his godfather. "I'm so sorry. I should have known he'd go a bit mental if you did anything to that charm…"

"A bit mental? Try going totally bonkers. Berserk's a good word, too. Told you that horse wasn't Snape." Sirius' eyes crossed as he tried to focus on Harry. "Mind you, nutting off like that is pretty normal for Snape…"

"Why would you think Simon is Professor Snape?" Luna said, her voice still a little higher than usual. Harry looked up to see her pale silvery eyes narrowing down at him, and an uncomfortable feeling ran down his spine. It was like Voldemort had just walked over his grave. The set of her upper lip made him think of points falling from Gryffindor like the rain outside.

"An excellent question," Dumbledore seconded. He sighed tiredly. "Harry?"

"Er… I… um… It seemed to fit. Lots of things. Simon showing up when Snape disappears, for one. And that charm in his chest – it's a snap-back point charm. It could have been the charm that turns him back into a human."

"Instead of an anti-theft charm?" Luna said. By the high points of colour in her cheeks it was certain that the reason she wasn't shouting was because Simon was within biting range.

"But if it _isn't_ an anti-theft charm… I mean, it looks like an anti-theft charm, but…"

"Let's see… it looks like an anti-theft charm and it has acted exactly like an anti-theft charm, one to trigger a violent reaction in the stolen item… If it looks like an anti-theft charm and triggers like an anti-theft charm, then what makes you think it's a transfiguration spell? Professor Dumbledore, I said this would happen…"

"So you did. Harry, that was a foolish thing you did. Hadn't I just warned you about trying strange things out with Simon?"

"Yes, but I thought Simon was Snape –"

"Then why didn't you come to me about it?" Dumbledore asked gently.

Harry hung his head. "I just… I wanted…"

"To do the right thing by your friend?" the soft voice asked.

Remus frowned. "Headmaster?"

Dumbledore raised his hand and Remus stopped, frowning. Dumbledore continued sadly, "Harry. I'm sorry I couldn't just wave a wand and make everything right for you – then as well as now. But you mustn't try to force Simon into something he's not able to do because of any guilt you feel for not telling your friend of the past how he could save himself."

As the weight of the gnarled hand rested on his shoulder, Harry looked up into clear blue eyes that understood.

"How did you do it? How did you wipe his memory… and then yours, knowing what I'd told you?"

There was an instant's pain so brief Harry thought he had imagined seeing it, then Dumbledore smiled without a trace of humour and said, "You knew then just as well as I did that history cannot be denied. To change it could damn us all. Yes, I knew as soon as Lucius arrived how matters were going to play out – you'd told me as much. And I had to let those matters go. As you had to. You did what you had to – and you did it very well. Please, Harry, stop blaming yourself."

Harry thought, or perhaps whispered so softly that only his lips shaped the words, "But I can't."

The hand on Harry's shoulder squeezed momentarily, then released. "Hypocrite that I am, neither can I," Dumbledore said softly.

Remus was shaking his head in perplexity. "Albus, what on earth are you talking about?"

Dumbledore sighed. He stepped back from Sirius and rested a hand on Simon's shoulder. Simon turned and rested his nose in Dumbledore's other hand. "Harry, do you have the Sickle with you?"

"Yes."

"Now might be a good time to show it to Professor Lupin."

"Er… you might want to sit down, Professor," Harry said to Remus.

"What? Why?"

"Just do it, Moony. It's like being smacked between the eyes with a Bludger."

Remus glared worriedly at Sirius. "What's like being smacked between the eyes with a Bludger?"

"Getting your memory back."

"My…?"

Harry decided this was one of those times actions spoke louder than words. He pulled the Sickle out of his pocket. "Look."

Remus looked at the Sickle, frowned again, opened his mouth to speak, and –

Went white.

He staggered back against the wall, his hands splayed out against it for balance. He breathed quickly, in shallow gasps. Then he slowly slid down until he was sitting against the wall and put his hands over his face.

"I forgot. You made me forget."

Dumbledore knelt in the straw by the werewolf, his hands on Remus' shoulders. "I'm sorry. But it had to be done. You know that."

They sat there a moment longer until Remus took his hands down. His face was still the colour of new cheese apart from the circles under his eyes which looked bruised. He looked so much like the Remus Harry had seen in the Infirmary after the Shrieking Shack that he half expected his mum and dad to come strolling in out of the rain. Remus rested his arms on his knees, hands dangling from the wrists. "Yes. I know that." His expression was closed off, and, apart from the pale face and a brief cold glare at Sirius, who flinched, he seemed unaffected.

Harry wondered if there would be an explosion later.

Dumbledore gave Remus one last pat on the shoulder and turned back to the primary patient.

"Sirius, do you think you are up to being moved back to the castle?"

"Through a horde of jumpy students ready to practise any hex they can on a convicted mass murderer?" Sirius said, almost jokingly. He didn't look at Remus.

"You'll have my Invisibility Cloak," said Harry, who understood why Sirius seemed almost ashamed. Remus had just been brutally reminded of the time Sirius had betrayed him.

Quickly shedding any humour, Sirius said, "Cloaks can fall off. And I don't want anyone getting any more suspicious than they are – Luna's already managed to figure out I'm Snuffles. How did you do that, Luna?" He finally looked at her, slanting a groggy sideways glance her way.

"Oh, it wasn't that hard. Harry, remember when I found you up with Simon that rainy evening? I'd been in the Infirmary the previous night because I had concussion…"

The concussion she'd had after Harry had been a prime git, and then the rainy evening they'd made up and he'd kissed her for the first time… "I remember."

"You said something odd to Simon. About how you were house trained. And your godfather was, too. I already knew Sirius Black was your godfather," (_How?_ wondered Harry) "but I wondered why his being house trained might be something worth saying."

"Oh." He hadn't remembered that.

"And then of course there was the way you were angry at Snuffles when you got back after having Sirius, Remus and your father treat you abominably when you were back in time, and how Professor Dumbledore expects the judgement level of an adult human from him, and how you, Professor Lupin, treat him like his opinion is critical, and how Hermione and Ron might give him food and pat him on the head while at the same time they're a little self-conscious about it, as if they know he isn't a real dog, and the way Snuffles sneeze-laughs at jokes, and the way he obeys you when he chooses and then only after you've argued him into it like you'd argue with a person, and then there's how he –"

"All right, all right…" Sirius said. He looked both embarrassed and amused and annoyed. With significant pain thrown in, pinching the corners of his mouth. "So I'm rotten at hiding out."

"Well, yes, but you're lucky, because most people don't expect to see Escaped Prisoner Sirius Black running around in the guise of Hogwarts Mascot Snuffles. And people only see what they expect to see. People," she said matter-of-factly, "are pretty thick."

Sirius looked like he wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. "Lucky me." He moved slightly and winced.

"Yes, because you're not very good at pretending to be a dog. Would you like a pillow?"

Sirius frowned. "No, thank you."

"Oh, don't be cross."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are. Professor Dumbledore, could Mr Black stay up here? We could put up the wall illusion I used before, and it'll be nice and warm with the right spells. Simon won't let any monsters hurt him…"

"Sirius isn't Draco. Simon won't defend him," Harry pointed out, not liking the idea of Sirius staying outside the castle at night. It would be cold and dark.

"So long as he doesn't attack me, I'm fine here. It's no worse than anywhere else I've stayed. And Simon, even at his most dark and looming, isn't a patch on a Dementor for bringing on depression. Albus, it's much less fuss if you leave me here. Just for tonight, at least."

Remus shook his head. "Sirius, you can do better than lying with a broken leg in a stable."

"Maybe, but I've done a lot worse. Perhaps it's the painkillers, but I'm quite happy here." Sirius tried to lever himself up onto his elbows, winced, paled, and lay back down again, hissing with pain. Simon, who'd edged forward uncannily silently for an animal weighing close to half a ton, brushed his nose over Sirius' shoulder.

"That beast is –" Remus began, but was interrupted by Sirius.

"Remus, he's just being friendly." Sirius patted the velvety muzzle. "Simon, you've got a split personality problem. I hope you're going to stick with the angel persona for a little while longer."

Simon lipped at his hair, making Sirius smile. "There. I think he's saying sorry."

"No, he's not," Remus said, exasperated. "Albus…"

"It's not as bad as it looks, Remus," Dumbledore said. He rested a hand on Simon's shoulder. "The horse does not seem to be holding a grudge against the one who tampered with the charm he is so mightily defensive over. If only more people had his sweet, forgiving nature." He smiled at Luna before addressing Remus again. "Sirius and Luna might have a point. It should be safe enough for Sirius to stay up here. I shall ward the area. If you are sure, of course, Sirius, because the offer to levitate you back to Hogwarts still stands."

"Sirius, please…"

"Remus, it's all right. I'll be fine. It might be quieter up here, anyway." He managed to smile with one corner of his mouth. "It'll be almost like a holiday, not patrolling the Forest at all hours, or accompanying students in an ego-bashingly useless attempt to keep them out of trouble."

"What was that?"

"Tell you tomorrow," Sirius said, ignoring Remus' glare by shutting his eyes. He yawned – Harry didn't believe it was a real yawn for a second. "G'night. Put up the wall illusion on your way out."

Remus shook his head. He looked frustrated and totally exhausted. Harry could almost sympathise. Then he flicked his wand, conjuring up a wide-necked glass bottle. Water in the form of a thin stream of rain flowed sideways past Simon, who snorted, and into the bottle. It was full in a few seconds. Remus put it down next to Sirius. "There. If you get thirsty. You ingrate."

Sirius smiled but didn't open his eyes.

"Albus, he's not going to be safe here with that horse."

"Now, Remus, I'm sure Simon will behave himself. As long as Sirius does, of course. Come. Time to get back and see what mischief has been managed inside the castle. Harry, Luna, don't you two have homework for History you've been avoiding?"

Luna blinked. "Harry too? We have so much in common." She glanced at Simon. "Although I don't go around provoking poor innocent horses. Horses who need their covers on, by the way." A flick of her wand, and Simon had his blanket on his back and buckled up.

Was this a spat? Harry hoped not. "Er… I suppose I'd better get that homework done…"

"Ah, the enthusiasm of youth. Always endeavouring to better itself by heartily embracing the pursuit of knowledge," said Dumbledore. He might even have meant it sincerely.

"Well, let's enthuse them in a downhill direction," Remus said sourly. "Come on, you two. And Albus… You'd better be right about Sirius being safe here."

"I have always maintained that behaviour determines fate," Dumbledore replied serenely. "It might be time for Sirius to see if he can put that theory into practice."

Remus paused on the threshold of the stable and looked up into the rain. "Sirius, if you die up here I'll kill you."

As they set off into the rain Harry thought he heard Sirius chuckle.

ooOOoo


	60. Chapter 60

Disclaimer: characters and settings are the brainchildren of J K Rowling, bless her cotton socks.

ooOOoo

Chapter 60: Hot Tempers

Harry tried to talk to Luna when they got back to the castle.

"Don't you talk to me right now, Harry Potter. I'm too angry with you," she said. She didn't sound particularly angry. Her voice was low and soft and rather attractive in a silky way, but there was a slight flare to her nostrils and her upper lip still had that stiffness to it which had nothing to do with British pragmatism.

Harry wisely found a separate study table in the library and they did their homework apart and in silence, to Madam Pince's contentment if no-one else's. On the way into the library, Harry's eyes had bugged at the sight of Hermione and Draco sitting together glaring tiredly at a small mountain of open books. Harry might have gone and sat at the table with them, but he was almost sure that he was hallucinating. He chose to sit in the same alcove as Luna instead. He cast the occasional hopeful glance across at Luna from time to time, but her mouth never softened. Occasionally he would pretend to need a book from a section near her and use that as an opportunity to open up a conversation.

There was so much Harry wanted to discuss with her, starting with Simon and ending with the hiding place for the Sickle, but she wouldn't even meet his eyes. After the tenth or so abortive effort at communication, Harry decided there were no more books he needed – especially from the Magical Mystery Tourism section – and gave the evening up as a bad job and went to bed. The table where Hermione and Draco had been sitting was empty, so Harry decided it must have been the stresses of the day turning him insane.

ooOOoo

Down in the Slytherin sixth year dormitory, Draco sat back against his pillows and reread for the third time the letter he'd just drafted using the typeset spell common to anonymous ranting correspondents throughout the Wizarding world: the brand of correspondent who sent letters in to editors and signed them "Concerned Citizen, Bramstoke on Trent". Luna had given him the spell. He smiled as he considered the potential reasons she'd become proficient at it. The smile faded as he realised he wasn't concentrating on the important matter at hand: he had to make sure this letter was precise and right, in wording, in message, in context, in trust. If he didn't, well… the best that could happen was nothing. The worst would be the slow death by torture of his family – or the only members of it he cared for.

This had better be worth it, he thought grimly, and pushed his hair back out of his eyes. Millicent's spell tended to wear off quickly. He noticed belatedly his fingers had ink on them; he'd probably just smeared it through his hair. He groaned. But, he reasoned grudgingly, on the larger scale of things hair probably wasn't at the top of the list. Close, maybe, but not the acme of reasons for living.

He frowned. Maybe that last line of the paragraph should be changed from _late_ to _delayed._

He started from the top.

_Attention, Righteous-Thinking Wizard Families!_

Concerned Pureblood families have noticed the falling birthrate within our population. Our lives are long, but at what cost? A solution may be in your hands. Our team of keen and vibrant research mediwizards wishes to test home remedies for life-enhancing potions to help bring forth the next generation. (Draco was proud of that bit – it sounded like someone was trying to steal some home remedy for the next Wizarding Vitalagra) _If you, O patriotic Pureblood, have in your cunning_ (just to prove it was a Slytherin writing this)_ found methods to counter this societal blight, please send them by return spell. Simply tap this missive with your wand and speak the keywords: 'Late Gemini, Flashy Leo'. Remuneration for successful products will be great._

Discretion is, of course, part of our ethic. If the recipient of this letter desires out of modesty to remain anonymous, identity can be protected by identifying the source of the remedy as a 'ghost' researcher. (And the proper recipient should be able to name a dead researcher – or Potions expert – as the source of the potion if things got hot.)__

We and future Pureblood generations thank you in advance.

Disaspora Magi

No, he'd leave it as 'late'. In all probability he would live to regret putting his initials to the letter in such a fashion. But if this plan came off, at least he would live.

Draco yawned, tucked the letter away (after carefully wiping off any magical fingerprints, of course) and went to check his hair wasn't stained.

It wasn't. Reassured by this small show of luck, Draco fell asleep quickly.

ooOOoo

The next morning was Saturday. Rather than wait around for Luna to start talking to him, Harry went up to the paddock with some food for Sirius.

He needn't have worried – Dumbledore or Remus had alerted the house elves and Sirius was just finishing bacon and eggs when Harry arrived. Simon was keeping him company in the stable.

Sirius waved a loaded fork. "Want some?"

"No, thanks. I've got a bacon and egg toast sandwich." Harry took out the food he'd wrapped in a napkin, trying not to snag it on the sickle. Hopefully they'd get the hiding place sorted out today; it felt a little bit like carrying around a bottle of Combustion Potion – were Combustion Potion made from diamonds, thus hideously valuable. "I guess it's mine seeing as you've already eaten."

"Go ahead."

Simon sniffed at Harry's sandwich. Harry pushed the long nose away. Simon sighed.

"I tried giving him some bacon. He spat it out." Sirius nodded at a small piece of mangled pinkish-brown stuff on the floor which might once upon a time have been bacon.

"Horses don't like meat," Harry said.

"After yesterday I'm ready to believe they prefer blood," Sirius said. But he grinned, and patted Simon's knee.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "You don't mind him being in here with you?"

"Frankly it's nice to have the company. Oh, he snores a bit, but then so do I. He didn't complain about being woken by me, unless that was one of the times he was outside eating grass. And horses are gassier than dogs, but I've got to admit they're not as smelly. People who live in glass barns shouldn't throw stones."

Harry was still a little bemused by how well Sirius was taking yesterday's attack. "How are you feeling? Your leg?"

"It's pretty good. The cast is beginning to itch already. It should start flaking off tonight. I'll be able to move back to the castle under my own steam after that. If I can be bothered. It's strange being forced out of the thick of things again. Restful instead of resentful. I'd almost forgotten what that's like." He forked up another mouthful of toast and eggs and chewed peaceably.

"So you're not too worried about Simon?"

Sirius smiled and looked up. Simon's head was so close Sirius was looking up the vast nostrils. He reached up and scratched under the horse's jaw. "No wand, no Padfoot, no standing up… I'm about as unthreatening as it gets at the moment. We're getting along famously."

"Hmm." Harry was waiting for the other shoe to drop. He decided to change the subject. "Luna knows who you are."

"Oh, she won't go around telling people," Sirius said, his eyes developing shadows.

Harry had seen that expression before. Sirius was keeping something from him. He mulled it over, then, on a whim, asked, "So what did you two talk about while I was off fetching Professor Lupin?"

"He's 'Professor Lupin', is he?"

"Well, he's not Cuddly Uncle Remus. Yes, he's 'Professor Lupin'," Harry added a little angrily. Guilt over nearly getting his godfather killed didn't quite erase the resentment he'd brought back from twenty-one years ago. "And you're wriggling out of the real question." Harry hadn't initially been that curious, but he'd grown sick of people deflecting him over the years – and he'd grown out of being naïve enough to let them. He was sick to death of secrets – secrets had nearly got him killed. And he wasn't above being manipulative: years of hanging out with Fred and George, not to mention the last several weeks in Malfoy's company had given him wedges into acquiring information he wouldn't have learned from the drearily blunt Dursleys. Harry was no longer above emotional blackmail – on very rare occasions, of course. "You know I've had people using me as a political football or a convenient if unconsulted shield against Dark Lords, and of course that's made me really, really fond of being treated like a halfwit who can't work out which foot the left shoe goes on, so if you and Luna are hatching up something that concerns me without considering my views on the matter, you'll just be sticking true to Fudge and the rest of the mainline Wizarding world. So well done. Of course," he added, because he needed to be fair or, at least, Slytherin-fashion, _seem_ to be fair, "unlike some people I met back in time I don't think the world revolves around me. So if it's something private that doesn't involve me then forget I asked."

Sirius' expression slid into amused with a sprinkle of vinegar. "Was that spontaneous, or have you been waiting to say that for a while?"

"Spontaneous. But truth often waits for its own time." He thought of a tarnished silver cup hiding a Golden Sickle.

Sirius tilted his head back a fraction, pale eyes chilly, and Harry realised he mightn't like arguing with people who made eye contact from a higher level. Hmm. Harry stored that away for future consideration, part of him wondering if he was destined to be a People Mutterer. "Very deep," Sirius said softly. "And possibly zen. And I don't like being treated like a halfwit either. So don't think you can manipulate me."

Harry, who had been told about some Eastern magical philosophies by Hermione, narrowed his eyes. "Zen for children: what goes around comes around. If you don't want to answer the question just say so. Don't think a verbal attack lets you off the hook."

Sirius looked down and stabbed his fork into the last of the toast. It made a screeching noise on the plate. A small muscle jumped in his jaw, and the horse shook its ears and grimaced.

"It wasn't regarding you."

"Oh. Okay." Harry forced an anger he hadn't realised was coming to the boil back down to simmer. Luckily Simon hadn't sensed anything. Or maybe the greedy horse was too busy trying to – "Hey, give me back my sandwich!"

He grabbed the end and tugged. Half came away. Simon grimaced at the taste of the bacon, ears twitching like mad, but didn't spit anything out. He hadn't actually managed to get any of the bacon in the sandwich – the rasher had stayed within the half Harry had saved. Harry sighed and broke off the edges of the bread, which probably had horse spit on them, feeding them to Simon even though it would probably only encourage the ruddy breakfast-thief in future snatch-and-grab raids on innocent sandwiches. Simon lipped them up eagerly and without any apparent shame.

"So that's it? No more badgering?" Sirius asked.

"Oh, I don't think I need to badger anyone." Harry gave a narrow stare at the scars on Sirius' cheek. "Why should I when they don't learn anything from _real_ badgering?"

Sirius' hand shot up to the scars and he winced. "I still can't believe Snape managed a transformation like that. It's not meant to be possible. Animagus or nothing."

"So the badger was a figment of your imagination?"

"Huh. If Snape was going to turn into a badger, it would make sense it would be a badger that would leap up and attack me." He paused. "Look, I talked to Luna. Not about you. Not precisely. If you're really sure you want to hear it I'll tell you, but you won't believe me."

"Why not?"

"Because Luna showed a side to her personality I'd never suspected. And it wasn't very nice."

"Did she go kind of thin-lipped? Her upper lip especially?"

"Yes, actually."

"Oh, I know that look. What did you do to bring it on?"

"Me?" Sirius bristled. "I didn't do anything but get attacked by Voldehorse here –"

"I thought you'd forgiven Simon?"

"You can't hold a grudge against a horse. Animals don't have morals. But it doesn't stop you making a judgement on its personality for your own safety. If you're going to run around with psychopathic animals you should know what you're dealing with – that's why Hagrid gets on so famously as Professor for Care of Magical Creatures."

"No, he thinks they're all little darlings in need of pampering. It's his colossal size and strength that stop him from being dinner."

"Well, perhaps. But as far as I'm concerned, this horse is on a short fuse. Especially with strangers."

"He wouldn't hurt me."

"He'd defend you, Malfoy or Luna to the death, I suspect. In fact I think that was why he went insane yesterday. He thought you were threatened. Which is – philosophical rubbish aside – why I could never hold a grudge against him."

Harry looked out the door. It was easier to check for anyone coming up the hill than look at Sirius for a moment. It was tricky, being reminded so honestly of how much Sirius loved him, especially when that came right on the heels of the memory of Sirius in the past kicking Severus the badger… and then Harry with his wand in Sirius' face, threatening to kill him…

…And meaning it.

As if following his thoughts, Sirius said, "Would you really have done it?"

"What?" Sirius wasn't psychic, he couldn't possibly know that Harry was thinking –

"Kill me if I'd kicked that badger again."

Mist was clearing over the Forest. Sun gleamed off the turrets of Hogwarts. It looked like it would be a lovely day. Maybe Luna had cooled off enough to give him a riding lesson. He'd flicked through the Horse Mutterer book again the other day, and he wanted to try out a few things with Simon… and now he was avoiding the issue just like Sirius had done earlier.

"Probably not. But if you'd hurt him again I would have definitely done something very nasty. I don't know how nasty, though. He attacked you when you threatened me, not when you were so busy insulting him. He was my friend and you, you weren't. You'd cracked his ribs and maybe if you'd kicked him again you'd have broken them properly. Yeah, I know I would have done something really bad to you if I thought you'd done that."

"You were pretty angry."

"I guess I was," Harry said mildly, remembering the way he'd been shaking afterwards. That only ever happened when he got really furious.

Sirius coughed. "Well, Luna… You sure you really want to hear this?"

"I don't think you can surprise me."

"Even when I say she threatened to give me a serious amount of pain?"

"Er… what?"

Sirius looked smug, reminding Harry of Draco for an instant. "There. You're surprised. When you left, she was sitting next to me. She folded up a blanket to put under my head, and I was thinking, gosh, this is so nice that someone's around me and they know who I am and they're not screaming and calling for the Aurors or Voldemort, and then she smiles, but it's with a sort of… tightness."

"Upper lip especially tight? Sort of very still, like she's thinking of words she's not sure she should say just yet?"

"That's the one. I'm sure I've seen it before, just not on her."

"I've seen it loads on her." And it had unnerved him, yes, but Harry wasn't surprised to hear Sirius had had it directed at him. Probably for ticking Simon off.

"Well, she's got this look. And then she stares down at me – ever noticed how strangely silver her eyes are? – and puts her hand over the break in my leg – not touching it, just… holding it above, and she asks me if I've been putting anyone in danger by running around as Snuffles. And if I've been spying on anyone – I think she mentioned Draco and Neville. I said no. And then she asked me why I didn't come out and be honest about who I was. Hogwarts could use an extra wand, she said. I replied that I didn't want to incriminate Dumbledore, who'd been using a dog Animagus to advantage by sending me out to patrol the barrier. I think she accepted that."

"Are you sure it wasn't a coincidence, her putting her hand there?" But it sounded weak even to Harry.

Sirius shot him a scathing glare. "I thought you didn't want me to treat you like a halfwit?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

"So you're shocked?"

"Yeah." Harry looked down at the straw. It was very clean. Luckily for Sirius, Simon was house trained. "Yeah, I'm shocked. It doesn't seem much like Luna."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," drawled a cold voice from the doorway.

It was Draco. He had his wand drawn.

What was wrong with the proximity ward he'd put on the fence? Harry hadn't heard a thing and the little light he'd keyed to it and hung over Sirius' bed wasn't flickering. Damn it. Harry carefully kept his hands where they were. It had been a while since he'd seen Malfoy this angry – even longer since he'd had that rage directed at himself. And right now Draco looked ready to hex him and Sirius into oblivion.

"Draco, I can explain…"

"Save it, Potter. I've heard enough. Stand up, you." He twitched his wand at Sirius. Simon, for his part, twitched an ear uncertainly.

"I can't."

Draco's mouth twisted into a smile. "No? Well I bet you can run if I set fire to you."

He lifted his wand.

And Simon moved before Harry could, sliding himself in between Draco and the two Gryffindors.

By the time Draco ducked under his neck, Harry had his wand drawn. "Draco, hear me out. His leg is broken. That's why Dumbledore has him stashed up here. This looks bad, but –"

"Dumbledore knows?"

"Yes, he –"

"Wait a minute… where's that smelly old doormat that's been following you around?"

"Er…"

Sirius, who had been silent so far, spoke now. "Draco…"

"That's Malfoy to you, murderer."

"I'm not a murderer."

"According to my father it wasn't through lack of trying," Draco breathed.

Sirius wasn't foolish enough to point out how Draco's father was less than a moral paragon. The stable might have gone up in flames.

However, it might just do that the way things were going.

"Dumbledore knew, didn't he?" Draco shouted angrily. Simon, upset, turned to give him a nip. Draco grabbed the headcollar with his free hand and held the horse's head still before the bite could land. "Don't you dare, Simon, he whispered, not taking his eyes off Harry and Sirius. His pale face was going scarlet. "I'm allowed this. I'm _owed._"

Simon shook his head, but Draco didn't let go.

"He's been harbouring him all this time! Who else has he let in? Who else has he been endangering us with?" he yelled.

Simon shook his head again. To the same lack of effect. Draco's knuckles were white on the headcollar but it didn't seem like he knew he was even holding the horse. Or perhaps part of him did, a calculating part that knew Harry wouldn't try cursing him in case he hit Simon.

If so, he was right.

Harry swallowed. Draco looked almost insane. He couldn't blame him – Slytherins had natural human paranoia magnified and Draco would see this – Harry sitting with Sirius Black this side of a barrier only Draco, with Simon's help, had crossed – as a personal betrayal. No wonder he'd made the connection with Snuffles: it was the most obvious way Sirius could have suddenly appeared. He'd been here all the time. Luna had figured it out. Now Draco had, too, and he didn't seem very happy about this revelation. To put it mildly. He looked as angry as Snape that time three years ago in the Shrieking Shack; all they needed now was Pettigrew and R–

"_Expelliarmus!"_

Remus. Thank Merlin, Harry thought as Draco's wand went spinning away.

There was a hoarse squeal of rage from Simon. Only Draco's hold on the headcollar stopped the horse from charging at the werewolf.

"Keep that beast under control," Remus said evenly, although his expression was set dangerously tight.

Draco glared poison at him. Simon pawed the ground and shook out his mane, which was still a little crinkled. No-one was about to laugh at that.

Remus lifted his wand and Simon, eyes blazing, tried to throw Draco back.

Draco clung. His eyes widened as he realised what spell Remus was going to use, and his fingers unclenched.

_"Obliv-"_

"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted before Lupin could finish the spell and wipe Draco's memory. Remus' wand flew out the door. "Malfoy, don't let Simon go, if he kills anyone he'll have to be put down," he added quickly, as Draco first went white then red. But he grabbed Simon just as Simon was about to leap forward. Simon, head firmly held, spun in a circle and the muscles in the black hindquarters bunched –

"Remus, get back!" Sirius shouted, half rising then going white with sudden pain and falling back.

He needn't have bothered – the werewolf dodged a split second before Simon's back hooves pummelled the air.

"Fucking hell!" bellowed Remus from the other side of the wall he'd ducked around. Narrowly escaping having your chest crushed would probably make anyone swear.

"Now, Remus, settle down. You too, Draco," Sirius said. "The horse is upset and you two pointing wands is just going to make him worse."

Draco glared at him over Simon's back. He was hanging on to the headcollar and hadn't had a chance to get his wand back yet. Simon had finished his circle and now was straining to get out the door to Remus. Draco pulled the horse into another circle. Harry was knocked back by Simon's hindquarters and nearly landed on Sirius. He stopped himself from jostling the broken leg by bracing his arms either side of Sirius.

"Sorry – you okay?"

They were nose to nose. Sirius, who was trying not to wince (because the bed had rocked and it must have hurt him), nodded. "Yeah. It's not me he's trying to kill today."

Harry grinned. "Just the rest of the world."

"Go and rescue Draco. He's not such a pill considering what his family is."

Harry picked up a spare leadrope and Draco's wand before it could be trodden on and, waiting for Simon to finish his latest circle, grabbed the headcollar from the other side. He quickly snapped the clip under the jaw.

"There. Now we can try to –"

"What 'we' Potter? Piss off," Draco panted.

Harry ignored that. "Simon, settle down. Good boy, Simon." Simon shook his head and stopped. Having two nearly full grown young men hanging onto his head must have been a strain to move, even for a big horse. He pawed at the ground angrily, digging a furrow in the straw. Harry, conscious of his feet in their sneakers, made sure he wasn't going to have a hoof break his toes.

"Sirius, why for once in your life couldn't you have listened to me?" Remus snarled. "We should have taken you into Hogwarts. Now –"

Simon's ears went back again and he tried to rear.

Sirius said, "Remus, please. Not now."

"Professor Lupin, your wand went that way," Harry said. Damn it, Simon had nearly thrown him off. "But it would be a really bad idea for you to go and get it right now."

"Harry, that horse…" Remus took a deep breath. He must have known Harry wouldn't accept any argument against Simon. "Malfoy shouldn't have seen Sirius, you know that."

"Well now he has, and maybe it's for the best."

"You've got to be joking – remember when Snape told everyone I was a werewolf?"

"Ah – I see. Slytherin bias. Your true colours are showing, Professor Werewolf, and they're red and gold," Draco sneered.

"Draco, shut up for just a couple of minutes," Harry hissed.

"You too, Remus," Sirius called. "I know you mean well, but I don't want you Obliviating anyone."

"If everyone can –" Harry broke off as Simon shook his head. But the horse was calming down and it was mainly for show and because it was getting sick of having two young men hanging on to its head. Harry let go of the headcollar and passed the leadrope to Draco. "Here. Professor, don't pick up your wand."

Remus had been reaching. He stopped.

"Now, I'm going to take Simon outside and tie him up behind the stable so he can't see what's going on in here. And then we're going to talk. All right?" He glared at Draco, who had opened his mouth to argue. "All right?"

Draco nodded tightly.

"Good. Here's your wand. Professor," he called out to Remus, "I'm going to take Simon out. I'll lead him around to the right. Can you move off to the left, please?"

Harry led out the horse. Simon followed, reluctantly if obediently, flattening his ears at Remus and wrinkling his muzzle. Lupin had the sense to let this go without making eye contact and backed out of kicking range in case Simon decided to lash out.

Simon didn't, although he was still in a nasty mood when Harry left him tied to a piece of string threaded around a post. Harry didn't dare tie the leadrope directly to the post itself – if Simon got a fright and tried to escape, he could damage the stable or – much worse – himself.

For a moment Harry considered staying with Simon. There were enough problems thanks to Voldemort and an incompetent government. How he was supposed to sort out two nominal adults and an enraged Slytherin sixth-year was anyone's guess.

He gave Simon a friendly slap on the shoulder which was ignored. Simon's ears were busy twitching around to listen for approaching werewolves.

Harry sighed.

Add one violently defensive stallion to the mix. Stir. Bake.

Sounded like a recipe for Hogwarts Crumble.

Back inside, Remus and Draco both had their wands in their hands. While they weren't actually pointing at anyone, there was a definite air of 'Yeah, I can hex you into humility whenever I choose, Werewolf/Malfoy (delete appropriate word). But I'm not going to because I'm being very polite. You wouldn't like it if I wasn't polite. No, you wouldn't.'

Banging their heads together would probably be counterproductive. Although it would give Harry a sorely needed moment's satisfaction.

Sirius, fingers laced across his stomach, met Harry's eyes across the little stable. There was a flicker of understanding.

"Hello, Harry. I'd magic you up a seat but I don't have a wand."

"That's okay. So… did I see you in the Library with Hermione last night, Malfoy?"

"Don't try to change the subject," Draco said coldly. "You've been harbouring a dangerous murderer. Dumbledore knows about it. So does the werewolf, apparently."

There was a growl from Remus who looked like he hadn't been getting much sleep lately.

"Oh, that's very nice," Draco sneered. "Beautifully worded – witty werewolf repartee, I suppose? Did you know he was an Animagus when Potter here was worrying about him coming into Hogwarts to finish off the job he supposedly started? Didn't he try to attack Weasley with a knife?"

"I wasn't, I was –"

"Although I can't believe I'm saying this because it sounds like I'm defending the Weasel, did you know Black here was an Animagus when Weasley was attacked?" he asked Lupin.

"Yes," came Luna's slightly breathy voice from the doorway, right behind Harry, making him jump. Damn, why hadn't he at least looked down the hill? To cap things off, she had Trudi with her. "I've been wondering that one, too. Well? Did you know?"

"Miss Lovegood, Miss Ricci, how long have you been standing there?" Lupin asked, totally avoiding the question.

"Just got here," said Luna as Trudi stared at Sirius. "Where's Simon? Simon!"

"Tied up around the back," said Harry. Unnecessarily, as Simon had whinnied at the sound of his name.

"Good idea. He doesn't like dogs or werewolves."

"If I'd forgotten, I was reminded when he tried to kill me just earlier," Remus said dryly.

"He's very protective," Luna said approvingly. "Hello, Mr Black."

Draco butted in: "Hang on, hang on, hang on… you mean you already _know_ about him? About how Snuffles is his Animagus form? And he's been here all this time, following us around listening in on our conversations, spying on us, tattling to the we- oh, _sorry_, _Professor_ Werewolf, if you will – and –"

"I wasn't spying on you," Sirius said.

"Well what else do you call sneaking around in disguise like that?"

"I call it trying to keep an eye on you. Trying to stop you getting into trouble. Trying to do my bit for Hogwarts. And trying not to get identified as Sirius Black, escaped prisoner, because that would be counterproductive and not in the best interests of Hogwarts. Er, Trudi, I'm not a murderer, by the way."

Trudi had been looking askance in that dangerously Slytherin way, suggesting she was weighing things up and finding that on balance she didn't like Sirius.

"He's not, you know," Luna said. "Is he, Draco?"

"Well, no, Pettigrew's still alive," Draco admitted, although it looked like saying the words hurt his teeth. "And it wasn't Black who betrayed Potter's family…"

"But your father told you about how he tried to kill Professor Snape?"

"Yeah." Draco paused. "Who told you?"

"I've known for a while. Not as many total secrets in Hogwarts as people like to think. Thousands of limited secrets. I didn't want to go blabbing it about. But after Simon kicked Snuffles and broke his leg and I helped get Mr Black back up here, I decided enough was enough. I'm rather glad you've found out, Draco. It's very annoying keeping secrets, remembering which ones are total, which are limited, and which are common gossip; and really, it's all quite counterproductive. Now that you know you can think up all sorts of clever questions to ask Mr Black about helping to defeat You-Know-Who."

Luna had in a handful of seconds told him he was right and he was clever, and thus smoothed Draco's ruffled feathers.

And Draco knew it by the cynical if amused glint in his pale eyes.

"Did you know what sort of reckless idiot Gryffindor he was? Did you know that he was at school he was called Siri-arselicker Black? And Blaggard? I asked about him once – we're cousins, you know – and Mother laughed and said he was an object lesson in all that's pathetic about Gryffindors."

Sirius, already pink, flushed further.

Draco's eyes gleamed. "Did you know Lupin was going to Obliviate me?" he said conversationally. If the cat that got the cream could speak, that was the kind of tone it would use.

Luna's eyes went wide. Trudi's narrowed. "Really?" "You're kidding," they said.

"Uh-huh." Draco, now a martyr, was playing it to the hilt. All he needed was a halo. Perhaps they didn't come in green and silver. "Luckily Simon saved me. He went for Lupin."

"He's the best of horses," Luna said with misty pride.

Trudi nodded. "I always knew he was brilliant. He's ever so patient, but he can still chase off monsters. Remember the vrikolaki?"

Remus stiffened at the 'monsters'. "Yes, I'm sure he's a fine example of what it means to be a horse. But that's besides the point – unless you want to consider how he tried to kill Sirius… The point is that now Draco – oh, _sorry,_ Mr _Malfoy,_ if you will," he added sarcastically, "knows about Sirius. And it's best if the students don't know about who Snuffles really is."

"Why not?" asked Trudi.

"Because they would be frightened. Hogwarts has enough trouble now without everyone losing confidence in the headmaster and staff."

Trudi and Draco exchanged a look. "It's not like we have any now," Trudi said honestly.

Sirius laughed. He stopped when Remus glared at him. "Sorry," he muttered.

"It's true," Draco said. "So are you going to Obliviate all of us?" He folded his arms.

Trudi raised an eyebrow. There was some unfathomable challenge in her expression. "He can Obliviate me if he likes. I don't mind."

Luna opened her mouth to protest, but shut it as Draco said, "That's very magnanimous of you, Trudes."

Trudi smirked. Harry didn't have a clue what that was about, but hoped someone would tell him – soon, before his brain exploded from all the secrets he was supposed to be keeping straightened out.

"I'd like to talk," Sirius said. He was still a little pink. "To say something. If that's all right with everyone. I mean, it's not like I'm involved or anything. And I'm quite used to people deciding my fate without asking to hear my side of the story."

"Makes a change from what I saw when you were a student," Harry muttered, knowing full well Sirius was referring to his farce of a trial but unwilling to let that stand. Now wasn't the time to bring that up.

Sirius affected to ignore this. "I don't want anyone getting their minds tampered with. I'm quite happy to have a few more people know about me, to be frank. All this hiding in my Animagus form is getting stale. Luna – you've got a point about Hogwarts needing all the wands it can get. I've fought Death Eaters as a dog; I'd like to finish off the job as a man. I'd like to walk into the Great Hall, sit down with you lot for lunch, and not stress every time I turn back into a wizard because there's a chance someone will walk in and catch me out. I'm looking at the bright side of this. My secret's out. Even Draco's said I'm not a murderer."

"No, but it's not like –"

Fortunately Draco's reply was cut short by Luna.

"There's a lot to be said in praise of passive-aggressive behaviour," she said. "You've wanted to be out in the open for a while, and now it's going to happen without you needing to take any blame for it. How interestingly philosophical. Do you believe in Free Will or Determinism?"

"And I never said you weren't a wannabe murderer," Draco pointed out.

"No, you didn't," replied Sirius, who was still avoiding looking at Luna. "You left that out when you were saying all those nice things about me just then. Thanks for the vote of confidence. You really are a Black."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. "So… what? We tell everyone in the castle?"

"Sounds good," said Sirius.

"Sounds suicidal," Remus snapped. "Dumbledore spent last evening stopping a riot in Hufflepuff. Slytherin has already seceded. Now you want to leap up and say, 'Hey, remember me? Everyone's favourite Azkaban escapee? Who's up for a game of hide and seek?' How is that going to go down? Like a cold bucket of sick, that's what."

"Always with the eating sick jokes," grumbled Sirius. "Bet if I'd been a rabbit Animagus you wouldn't make them…"

"No, rabbits eat their own dung." But Draco was fingering his wand, not really thinking of what he was saying, it would seem. "And Professor Lupin's right. It would be too disruptive. It's not that most people are stupid, it's that most people are too lazy to think for themselves. They'd rather jump on someone else's opinion, and opinion of Dumbledore is quite low. Not just in Slytherin. The Slytherin Republic is based on a real need, not a whim like the Hufflepuffs were indulging themselves in."

"Oh? What need? A need to take over the school?" Remus asked cynically.

Draco's grey eyes flashed. "A need to make sure we aren't going to be used as pawns. Particularly when it comes to cannon fodder. All the other Houses have at least one teacher in their corner; we, who don't have any, have decided to be self-reliant in terms on our welfare. _That_ is why we seceded."

"The teachers have discussed the issue – we have taken your lack of a Head of House into serious consideration. The whole staff is on your side, Draco. Not just the other three Houses."

"You'll excuse me if I believe that when I see it. Sir. The proof of the pudding is in the eating, and other such fattening platitudes. But this is beside the point. Which is, uncomfortable as it is to admit it, that we need to put up with Dumbledore's hypocrisy a little longer. Who else knows?"

"Hagrid and McGonagall," Sirius supplied. "Oh, and Ron and Hermione."

"That's it?" Draco eyes widened. "Gosh. That's not bad for secrets at Hogwarts."

Sirius looked down at his hands. Harry could tell he was pleased. "Well, it's not something I boast about. Natural modesty."

"Natural sneakiness. Wasn't your brother a Slytherin?" Draco shook his head. "I suggest – and by 'suggest' I mean 'you will do this or I will blackmail you for seven generations' – I suggest you inform the rest of the staff –"

Harry frowned. "What? Trelawney as well?"

"Er, no, maybe not. Well, I never really considered her staff," Draco confessed. "All right. All the staff barring Trelawney. And we've got to tell Millicent Bulstrode, too. Possibly the Prefects. Definitely the Head Boy and Girl. It'd be a bit rude not to. Break it to the school gradually. You'll need to up your public image – it's not the best," he added, his eyes focussed somewhere in the realms of PR. "I'd suggest a proper shave for starters and a trim…"

"Oh, I don't know," Luna put in. "The pirate look is always fashionable."

"Only when he looks like a successful pirate. Not the Ancient Mariner," said Trudi, who was still eyeing up Sirius doubtfully. "All he needs is an albatross around his neck. Showing him to everyone when he looks like this could be a disaster. That's if we _want_ everyone to accept him, of course. If we don't, then having him popping out from behind a curtain and shouting 'Avast, ye scurvy dogs' could be fun."

Sirius looked wounded.

"I think we should call those people in to have a meeting with Dumbledore," said Luna. "He can explain why Mr Black looks so disreputable. Or should we have the meeting up here?"

Sirius looked almost as outraged as Simon on a bad day.

"No, too obvious that something fishy's going on," Trudi said. "You'll have everyone coming up to see what was so interesting. Unless you want to move somewhere else," she added to Sirius.

"No, I rather like it here. When people aren't pointing wands at me," Sirius replied. "I'll have a shave. If someone could bring up a mirror, I'd appreciate it."

"No, you wouldn-" Luna began, then seemed to regain a few rudimentary ideas on tact and shut up.

Sirius glowered. The dark shadows under his eyes were far too pronounced for Harry's liking. He yawned.

"You need to sleep," Remus said. He squatted down by the bed and tucked the blanket underneath the makeshift mattress.

"Thanks, Mum."

"You're a bad son, you know that."

"No bedtime story?"

"Once upon a time there was a very stupid Animagus. He thought he was invincible right up to the bit where he was trampled to death by an insane horse. The end."

"That's the worst story I've ever hea-rrrrrghhh."

Mouth open, snoring softly, Sirius was asleep.

Trudi was shaking her head. Draco was still off in his own little world of swaying public opinion. Perhaps crowds lifted hands like fluttering birds in thunderous applause in his mind. This may have been why Trudi had to call his name twice before he curved back into orbit around reality, blinking, brow faintly furrowed with the residue of calculation.

Luna shot Harry a look. He nodded to her, gesturing with his chin out the door.

They were just about to leave for a private talk, when Lupin stood. "I'll go and see if Dumbledore is free. Mr Malfoy, Miss Ricci, do I have your word you will say nothing about Sirius' presence until we are in an appropriate setting? By that, I mean Dumbledore's office. Not the Great Hall."

"Of course," said Trudi.

Draco nodded. "Potter? You coming back down now?"

"In a minute. Luna and I are going to make sure Simon's settled down okay."

"Oh, is that what you call it?" Draco arched an eyebrow. "Come on, Trudi. We're not wanted. Professor? We'll go with you. We can all make sure everyone does what he or she is meant to."

Remus nodded. If he was offended by being patronised in such a way, he didn't show it. "Harry…"

"I'll be fine. So will Sirius. Simon was defending him too, you know."

"I _don't_ know. That's the trouble. Luna, Harry… at some stage you're going to have to consider that animal's potential for violence. And take steps."

"We have. That's why there are so many wards around the paddock. They keep out the other students. Don't you think it's odd Simon's been left alone so long? It's because Dumbledore set the wards himself."

"Ah. I should have guessed. I never sensed any wards."

Harry should have guessed, too. Maybe that was why the proximity ward he'd set hadn't lasted. Hopefully it hadn't compromised the pre-existing wards. He'd ask Dumbledore later.

"That's how good they are." Luna beamed. "Come on, Harry."

She was smiling again. Maybe Harry had been forgiven for mucking around with the spell in Simon's chest.

Her smile vanished as soon as they were out of the door, leaving her face tired and paler than usual.

Nope. Not forgiven.

Simon whickered at the sight of them.

"Hello." She gave him a kiss on the nose (Simon, not Harry, and Harry tried to stifle a jealous glare at the undeserving horse) and untied the leadrope. They led Simon down the hill to a fallen tree. Best to give Remus and the two Slytherins a lot of time to walk down the other side of the hill and away; out of sight, out of mind as far as horses were concerned.

Simon grazed at the end of his leadrope, contentedly working on filling his belly. Harry and Luna sat on one of the fallen branches, listening to the birds, watching the foxgloves sway gently, glossy bells shivering as the breezes touched them with chilly fingers. Some of the roots of the tree were still intact, so although it was lying along the ground it had managed to push out fresh green leaves this spring. Blackbirds, still engrossed in their dawn chorus, sweetened the sounds of the leaves rustling and grass being torn up and chewed. Occasional soft thunks of a hoof being shifted punctuated the singing with dull bass notes. Harry looked up as a crow flew overhead, cawing.

It was a beautiful day. The sky wasn't often this clear shade of blue.

He tried desperately to think of something to say to Luna. Something to make things right again.

There was no Girlfriend Mutterer Book.

That one would net the writer a fortune – all the Galleons in Gringotts, and then people would be dipping into the Muggle world for money to pay for all the copies that would sell.

ooOOoo


	61. Chapter 61

Disclaimer: nope, still not mine. I make no claims to what lies herewithin. Blah blah. See chapter one for a much better disclaimer.

ooOOoo

Chapter 61: Radioactive Goo and the Sound of Figs

Harry stared down at his hands. The beauty of the morning fell flat when the company he shared it with wasn't interested in his presence. Luna, sitting next to him on the branch, barely seemed aware he was there. She was too busy studying Simon, a faint line between her eyes, as the horse moved over the small patch of ground allowed him by the stretch of the leadrope. And Simon was more interested in that prime mover of equine affairs: the belly. He would fill it soon at the speed he was ripping up the grass, although not if he kept throwing his head up, checking around with wide nostrils and swivelling ears for any hint of the monsters horses knew inhabited each and every shadow.

Although in Simon's case, Harry thought glumly, the monsters were real. He'd already nearly taken down a werewolf this morning, and when would poor Sirius have the cast taken off?

"I'll go and check on Sirius," he said eventually.

Luna nodded, not taking her eyes, which were a little puffy as if she hadn't slept last night, off Simon. "Okay. I'm going to sit out here a little longer. Then I'll let Simon go." That line didn't lift, and the tight upper lip suggested she was still upset.

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and wandered back around to the door. He kicked viciously at some offending thistles on the way. The thistles were elderly and a bit scrawny – Simon ate the younger, more vibrant ones. Harry wouldn't have believed it had he not seen it with his own eyes: the horse would paw at the base of the thistle with the same delicacy he used when scratching his head with a back hoof. Then, when the thistle had been knocked down to his satisfaction, the horse would eat it from the base up.

Harry still didn't know why. Maybe it was something to do with how Simon liked stomping on things. It was the equine version of preparing cordon bleu. But it wasn't like he could ask Luna right now, not the way she was.

He tiptoed into the stable.

Sirius was lying still. Most people looked more peaceful when they slept. Sirius wasn't one of them. Bereft of animation, the lines carved down cheeks and along the brow and the sharpness around the jaw and cheekbones made him look like he never smiled.

Harry stood there thinking, staring at his godfather's prematurely aged features. Azkaban… And then Harry had the startling, unwanted thought: _Will I look that old that young? I've been hounded all my life – either by Death Eaters or Dursleys. Will I –_

Dark thought were interrupted by soft hoofbeats coming around the side of the stable.

Simon, headcollar on but leadrope gone, whuffled softly and pricked his ears at the sight of Harry.

There was no Luna. Maybe she'd gone down to the castle without waiting for Harry. Now there was a new ache.

Harry sighed and turned to rub his hand up and down Simon's forehead.

Simon pushed into it happily, then shook himself all over like a dog. He turned his head to peer with shining dark eyes into the stable, which was much darker with a horse standing blocking the light from a doorway as wide as the horse was long. Simon and the overhanging eaves, high though they were, conspired to fill any sight of the sky quite neatly.

"Y'know, it's lucky Simon didn't turn into Snape," said Sirius, making Harry jump. He'd been sure Sirius was still asleep. Sirius, rubbing his eyes as the horse moved carefully past Harry to go and sniff at Sirius' hair, yawned and continued, grimacing as the horse decided that maybe the hair should be taste-tested, "Simon only tried to kill me. Snape would have, oh, killed me, resurrected me, killed me again, and smirked about it as he flushed my smoking remains down the toilet." He patted Simon fondly on the muscle above the horse's knee. "At least Simon doesn't bear any grudges. Did you see the way he put his ears back when Remus was telling me off?" He chuckled.

Harry shook his head. "No, I didn't see that." Then he remembered. Oh, yes. That was the bit where… no, one of the bits where Simon had tried to attack Remus.

"You got the Sickle with you today?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Just curious. I've been thinking about it. Maybe it needs to be examined under certain lights or something."

Harry checked outside. Nobody coming up the hill. There were some students throwing a ball around down by the lake, some girls sitting in a semicircle around – Harry squinted – oh, that'd be Bartolomew Thrikes, who thought he was a bit of all right and the next Byron (and hadn't that been a shock for Hermione in History, learning Lord Byron, he of the 'mad, bad and dangerous to know' had been a wizard!). Harry privately thought Thrikes was a bit of a twat and the next Lockhart.

There was Dean Thomas around by one of the glasshouses. Who was he with? Oh, Justin Finch-Fletchley. And there was Seamus, coming around the corner. Harry squinted harder. How strange: there seemed to be some sort of an argument…

"Harry? Anything out there?"

"Not really." Not even Luna. She'd probably gone down the other side of the hill, avoiding even line-of-sight contact with Harry, he concluded.

"What?" asked Sirius as Harry slouched back inside the stable.

"Nothing. Why?"

"You look like – never mind. Let's talk sickles."

Harry pulled out the Sickle. Simon sniffed at it then turned away, apparently bored by the fact it was inedible.

Passing the Sickle over to Sirius, Harry regarded the horse gloomily. He still had mixed feelings over Simon remaining Simon. "Anything from the Sickle?"

Sirius was running his fingers over the blade, lightly skimming the metal, testing the edge with the tip of his ring finger. "No. Not yet. Hmm. That's odd…" Sirius held the Sickle closer to Simon. Then away. Then close again.

"What?"

"Don't you hear it?"

"Hear what?"

"I guess it's an Animagus thing… I've got excellent hearing. Listen to the Sickle…"

Harry bend his ear close, feeling like a bit of a pillock. "I don't…"

Then he heard it.

It was a sound he'd never heard before, but it resonated deep inside at a level vaguely familiar. It was sweetly beautiful, but in a way he couldn't quite place. Then the memory of a smell rose, something moist and filled with decaying leaf matter, cool and comforting despite the sinister darkness. There was a sweeter backnote. Figs. Just like the smell of the one still hidden in his trunk.

"That's weird," Harry whispered. He pushed the Sickle closer to Simon. The pitch changed, sliding up the scale. It sounded like the hum of a finger on the rim of a wet glass.

"Levitate me," Sirius said, taking the Sickle back.

"Huh?" That sounded like a bad idea on multiple levels. Apart from the danger of tipping Sirius onto the floor, Simon might take offence at the wand and inflict multiple fractures.

"Oh, just give it a try."

"Your funeral."

Harry took out his wand, letting Simon sniff it. The horse didn't react in a noticeably negative way. Greatly daring, Harry flicked the wand at the bed and cast the spell.

The bed rose shakily.

"Now take me to the door. I want to get some sunlight."

Harry sighed. "Okay."

Simon backed up as the bed bumped against his chest. He didn't seem to be upset by the fact it was flying. But then horses probably got used to the strangest things, like guns and umbrellas and riding around in the backs of lorries. Flying beds probably rated quite low on the scale of things.

"There," Harry said with relief as the bed landed with the barest bump. The horse turned around to sniff at Sirius' hair. Harry pushed back hot jealousy. Simon was _his_ horse, not Sirius'!

"Good job. Now, let's see…" He held the Sickle up at a careful angle. The Sickle bounced sunlight onto Simon's coat, and the black hide broke the golden light up into shapes almost like…

"They look like Ogham runes," Harry said.

"What do they say?"

"Dunno. Something about truth." He recognised that one – was the mistletoe one in there? He couldn't make it out, but then Simon shivered his skin at a fly and the patterns broke and fled into the glossy coat.

"Bizarre," said Sirius, frowning, tilting the Sickle in efforts to reflect the sun onto Simon's coat again. For a moment Harry thought he could make out a… but then Simon craned his head around to see what all the fuss was about and the runes disappeared back into speculation. "I'll try it out on other black surfaces," Sirius was saying. "Less twitchy ones. Funny you can't see the words on the blade. Maybe it's a magical prerequisite that the runes can only be read through reflected light. I've heard worse ones – there's a spellbook that has to be read by a ninety-year-old virgin under a blue moon… in the presence of her father."

Harry snorted.

"No, Merlin's truth – if it was a Muggle girl that'd be a problem, but witches and wizards live much longer." Sirius scratched his chin and grinned like a successful pirate. "Of course, the virginity is –"

"Hello!" Luna said brightly, making them jump. Simon whuffled greedily as she produced an apple. She must have been saving it from earlier. "What are you talking about?"

"Olive oil production," Sirius said smoothly before Harry could die of terminal embarrassment.

Death by terminal embarrassment was saved for the next moment, when Luna replied: "The best olive oil is pressed by seventeen year old boys who are still virgins. Apparently you can use it in hydrophobic potions. When do you turn seventeen, Harry? If you want a free holiday in Greece I've heard they hire young wizards especially for the harvest. Did you do that when you were a lad, Mr Black?"

"No, I was disqualified by the age of fifteen," Sirius said. His eyes gleamed. "I was a bit much of a lad, it would seem."

"Oh. Well, if it's any comfort you're not the youngest… er… disqualification Hogwarts has had. It's terrible, all the underage sex that used to go on before the chastity wards were erec- er… put up. So many people who were unable to get full marks for their OWLs, let alone their NEWTs because they couldn't use unico- … But Harry's gone very red, so maybe we should change the subject."

And they did.

ooOOoo

They changed the topic to something safer, like why the hell Harry and Sirius were stupid enough to be waving around the Golden Sickle out in the open where anyone with a decent teleocular charm could see it. Luna asked if they felt ready to hide it yet, and Sirius and Harry, exchanging one last meaningful glance twitched towards the horse (now going to sleep in the weak morning sunlight), agreed it might be a good idea. Harry could tell Sirius was itching to experiment some more. Well, maybe when he was back in the castle it would be safer. Horses weren't really research-minded animals. Simon might not be cooperative when it came to standing still with sharp metal objects being waved around him.

Harry and Luna walked down the hill together. She hadn't actually told him to go away, and Harry thought it might be time to insist on having a talk. If she was angry at him, he deserved a chance to explain himself. That was fair.

"Are you okay?" he asked as they closed the gate behind them. Sirius had been safely levitated back. Simon had followed them down and Harry gave the horse one last pat on the neck. Simon shook his mane and sighed, then turned and trotted back up the hill to the stable.

"He likes having company, doesn't he?" Luna remarked, watching the horse go. She seemed displeased; perhaps she was jealous of someone new in Simon's affections, too. "And no, I'm not really okay. It – I… Last night I suddenly wanted to talk to Daddy. To owl him at the very least. And I couldn't."

"Oh." Harry had noticed her eyes were a little red this morning. "I guess if Sirius hadn't been here I would feel the same."

"Yes. You're lucky. Everyone else – well, we don't have anyone. Just the staff. And each other. For what that's worth. Did you ever read _Lord of the Flies_?"

"Er, no. I think Sirius mentioned it once. Muggle Studies?"

"It might be. My uncle gave it to me for my last birthday. It was educational. I've been waiting for things to go like that here – children thinking they're doing what the adults would do, but mucking it up even faster than adult society would. I keep wondering if Slytherin will go like that. They might have been lucky."

"Having Draco in charge?"

"Millicent, actually. She's quite solid. Gives them someone they feel they can rely on. Draco's probably just as good but in a future threat way – Millicent is here and now; Draco's a Malfoy and a Black. If carrying grudges ever becomes an international sport, he'll play and win for England. All the Slytherins are too cynical to be impolite."

"Cynical? Don't you mean scared?"

"Maybe. But they're smart enough to know how to play the game. Rules are important to Slytherins. That's why they don't trust Dumbledore. He bends them in Gryffindor's favour."

"I guess he does." A thought hit Harry as he stared at his feet, watching the path which was a little steep at this point. "Do you think he knows?"

"I hope not. I'd hate to think he does. But I think maybe he's just too old to realise how instrumental he's been in the division within Hogwarts. Or he thinks everyone is good and kind at heart instead of the competitive little jumped-up tree dwellers we really are."

Harry nodded. She had a point. Although to his mind 'jumped-up tree dwellers' was a little harsh. Strange. Luna could say something that insulted the entire human race as if it was a mere statement of fact devoid of anything emotive.

"So what did you decide? About your father?"

She shrugged. Harry took her arm as she stumbled over a root. She didn't shake him off. Something in his chest warmed, and he made a mental note to go back later and water the tree that owned the root.

"What can I do? Everyone else misses their parents. Who am I to whine? I just have to tell myself about the good things I have. Like Simon. And lovely summer weather. And I've got some friends now, too. That's quite fun at times. Trudi knows the best spells…"

Harry wondered if she'd stumbled because of her eyes being puffy. Maybe she was just tired. However, if she didn't want to admit to anything negative, who was he to pry? It wasn't as if he could offer the sympathy of someone in the same boat – part of him rejoiced at the Blockade because it meant he didn't have to go back to the Dursleys (even if they had written him off as legally dead, Dumbledore would have found some way of sending Harry back to them). He was here with his friends, here at the only place that had any depth of meaning to him.

"Although I'm still not happy with how you used Simon."

Uh-oh. Here it came.

"It's hypocritical of you to tell Malfoy not to make decisions on his own about Simon and then go and do the same thing yourself."

"I know. I really am sorry. But I was so _sure_ I was right."

"About him being Professor Snape?"

"Yes. I know it seems stupid now, but… all the evidence pointed towards it."

"You don't think Professor Dumbledore would have known? Or cast an Animagus revealing charm? I think the staff put up some wards to stop Animagi coming and going – something to do with Rita Skeeter, goodness knows why. Maybe she's got an Animagus to spy for her. If that had been Professor Snape in Animagus form, the wards probably would have told the headmaster. Unless it was something to do with the hole he must have deliberately placed to allow Mr Black to come and go without alerting everyone…"

Harry's shoulders sagged. "Oh. I didn't know all that."

"No. Professor Dumbledore might have told you if you'd asked."

"Maybe." Harry wouldn't stake his life on it, though. "I thought the Sickle would help."

"But it didn't."

"No. Then I thought Sirius would be able to reverse the charm…"

She sighed. "Yes. But he couldn't. Or, rather," she said hastily to clarify, "he triggered the anti-theft charm. And poor old Simon went crazy. I've heard those anti-theft charms can be quite clever, but I don't see how turning a horse into a killer is clever."

"True. I do wish I'd talked to you beforehand. But the idea hit me all of a sudden…"

"…And you had to rush off and save the day."

"Er…"

Luna sighed. "I wish you wouldn't be quite so impulsive. It scares me."

Harry squeezed her arm. "I don't mean to. But I'm learning…"

"I know. And maybe sometimes it's better than the way the rest of the people around here sit around thinking about stuff rather than doing stuff."

"Really? You think?"

"I don't know. I'll mull it over for a while and get back to you on that one."

Harry laughed.

Luna smiled up at him and hugged his arm. "_Please_ don't rush off like that. I've had these terrible nightmares ever since we went to the Ministry that night. And you keep dying in them."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Why? It's not like you really are running around doing stupid things and dying. Unless there's been something you haven't told me…" Her silvery eyes twinkled in the sunlight.

"So what do I do in these dreams of yours?"

"Well, the other night you went to Mars to enlist the Space Bunnies to help with your History assignment. But they were old enemies of Professor Binns and you drank the carrot juice they gave you and turned radioactive. That was all right at first, because you zapped You-Know-Who with your powerful radioactive laser-beam eyes, but then you turned into Spiderman, only evil, and Metropolis was doomed. Until Hermione told you gamma rays were carcinogenic, then you died and turned into a pile of goo."

"Oh." Harry frowned. "Who's Spiderman?"

"He was a sort of super-hero. I used to get comics from my uncle. I practically learned to read from comics. I liked the Donald Duck ones the best – you should read them. Very funny. Don't bother with Mickey Mouse. He's such a moralistic goody-good and his dog is really ugly."

"Oh. Hang on – Metropolis was where Superman lived. I saw the movie when it was on the telly. Did Spiderman live there too? Maybe they were neighbours."

"No, Spiderman lived in New York. Dreams are often wrong."

"No. Here's an example – I'm not a pile of radioactive goo."

"See? Now you know we're awake. Finding you're not a pile of radioactive goo is better than pinching yourself any day."

They were walking in the front doors when Harry said, "You know what? My birthday's coming up and if you want to get me something, I could really use some radioactive laser-beam eyes."

Luna burst out laughing. Her laughter rang around the staircases overhead. Some students stared. Harry ignored them: for once the stares and conjecture washed over him.

Life was good: Luna was talking to him again.

Not being a pile of radioactive goo was nice, too.

ooOOoo


	62. Chapter 62

Disclaimer: see chapter one.

ooOOoo

Chapter 62: Sirius in Question and Luna in Bas-Relief  
  
Later on that morning, after all the relevant people had been found (and in one case excused from a detention), there was a meeting in Dumbledore's office. What with all the prefects, teachers and various other interested parties, it was a crowded meeting.

Even in the midst of the commotion, Draco had secured himself a chair, although when Professor Sprout arrived a few minutes into the meeting he graciously offered it to her and moved to stand behind Dumbledore's desk. That the move gave him an air of expanded importance to the proceedings may have been entirely coincidental, but Harry, leaning against a bookshelf in Fawkes' corner, doubted it.

Trudi was sharing a chair with Luna, who had arrived early. Her eyes shone when she noticed Draco's gentlemanly action. Harry forced himself not to roll his eyes – there were too many people in the room who might take it the wrong way should he do so.

Dumbledore got right to the point. "My friends, I have something to tell you. But first I must ask you to promise that what you learn here is not to be discussed outside this room – not within the short-term future, anyway.

"Sirius Black – a man probably better known to you as that infamous Azkaban escapee – is on Hogwarts grounds…"

When the uproar subsided, Dumbledore continued.

"Firstly, you need to know that he is innocent. The reasons for his imprisonment were not only fallacious, but tragic in the extreme. As is public record, he served twelve years for betraying the Potters to Voldemort" – the room winced – "and the murder of a wizard and thirteen Muggles. What has not been disclosed, however, is the true nature of the crime. Mr Potter, would you care to explain?"

Dumbledore must have noticed the way some of the students – the Slytherins particularly – were watching him with cynicism so old and worn there were leather patches in the metaphorical elbows.

Harry nodded and stepped out of the corner. "It's true. The real man who betrayed my parents was Peter Pettigrew – trusted to be the Secret Keeper by and for my parents, but his real secret was his allegiance to Voldemort." (Another room-wide wince.) "Another of his secrets is that he's an Animagus. A rat Animagus. When Sirius worked out what had happened, he confronted Pettigrew. Pettigrew blew up a street, killing all those people, and scurrying off down a tunnel after cutting off one of his fingers. The Ministry gave it a hero's burial." Harry's mouth twisted in a mirthless smile. "They arrested Sirius, who blamed himself for trusting Pettigrew. Sirius went to jail, then broke out when he realised Pettigrew was back at Hogwarts."

There was dead silence.

Frowning darkly, Millicent broke it. "That's a bit unbelievable. Even for you."

Harry shrugged. "Truth, as they say, is often stranger than fiction."

Draco stepped forward. "Would it help if I said I'd seen Pettigrew? He's the one who sacrificed his hand to resurrect the Dark Lord. He's had it replaced with a silvery magical one. He's also the one who murdered Diggory."

Dead silence, mark II.

Someone, one of the seventh year Hufflepuff prefects, said, "And how would you know this, Malfoy?"

"My father told me."

After another pause, the prefect asked, frowning, "You believe him?"

Draco smiled coldly. "It's on record how he was under the Imperius curse for some of the Dark Lord's first rise. He was privy to quite a few secrets during that period."

There was a murmur from the back corner, the two Gryffindor seventh-year prefects and one of the Ravenclaws saying, "He knew the secrets, yeah, because he was You-Know-Who's right-hand man…"

"Who said that?" snapped Professor Flitwick, surprising Harry.

The trio flinched as if a whip had cracked.

"We will have none of that talk here, thank you very much," the Charms professor growled, managing to sound formidable despite the squeak he couldn't stop.

The Slytherins were beginning to look mutinous. Trudi's eyes were flashing; beneath heavy brows drawn together like gathering storm clouds, Bulstrode's primordially dark eyes glittered. Draco folded his arms.

"That's unproven speculation and not helpful to the matter under discussion," Harry put in before someone could say something with spark-like qualities in the sudden gunpowder atmosphere. "Sirius Black. He's the one we're talking about."

"He could be a Death Eater plant," Hannah Abbott pointed out. She was sharing a chair with Padma Patil, who nodded agreement. Behind them, Ernie Macmillan and Anthony Goldstein stood still, faces impassive, listening, but it was impossible for Harry to tell what they were thinking. He mentally crossed his fingers: Ernie had been a staunch (if pompous) supporter in fifth year, and Goldstein… well, Ron was trying not to glare at him, but that was only because Goldstein had asked Hermione out earlier on in the year. Harry personally thought the affable Ravenclaw was okay. Pansy Parkinson, on the other hand, was in the opposite corner from Malfoy, literally as well as (presumably) figuratively, with two Slytherins – a fifth and a seventh year Harry didn't know – and her squashed face was alight at the prospect of mayhem. Harry wasn't counting on her for anything helpful.

"She's got a point," said Pansy, her smirk not surprising Harry in the slightest.

"She does," Draco put in mildly, raising eyebrows through the room. "But then we've had Quirrell, Fake Moody, Umbridge – who wasn't intentionally a Dark Lord supporter but for all effects and purposes was – and who knows who else." His pale eyes flicked towards Lupin standing next to McGonagall's chair and away again. "Black has been here for quite some time now. But he's fought on our side – that's _Hogwarts'_ side" – he added in an acid aside when someone sniffed and wondered none-too-quietly which side Malfoy considered as 'ours' – "and protected students regardless of House affiliation."

"How lovely," Pansy sneered. "You two are cousins, of course."

"We are, as it happens. Second cousins. As are you and Grindelwald."

Pansy went white as if someone had slapped her, then pink as everyone stared. For a moment only her short breaths, loud in the sudden silence, could be heard.

"And I'm a distant cousin to Abbott here," said Millicent, making people jump, and not sounding as if she was either proud or ashamed of this. "And Professor McGonagall. Oh, and my great-great-great-grandfather was Undirkski the Unholy, but you don't see me drinking baby blood. I suppose on a bad day I could probably stake someone through the heart with a chopstick if pressed, but that's not because of some inherited trait, it's simply that I am who I am. We can't help our relations. That's the way things go. Let's keep to the pertinent facts, please." She folded her hands across her lap.

"Well said, Miss Bulstrode. And as there are no chopsticks or escaped criminals here, I hope we can maintain the peace at Hogwarts."

"I'm sorry, Headmaster," Professor Vector cut in, "but it's not established that Black _isn't_ a criminal."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Would interviewing Black under Veritaserum allay your doubts?"

"Didn't they do that at his trial?" the Arithmancy mistress replied.

"In point of fact Black did not receive a proper trial," Dumbledore said. "His guilt was already assumed and he did little or nothing to convince them otherwise, so was shipped off rather hastily to Azkaban."

"It seems a little slapdash to me…" Vector muttered.

"And so we maintain our fine tradition of justice in the Wizarding world," McGonagall said with a tight smile.

Harry thought back to the farce he'd had to battle through at the beginning of his fifth year after using magic outside school to defend himself and Dudley from Dementors. It still rankled that his trial time had been changed at short notice and he hadn't been made aware of this until almost literally the last minute, which turned out to be only the first of the fiery hoops he'd been put through by the Ministry that year. He was heartened to hear he wasn't the only one who was aware of the lack of justice in the judicial system. But it was disturbing that no-one seemed to do anything about it. He'd not heard anything about Um-bitch being charged for sending the Dementors, even after she'd admitted to it in front of Fudge during that awful fiasco in the Ministry. Possibly it was something to do with her lapsing into a coma on the heels of her confession (even casting the spell that had put Umbridge in a coma couldn't redeem Bellatrix in Harry's eyes, not after how she'd nearly killed Sirius and threatened to torture Neville – who was now standing behind a hat rack with Ginny – into the same living hell as his parents), but still… Harry hadn't even been given the barest apology.

Vector was nodding. "All right. Severus…" she blinked "…Er… there must be some Veritaserum somewhere. Headmaster?"

"Yes, Severus gave me a fresh bottle for Christmas. Along with an unnecessarily snide note pointing out its usefulness in interviewing new staff, bless him," said Dumbledore, smiling. Flitwick and Sprout exchanged unhappy glances. McGonagall suddenly found the ceiling very interesting, and Filch (under the portrait of Dippet, whose sleep was obviously feigned unless people slept with one eye slitted open in paintings) began to stroke Mrs Norris as he scowled at the students. "I shall dig it out. We can administer it to Sirius and you will be able to question him on the reasons for his imprisonment."

"All of us?" asked Trelawney, who up until now Harry had assumed to be in a trance.

"All staff. And the students here assembled," said Dumbledore. "He is currently recovering from an injury, but should be healed enough for Veritaserum by noon tomorrow, although I will leave the final decision up to Poppy."

"Where is he now, sir?" asked a seventh-year Ravenclaw.

"In a safe place. I give you my personal assurance he will not do anyone harm between now and then, nor will he vanish."

"But…"

"The headmaster has given you his word," McGonagall said sharply. "Tomorrow at noon Black will be – where exactly, Headmaster?"

"He will be in the Infirmary. And while I expect to see all of you there at that time, I do not expect to see anyone else there unless they are on explicitly medical reasons. All those in this room, do you swear that you will conceal the fact of Black's presence until noon tomorrow?"

The room became suddenly noisier with the susurration of mutters, murmurs and whispers as the students and staff discussed it in small groups, heads together. Draco and Pansy had some sort of eye-contact thing going on; Luna was staring off into space, humming softly to herself; Ron and Hermione whispering, flicking glances at Harry; Dumbledore and McGonagall waiting patiently…

"Aye," said Anthony Goldstein. "I agree."

He was quickly followed by more nods and promises of silence on the matter. Finally only Pansy and Millicent remained.

"I agree," said Millicent, "on condition Black doesn't do something to endanger Slytherins or the interests of the Slytherin Republic."

Pansy's mouth tightened. "I suppose… all right, I agree not to tell anyone. But he'd better have some good answers under the Veritaserum."

McGonagall's eyes narrowed, but it was Trelawney, shocking everyone, who said waspishly, "Quite right, Pansy. Awful man. If he doesn't adequately explain himself I think we should chain him up in the deepest, darkest, most snail-infested dungeon until we get out of here and can call for the nearest Dementor."

Dumbledore brought his hands together. "A cheerful thought. That's settled, then. Noon tomorrow. And no further discussion of this outside – the walls have ears."

"Too right," said the portrait of Dippet, yawning.

ooOOoo

Harry wanted to have a quick word with Draco after the meeting, and was astonished to find Hermione and Ron had beaten him to it, three heads of sleek blond, fiery red or bushy brown hair close in whispered conference.

"What's up?" he asked, out in the corridor once more with the gargoyle leering at them.

"We're testing the barrier to see if other edge creatures can find ways through it," Draco said softly after making sure no-one was within earshot.

"I'd forgotten that Crookshanks managed to get a message through to me after the barrier went up," Hermione added, beaming.

Harry's insides went cold and brittle. "So Hedwig could have come through the barrier… unless she's dead."

Hermione's face fell. "Um… not necessarily. We think most familiars had been blocked by the Barricade with spells specific to their nature before the barrier went up."

"My owl hasn't been through since the barrier went properly solid either," said Draco.

"The last time I saw Pig was a week beforehand," Ron was quick to add, eyeing Harry worriedly.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You have a pig as a familiar?"

Ron's ears reddened. "'S short for Pigwidgeon."

"Oh. Well, we thought that as Granger's cat is a cross between a Kneazle and a Muggle cat, it might be able to find a hole."

"Oh." Harry was mostly reassured, although he didn't like being reminded that Hedwig was still out there alone, looking for him, wondering where he was… it wasn't like there was anyone else in the outside world who cared for him like that. Then he felt guilty because he'd forgotten about the Weasleys and Tonks and everyone in the Order… "Okay. Need any help?"

"Not yet. We'll be sure to tell you when we do," Hermione said.

"Okay. I've got to… um… has Luna gone yet?"

"Looking for your weirdo girlfriend, Potty?" sneered Pansy, who'd just emerged from Dumbledore's office. "She's on her way now… but don't run off anywhere. If you two started breeding Hogwarts'd _really_ be in trouble."

"Oh, curl up and die, Pansy," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "We all know you're just jealous because Potter's got a gorgeous blonde on his arm and you haven't anymore."

Pansy hissed, her eyes narrowing to slits. She looked ready to leap on Draco and claw his eyes out (Ron appeared interested in witnessing this), but then a heavy hand clapped down on her shoulder.

"Comrades," intoned Millicent, solid as a Muggle tank and only slightly less intimidating when she was in full Republican zeal. "No fighting within our ranks. Save it for the enemy."

"He's a collaborator," Pansy snarled, her fingers still curled into claws. "Look at him, fraternising with Gryffindors!"

"Comrade Draco is an ambassador representing the good will of the Slytherin Republic. He's maintaining ties with other Houses and creating future networking opportunities."

Draco blinked, looking as startled as Harry felt. It wasn't like Millicent to trot out a line like that. She'd probably been thinking Draco's new alliances over for some time, Harry decided.

"He's a filthy traitor…"

The two Slytherin girls disappeared down the corridor.

Ron's disappointment at Malfoy's reprieve was a brief flicker over his freckled features.

"Thus begins the counter-revolution," Hermione said, apparently thinking aloud. "Keep an eye on that one, Malfoy."

"Yeah. We've got elections coming up. I still don't know if I want a Presidency or not. It might be premature. Well, let's get going. I don't want to be in the Forest when it gets dark. Darker. Potter, you coming? I'm taking Simon with me, by the way."

Harry was pleased (and reassured) to be asked, but replied, "Sorry… I've got to… oh, Luna. There you are."

"Hello. Draco, are you sure you're not relying on Simon too much as a bodyguard?"

"No."

"Oh. Okay then. Just keep in mind he's a horse, not a hound. Harry, do you have that item to go into storage?"

"Yeah." He patted his pocket. "No time like the present, I guess. See you lot later."

He watched them go, mildly interested at the way Ron (whose ears were still more than usually pink) interposed himself between Hermione and Malfoy.

He couldn't seriously believe Hermione and Draco would ever be an item, would he?

Luna, apparently staring at the sky in the painting of a witch holding twin babies, said dreamily, "Ron's got a nerve calling me 'Loony' – not when he's jealous of Draco."

Harry shrugged. He didn't want to take sides in Ron vs. Luna. Even though Luna probably hadn't meant anything like that, Harry still felt it keenly every time someone insulted her; it was lucky Ron had stopped calling her 'Loony' in front of him because that would have meant he'd have had to take sides. And possibly break Ron's nose for him.

Funny – he hadn't heard Draco call Ron 'Weasel' to his face for a while, either.

Draco was really coming along with this whole diplomacy thing.

Scary.

ooOOoo

Luna led him down the stairs, along a little-used corridor (dust lay on the floor), down a back stairwell he'd not come across before, and along a series of narrow stone corridors where condensation dripped from the walls. The few portraits Harry saw were all of people wearing furs or winter-weight cloaks, and the walls hummed faintly.

By the time they were out of those corridors, Harry's hair was standing on end. He brushed it down with his fingers. Sparks crackled.

"Where are we?" he asked. "We must be in the Dungeons. Near Slytherin."

"Sort of. The Slytherin common room is under the lake. This is back into the hillside a bit. Still part of the Dungeons, yes, and very close to the places you're used to seeing, but tucked away behind some of the thickest walls within the body of the castle and not in a highly used area."

"All the better to hide victims?" Harry said, half-joking.

Luna smiled mistily. "Yes." At Harry's worried look she laughed. "And hide experiments gone wrong."

"Like?"

"Like Mendeleev gloves gone berserk. You don't want to release those outside the laboratory."

"I imagine not. So are we behind where we have Potions?"

"Yes. That's got very thick walls around it, too – you need them when people make things that go bang."

"So where exactly are we going?"

Luna beamed. "We're not going anywhere. We're here."

She stopped outside a wooden door. The wood was so dark it was almost black. Harry fancied he saw something leering at him from its shadows.

Something bright – a flicker of yellow? – moved in the corner of his eye. He turned, and realised he must have seen someone moving in one of the paintings. But that person (if such it had been) was gone.

"How do you open the door?"

Luna looked at him wide-eyed, as if he was a Space Bunny asking about the best place to buy radioactive carrot juice. She lifted a hand, placed it on the heavy black iron ring, and jerked. The door opened with only the faintest creak.

"It's not locked."

"Oh," said Harry, feeling stupid.

"Getting in is easy. Providing you touch the handle and not the wood, of course. Staying in one piece is trickier," said Luna. "Hello, my name is Luna."

"What?" Harry wondered if touching the door handle had sent her a bit… Loony. Then he saw it. "Hey… the door…"

The door was open, yes, but unlike every other warding charm he knew, this didn't seem to inactivate the protective spells. Quite the opposite. In the dark wood of the door, dark magic bloomed and darker things flashed. A tail flicked. A fin – Harry swore that's what it looked like – a triangular fin could be glimpsed as darkness swam within darkness. Something pale gleamed for a moment in a brief semicircle. It made him think of the grin of a shark. He gaped at the door, lifting his hand to see if he could touch the pictures he saw in the dark wood…

Another hand was there, resting on his wrist. "Leave it alone, Harry," Luna said quietly. You don't want to touch _that._ Now say your name."

"Er… Hello, my name is Harry Potter?"

"Harry Potter is with me, Luna Lovegood, on benign Hogwarts business."

The darkness settled.

"Good. Now we can step over the threshold."

"What would have happened… otherwise? Or if I'd touched the wood?"

"I don't know about crossing the threshold. But I think I tried opening the door and touching the wood one time just to see. I ended up in the Infirmary for a day or so until Madam Pomfrey cured me of thinking I was a chicken. Occasionally when I'm really tired I still have this urge to peck at corn."

Harry followed her into a rectangular room about thirty feet long. Suspicious light from windows along the long wall opposite their door showed the room to be stone walled with sinks set into granite benches beneath the windows. Cupboards were lined up along the opposite wall. Running down the centre was a narrow bench decorated with scorch marks. At one end was a stained metal bench with a hood over it; a fan set into the hood suggested air could be sucked out of the room. Harry had a moment's claustrophobia at the thought of being stuck in this room with its unbreakable walls if the door was locked and the fan sucked out all the air… When he moved sideways, he realised what he'd thought were windows were in fact floating a few inches in front of the wall. And each window showed a view from a different side of the castle. That was what had made the light seem so odd, then. So no escape that way should he need it. At the other end of the room was a door which merged into the shadows with ease. Next to it were shelves of glassware: it looked like a drunk glassblower had taken on a bet which involved him creating a range of ornamental pipes while he had hiccups. Harry's eyes began to water as he tried to follow one coil through to its end…

"Don't look at the glassware too closely," Luna advised. "It's alchemist-grade, and it's been made to go through a few more dimensions than usual."

"Oh. Right." Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "So are we going to hide the Sickle here?"

"Just though the door."

Harry eyed the shadowed door dubiously. Then a thought hit him. "Was this Snape's workroom?"

"Yes. His private quarters are through that way – oh, don't worry, we're not going into them. There's a short passage connecting the two areas."

"And we're going there? Why?"

"Because that's a good place to store the Sickle. Nobody comes here now. Except for me, of course."

"It must be a good place then," said Harry, somewhat sourly. He didn't like Luna's logic. Or her near-admission that she came here regularly. "Well guarded, is it?"

"Oh yes."

"Then how come you can waltz in and out?"

Luna peered at him with that infuriatingly vague gaze. It wasn't totally dissimilar to looking up at the moon and finding it looking back. "I told you before – Professor Snape helped me on my projects so that I didn't destroy the school. He's got wards on his personal living space I wouldn't be able to breach, but he didn't mind me using the labspace."

"He didn't mind?" Harry said, trying to reconcile the Snape from memory with Luna's relaxed mentor version.

"Well… he didn't take points off Ravenclaw. And sometimes he even stopped me poisoning myself. But only if the poison was lethal. Sometimes he just laughed when there was nothing life-threatening going on. People tend to forget his really brilliant sense of humour, you know."

That sounded more like the Snape Harry had known and hated. Luna must have been some form of entertainment. Like the reality television Dudley had become addicted to over summer, only for Slytherin sadists.

He missed Severus. He looked around the small room. Snape – Severus – would have been in heaven having his own space to experiment within. Harry could imagine Severus allowing Luna in: her lack of malice might have grated, but Severus would have enjoyed her flair for lateral thinking.

Snape wouldn't have let her through the door.

"Harry? You're a million miles away."

"Hm? Sorry. Just thinking…" Not a million miles away, no. Twenty-one years. "Er, d'you have Dumbledore's key for the door here?"

ooOOoo

The key turned out to be the password 'kinkajou', whatever that meant. Possibly an Indian sweet. Probably random enough that no-one – even those who knew Snape – would be able to guess it. Harry suspected there was some invisible, internal magic Dumbledore had given Luna, however: he sensed a certain drift to the magic in the room that centred around her as she spoke the password. The dark timbers rippled briefly ("Don't tell me; I mustn't touch the wood.") and the door swung open. It was very dark through the door, so Harry took out his wand and lit it. They stepped into the narrow, low-ceilinged passage and peered around. A door identical to the one they'd just come through closed off the opposite end a few meters away, the wand-light absorbing into its matt surface. To their left stood a series of tall wooden cupboards. Luna walked on and for a moment Harry feared she would go through the next door – the idea of going uninvited into Snape's personal rooms itched like nettleburn in Harry's conscience – but she stopped at the second to last cupboard. This one was tall, with a door like a wardrobe's. Harry moved to stand a little closer to her.

The wood, paler than the nearly black doors, was perfectly flat. In the steady light from Harry's upheld wand the grain seemed to move like the fur over a sleeping cat's ribs. There was a brass lock, unadorned under its tarnish.

"This is where we can leave the Sickle. Get ready," Luna said. She sounded like she was trying desperately not to sound frightened. Harry frowned and moved forward, lifting a hand to stop her.

Too late.

"Masquerade. _Alohomora."_

The spell shot out of her wand and into the lock. Which began to glow. Luna was stepping back, saying, "Harry, I think it isn't w-" when the glow pulsed out once.

Harry blinked as the afterglow flowered green and yellow in the backs of his eyes.

Luna was gone.

"Oh, shit."

"Don't swear, Harry," a voice creaked. It sounded like the wood of the cupboard was twisting.

Wand raised before him defensively, Harry sidled forward and peered at the cupboard door.

That was odd. He was sure there hadn't been a picture there before.

Because now there was. A bas-relief carved into the wood of a young woman tapping her wand against her hand in annoyance as she looked back at him.

Harry peered closer. "…Luna?"

"Harry," the cupboard door creaked. Oak grains moved to shadow the mouth as it moved.

"Oh my God… Luna! How do I get you out of there?"

"Go and get Professor Dumbledore, please."

"Hermione could –"

"No!" She seemed to be taking a deep breath. "The headmaster knows about the wards. But don't let Draco know I've asked for him."

"What?"

"Harry," the door creaked, "we need Draco. And do you think he'd keep working with us if he knew Dumbledore was involved?"

Harry had to admit she had a point. Although he wasn't sure why it was so important to keep Draco on side. "All right, all right… But if he asks then I'm telling him. I'm not going to lie."

The bas-relief nodded with, Harry thought, a shade of reluctance. "I guess you're right."

"You only guess?" Harry grinned, beginning to relax now it seemed she wasn't in any real danger.

"Huh. Just get Dumbledore and get me out, will you? I don't like being two-dimensional."

"Nobody does. You've got a hint of a third dimension if that's any help."

"Harry!"

"Okay, okay. I'm going, I'm going!"

ooOOoo

He was hurrying along the corridor when a voice called out to him, "So. It didn't go quite to plan?"

Harry looked around.

"Over here, sweetie."

It was the portrait of the woman in the yellow robes.

"Er… Stephanie?"

She curtseyed then smiled and straightened her robes. There were matching yellow ribbons in her brown hair.

"So you remember me, do you?" she said.

Harry paused. There was a twinkle in her eyes that came from more than paint. "Yes. You were there after the Shrieking Shack. How long have you known me?"

"More than twenty years." She laughed. "Longer than you've been alive. I was the only one who never had her memory altered. I take it the spell to open the cupboard door failed?"

"Yes. Luna's stuck."

"In the cupboard?"

"Er, sort of."

"Oh, in the door then. It could have been a lot nastier, considering who set the wards. Look, I'll go and get Albus. I suggest you go and get some hair from your horse's forelock."

"What? Why?"

A slight hesitation. Then, "Well, he's an edge-creature. Luna's stuck between two dimensions – stuck in wood, I might add. Oak, luckily. If all else fails, I hope you've still got that Sickle…"

"Shh! You know about the Sickle?" Harry hissed, keeping his voice down and looking around. But they were alone.

"Of course, silly. Now go on, off you trot. Or canter. Hair from the forelock – three strands, if you would. Run along, Harry!"

She sped off from portrait to portrait, climbing upwards and, Harry presumed, reappearing in another portrait upstairs.

Shaking his head, Harry nonetheless turned right at the top of the stairs and headed outside. He jogged towards the paddock.

ooOOoo

By the time he returned, Dumbledore was already in the little passageway. Harry heard his voice as he came through the workroom. He thought he heard the creak of Luna's replies.

"Headmaster?"

"Harry. In here. Careful not to touch the doors. My word, Miss Lovegood has certainly got herself into a state this time! I haven't seen such a spell put into effect in, oh, it must be nearly fifty years."

Harry peered through the doorway. "Let me guess, Tom Riddle used one like this?"

"Actually," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling like mad in the gloom, "it was used on him. Professor Boggle had a devil of a time trying to lift it. In the end young Professor Flitwick, who'd just been appointed, came and released him. He's always said since that it was the one misuse of magic he'd ever done, letting Tom Riddle out of the box. I still tweak him about it on occasion. The key," Dumbledore continued, taking out his wand, "that Filius found, was the use of hair from an edge creature. Or possibly the hair from the maker of the spell, and in Tom's case a certain young Miss Pince was most disgusted at the thought of donating a lock of hair for the cause, so Filius had to use some Kneazle hair. Did you get some from Simon?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent. If you please…"

Harry handed the hair over. Dumbledore wound the strands around his wand and tapped it against the flattened Luna's forehead.

There was another glow, and as it faded Harry saw Luna stepping out of the door.

She smiled in relief and jumped up and down, flexing her knees. "How awful. I'd hate to be a portrait."

"Oh, I think many of them enjoy their relative freedom," Dumbledore replied. "What do you say, Stephanie?"

"It's much better than being married," the portrait replied from the one and only painting in the passage. She was sitting in the frame of a small impressionist picture of a garden. She dangled a bare foot in a pool of water lilies. "Mind you," she said, pink lips now artfully angled brushstrokes curving with silent laughter, and she gestured with a careless hand around at her surroundings, "it was worth marrying husband number three – even if I only married him for his Monet."

"Now, now, don't sour them so young," Dumbledore admonished, his blue eyes brightening with amusement.

Luna, still brushing herself off, smiled up at the painting. "Isn't it lucky you didn't marry him for his Picasso? You'd never have managed to run and find the headmaster with a leg sprouting out of your ear."

The portrait laughed and stood, brushing down her robes. "Well, I'll leave you three to it. I've got an appointment for tea with Sir Cadogan. Honestly, never play cards with that man… chivalry is dead when it comes to collecting winnings…" And she left.

Luna sighed as she eyed the cupboard. "I'll try again. This time the unlocking spell first… then the password."

It worked. The door swung open with a faint whine of unoiled hinges. They peered into the cupboard.

Something leered back out at them – some_one_ with a white face and black robes.

Harry drew a sharp breath and whipped out his wand. The hex was on the tip of his tongue when Dumbledore put a hand on his and pushed it down. "It's all right, Harry."

Harry's heart was beating triple time. It slowed as he realised what he'd seen as dark eyes staring out of him from behind Death Eater's mask were just shadows.

But the mask was real. As were the robes.

"Sorry," Luna was saying. "I should have warned you these were here."

"Yeah…" Harry took a shaking breath. He reached in and, when nobody stopped him, took out the mask. It was cold to his fingers, but it didn't sting with static evil as he'd been expecting.

"Put it back," Luna said quietly.

Harry shot a look at her. Her face was drawn and nearly as pale as the mask. "Sorry," he said.

She shrugged. "'S okay."

But it clearly wasn't.

Feeling guilty, Harry hung the mask up again. "Well. Do you think the Sickle will be safe in here?"

"Given the secrets stored in here, there's no place safer," said Dumbledore. He looked as unhappy as Luna.

Harry hadn't really meant he was worrying about someone coming and finding it – it was obvious no-one came looking for things here – or no-one did now – but he was worried about something rubbing off onto the Sickle. This mask might have been made by Voldemort. What would it do in the presence of such a powerful artefact as Hufflepuff's Sickle?

"Harry…"

"It's just a mask now," said Dumbledore firmly. "Inert and without purpose. Its only danger is in its symbolism."

Harry didn't need any more urging. He put the Sickle into the small box built into the back of the cupboard's base and closed the door quietly.

It was difficult to shake the feeling that the mask watched him go.

They went back into the workroom and closed the door to the passage with a sense of relief. Dumbledore clapped his hands together and said, "I think it's about time we had something to cheer us up. Dobby?"

Harry jumped as the house elf appeared out of thin air – he'd probably never get used to that.

Dobby beamed at the sight of the three, with particular warmth for Harry. "What is it you is wanting, sirs and young lady?"

"Hot chocolate," said Dumbledore. "And some macaroons, please."

Dobby bowed and disappeared with a sharp _crack!_

Luna looked around. "Huh. It still needs tidying."

"I don't think Professor Snape was keen on having house elves come in here on a regular basis," said Dumbledore. "Not after that unfortunate incident involving the carnivorous fennel."

"Yes, you can still see the bite marks in the table." Luna pointed at the other end of their table, which had been made from very old oak (or possibly it had been soaked in tea for decades, or there had been a lot of fires in this room – whatever the source of the staining, there was no doubt the table had suffered from it). Harry frowned at the bite marks.

"I didn't know carnivorous fennel got big enough to make such marks," he said.

"It helps if it's been watered with engorgement potion."

"Ah. Yes, that would do it."

Dobby snapped back, a tray balance on one hand. "Sirs, Miss. Hot chocolate with marshmallows," he declared proudly. "And macaroons aren't cooked, so Dobby brings gingerbread. Most good!"

"I'm sure it is," Dumbledore smiled. "Thank you, Dobby."

"Is pleasure."

With another of those whip-crack noises, Dobby was gone as soon as dismissed.

Luna was still looking at the marks on the table. "I think these ones are from acid… it's a bit lighter. As for those ones," she went on with the smile of someone romping through the soft pink cotton-candy clouds of happy reminiscences, pointing at a set of deep grooves sliced into the wood with the ease commonly attributed to hot knives and butter, "I think they were from the Mendeleev gloves I tried to make. They became a little violent when I cast the binding spells for the anti-ley energy."

"I thought Severus was the one casting those spells," Dumbledore said. His eyes weren't twinkling, and his shaggy silver eyebrows had drawn together forbiddingly. Harry had the sense he was suddenly very angry, although it was hard to tell from the mild tone. "That's very Dark Magic…"

"Well, he taught me to put up a soul wall," Luna said idly, and bit into a slice of gingerbread with obvious enjoyment.

Dumbledore opened his mouth but nothing came out. It was rare to see the ancient wizard stumped for words.

Eventually, he croaked, "That's rather an unusual ability."

"Is it?" Luna's protuberant eyes widened further. A few gingerbread crumbs hit the surface of the table, and she brushed them away. "Well, Professor Snape could do it. I think he knew a few people who could do it, too. I expect Draco could learn it quite easily."

"Why?" Harry asked jealously.

"You get that feeling just being around him. Some people shouldn't use Dark Magics, but others – well, I'm not saying they _should_, but they can shield against the backlash if they have to use them. Professor Snape could. And don't worry, sir," she added to Dumbledore, "he only let me work with anti-ley energy after I'd proven my soul wall."

"How comforting."

"It is. Should I teach Harry?"

"I should hope it's not something he needs to learn. However, if he wants to learn, he should discuss it with Professor Lupin."

"What about Sirius?" Harry asked, uncomfortable with the idea of extra lessons with Remus.

"He can't manifest a soul wall. Remus can."

"Is it strong?" Luna asked.

"My goodness, I wouldn't know. I've never been able to raise one in my life."

Luna nodded as if that wasn't surprising. "I guess you're someone who's never needed to. But if you use Dark Magic without one, well…"

"D'you reckon Voldemort can?"

Luna and Dumbledore exchanged glances. "Good question," Dumbledore said. "I don't think he's ever wanted to. Most people who delve in the Dark Arts are not concerned with the welfare of their souls."

"I wonder if Pettigrew could," Harry mused.

"Another question to ask Remus. And now, I should go. It's not a good place for me to linger," said Dumbledore, looking around the dark workroom with an air of regret Harry found odd. He stood. "I shall take my leave of you, trusting that you and your friends will not do anything I wouldn't do." He winked, his blue eyes having regained a part of their usual twinkle. He patted the door frame on his way out. "Ah, good solid oak… it's absorbed a lot of explosions in its time…"

"Potions or temper?" asked Harry, thinking of Snape.

Dumbledore chuckled and shook his head. Harry heard him speaking softly to a few of the paintings as he walked off along the corridor.

Luna began to bustle around the cupboards, making Harry frown with her familiarity with the room. She tipped water out of a cauldron sitting in one of the deep stone sinks. "Deary me. It's going to rust through… I should have cleaned this out _weeks_ ago. What on earth was in here, anyway?"

"Are you sure you want to find out?"

Luna smiled at him. "No. But I think it was just something for Madam Pomfrey. We had that rash of rashes after the house elves tried whipping up Nettle Surprise…"

"Oh yes." It would have been quite palatable except the house elves had mixed Stalking Nettle with Screaming Pasta. That had been… interesting. "That was right before Voldemort attacked Hogwarts." And Snape had been killed. "Hey, isn't one of the Aurors hiding out down here?"

"Who, Price? Yes, I run into him occasionally. Make sure he realises you're not one of the Marshmallow People, and he's harmless."

"What? Why are you hanging out down here in the Dungeons?"

She dragged out a smaller pewter cauldron, banged it on a bench, and shrugged. "It's peaceful down here. Most of the Slytherins are used to seeing me around by now and it's a good place to come and think when it's raining and Simon's in one of his moods. Here we go – this is the grade we're looking for. Come on, Harry – shake a leg. See if you can find the right kind of stirring rod. They're in those drawers there…"

"What are we making again?"

"A base for something Hermione and Draco are working on. I told them we could whip something up in half a jiff – you don't mind, do you?"

"Er, I guess not… but… yeah, I'm fine. It's not like I can do anything until we bring Sirius down tomorrow. What exactly is it that Hermione and Malfoy are trying to do?"

"They're trying to – Harry, don't touch that!"

ooOOoo

When Harry woke up it was to see Madam Pomfrey bending over him. The ceiling of the Infirmary was white and lofty above, and cool sheets and a soft pillow told him he was somewhere restful. "How are you feeling, Harry?"

"Puk, puk, puk-erk!" clucked Harry.

Oh, blimey, he thought. I must have touched the door.

ooOOoo


	63. Chapter 63

Disclaimer: Characters and settings not mine; they still belong to JK Rowling (who must be a good person because she lets others play with her toys). I promise to play nicely with them in the meantime and put them back in the box when I'm finished.

A/N: This was meant to have been one chapter but ended up being two. I blame Elmsworthy, who showed up out of nowhere. Or possibly Millicent, who invited him. Who is this guy, anyway? And what does he think he's doing wandering into my story?

ooOOoo

Chapter 63: Qapla', Comrades  
  
Draco knew it was a bad idea as soon as he realised there was no way he'd be able to shake off the Weasel. No way would the Know-It-All go into some dingy old forest packed with spiders and Merlin-knew-what without one or the other of her boyfriends. And as Potter was busy trying to stash the Sickle somewhere unincriminating, it had to be Weaselby. One benefit other than the obvious, owl-related one, Draco reminded himself, was that Weaselby would ask less questions than Potter, Potter having decided it was his role in life to stick his nose into each and every thing that went on in the castle. At least Weaselby (Draco would have to remember to call him Weasley for the sake of diplomacy) was smart enough to know he wasn't the moral majority (no, that was the insufferable know-it-all, but at least she seemed to know where the line was regarding Draco's patience). It wasn't that Draco planned on keeping all of this secret from Potter and Luna for ever, but he felt more comfortable giving out information in his own time. By now Potter would have been demanding to know where exactly they were sending this note, and what was in it.

_Thank you, Luna, for keeping do-gooders out of my hair._

Draco would have had no recourse but to scrap the plan if Potter had tagged along. Or wait until another messenger became available, which, given the options so far, would be just this side of never.

But when, after the meeting and after he'd been back to his dorm to get some peppermints and the letter, he met up with Granger and Weaselby in the entrance hall and they walked down the steps out of the castle, it was a good beginning to find that Weasley's lips (there, Draco thought proudly – he was calling him Weasley already! He gave himself a mental pat on the back), though set tightly with annoyance at being in Malfoy's presence (right back at you, thought Draco), were at least not flapping with assorted idiotic questions. That was a very good start.

Maybe, however, it was the prospect of going into the Forest that was bugging him.

It was bugging the hell out of Draco. And he wished that damned Kneazle of Granger's, tucked in her arms, would stop giving him such a scornfully smug look.

Weasley, Granger and Granger's motley mog to his left, the immediate future which could involve Acromantulas before him, Draco was not in the mood to be bothered by Millicent coming up on his right.

"Comrade Draco! I'm glad I caught you before you left." Her hands were dirtied. She looked like she'd just been doing Herbology, but there were no classes today. Her dark hair was a little messier, too.

Draco sighed inwardly. "What is it, Comrade?" He ignored Weaselby's eye-roll. _Weasley's_ eye-roll.

Millicent wasn't frowning – not quite. But she looked askance at the two Gryffindors. "Are you all right?"

"Huh?" Then Draco realised how strange it must look: himself in the company of Weasley and Granger without some sort of buffer in the form of a fellow Slytherin or a teacher. Or plain old blood, which was the usual order of the day. "Oh. Right. Yeah, fine." He shrugged, trying to suggest that sacrifices had to be made.

Millicent levelled a stare at him, her way of suggesting that sacrifices had to be made, yes, but normally these sacrifices involved flint knives and full moons. Not Gryffindors (well, not unless they were the ones lying on the table, of course). "I think I overheard something about you going into the Forest, Comrade?"

"Yeah. Project. We're checking the barrier for thin areas. Granger's taking Weasley along as backup seeing as Potter's unavailable and Weasley doesn't trust me with his girlfriend."

Granger was rolling her eyes, now. Weasley's ears were imitating twin sunsets.

"Okay. Well, speaking of backup, given the recent upheavals I think it would be safer for _you_ to take someone as backup."

"Milli'…"

She tilted her head. "Drake. Apart from Azkaban escapees and deranged Muggle animals" (Draco was glad he hadn't told her he was taking Simon along as protection) "I've just broken up a fight between two Ravenclaw turd-years and a Slytherin second-year."

"Who started it?"

"Probably Comrade Steve. But he didn't deserve to be planted. Luckily his trouble beacon went off and Comrade Vincent and I got there in time before he flowered."

"What's happened to the 'Claws?"

"Comrade Vincent is talking to them."

Draco's blinked at the mental image of Vince Crabbe swaying anyone by force of verbal argument.

Millicent must have picked up on that, because she shrugged, slightly embarrassed. "In fact, he's currently taking them to one of the oppressors and explaining how they should have taken their grievances to the Slytherin prefects instead of…"

"Would that have done anything?" Weasley asked, one red eyebrow cocked in disbelief.

Millicent gave him one of her level, I'm-only-pretending-to-be-this-dense stares. "Yes." She turned back to Draco. "Comrade Pansy is liasing with one of the elitist oppressors over the matter."

"Er… which elitist oppressor?"

"Well, one of the less elitist… Professor Flitwick. After elections I thought we could have a committee to nominate Honorary Comrades. He could be one."

"He's not really an oppressor, no," Draco agreed. "He's even been giving out less homework."

"But the point is that it's not really safe for any comrade to be out alone. Especially with those subversive running-dogs of the despotic totalitarian anti-Slytherin regime all over the place."

After a pause, Draco hazarded a translation. "Gryffindors?"

"Yes."

Hermione bristled. Her excuse for a cat growled. "That's an elitist put-down in itself! We're all in Hogwarts together – we should be working as a team, not pulling ourselves apart. Even the Sorting Hat has told us that. By labelling Gryffindors so harshly, all you do is perpetuate a negative stereotype. Not just of Gryffindors, but of Slytherins as well, showing Slytherins up to be a pack of intolerant bigots. Don't think I've forgotten you chuckling away every time Malfoy here called me a Mudblood, Bulstrode… that doesn't give you any bloody moral high ground, certainly not when it comes to targeting minorities!"

Millicent's face blanked as she ruminated on this. "You could have a point. Comrade Draco, you're in charge of inter-House diplomacy – or at least until we've had the elections and we've sorted out proper roles – what do you think about forming a committee for Hogwarts unity?"

_I'd rather stick my wand into my left eyeball_. "Smashing idea. Let's see how the elections go."

"Fair enough. And in the meantime, as you're one of the leading candidates for Comrade President…"

"What?"

"You are, according to Comrade Theodore, who's been doing random polling. Sorry. I know you'd rather not be bogged down with all that presidential stuff…"

No, Draco _hadn't_ wanted to be bogged down with all that presidential stuff, but now, at the thought of the title 'Comrade President' – hell, he could even cope with being called 'Comrade' provided 'President' was tacked up right after it – his imagination glittered. And he _wanted_.

"… stuff, but because you're a leading candidate, it's more likely your safety will be compromised."

"I don't think these two are about to bump me off… not immediately, anyway," Draco amended, after seeing Weasley's eye twitch.

"Perhaps not. But as there are two major factions within Slytherin – you-know-_what_ I mean," she added archly, surprising Draco who hadn't known Bulstrode could be slightly curved, let alone arch, "and your allegiances are, well, really murky, either side could try knocking you out."

"So what am I supposed to do? Get a bodyguard?"

"Comrades Vincent and Greg had asked me if I could talk to y –"

"No."

She sighed. "I thought not, no. So I'm reactivating your trouble beacon…" she took out her wand and tapped him between the eyes, making him blink as a spark of green shot into his forehead "…and as you're going into the Forest, I've asked Comrade Tyrol to accompany you."

"Huh?" said Draco and Weasley in unison.

"Just a minute…" began Granger.

"And here he is now. Comrade. Just in time."

"Sorry I took so long, Comrade. I had to get some supplies. Comrade." Tyrol Elmsworthy, a lanky seventh-year with spiky brown hair, a long, morose face and air-cooled front teeth, nodded to Draco. "Granger. And… er… Weasley, wasn't it?" he said in his hoarse voice.

"Elmsworthy," Granger said, obviously trying not to say something that would spark a row, although she didn't seem as unfriendly as Draco might have expected.

Weasley had less reserve. "Excuse me, but this isn't some sort of Gryffindor/Slytherin junket. No offence, Elmsworthy, but what the hell are you doing coming into the Forest with us? It's dangerous enough without extra Slytherins. No offence."

Elmsworthy's sneer could have been learned from Snape. He shrugged a little, readjusting what appeared to be a bandoleer under his cloak. Draco glimpsed the tops of little glass bottles. Oh yes, Elmsworthy had a reputation as being quite the innovator. Some Slytherins claimed he was a genius. Others countered with solid statistical evidence showing he'd been the source of more explosions than Longbottom. Draco, while admiring the fact that Elmsworthy was probably the genuine article insofar as genius was concerned, had never been particularly friendly towards him. Elmsworthy was a Halfblood. And not in the least bit ashamed of it. People who took exception to his lack of shame and tried to convince him of Pureblood supremacy (mistakenly thinking the face of a sorrowful clown reflected the harmlessness of a clown) tended to wake up a different shape than the one in which they'd gone to bed.

Even sad-faced clowns retain some sense of humour.

After one morning when he'd woken up to find his hands had turned into feet and vice versa, Draco left well enough alone. Sometimes the face of a sorrowful clown masks the calculating and vindictive mind of a Slytherin Potions genius. Draco had got off comparatively lightly, he'd been told by a dismissive Snape, who took a dim view of being woken up by students early on Sunday mornings, even when that student was Draco.

Things in Slytherin might have gone hard for Elmsworthy from the beginning except for three things: his cunning with potions and their applications; the fact that Snape fully approved of any justifiable revenge that didn't end up giving him extra paperwork; and Elmsworthy senior was the ambassador to South East Asia. Elmsworthy had immense political clout, was on first-name terms with most of the other children from diplomat families, Trudi for example, and had managed to source Snape some truly spectacular (if legally dodgy) ingredients for Snape's own experiments, thus bribing for himself a cubby-hole in Snape's limited affections.

But it didn't mean Draco wanted him trailing along.

On the other hand, it looked like Comrade Tyrol didn't think much of Weasley. That was a plus. "I know it's dangerous. I've seen you trying to use a wand, Weasley. _No offence._ That's why Comrade Millicent asked me to make sure Comrade Draco comes out of the Forest alive."

"It's not like we're going to cut his throat and leave him for the scavengers," Granger pointed out primly as Weasley coloured around his freckles.

"Maybe not, but it's safer if you've got someone else along," Elmsworthy said more patiently. "Look, I'm bored and this is the perfect opportunity for me to practise some of the more interesting compounds I've been working on."

"How did you go with the modified fingerprint potion you were working on?" asked Granger, disconcerting Weasley as well as Draco, going by Weasley's sudden frown. "Did the okra work?"

Elmsworthy's ugly face brightened. "Yes. The okra seeds proved to do the trick. I'll show you later if you like."

"That'd be super," enthused Granger. Weasley glowered.

Draco sighed. It didn't look like he'd be able to shake Elmsworthy off now that it turned out he was bestest buddies ever with Granger. On the other hand, Elmsworthy, like most of those from diplomatic families, was as apolitical as it got. His family had made a long lineage career from quietly continuing on the work despite the whims of whichever maniac took up the reins of the wizarding world. Diplomats weren't only immune in _other_ countries: no minister of magic or temporary despot had ever been insane enough to meddle with the smiling arm of international bureaucracy. If the Dark Lord took over, Elmsworthy's family would serve him as diligently as they'd ever served Fudge, although it was doubtful Elmsworthy's Muggle mother would ever meet any Death Eaters, let alone the Dark Lord himself. The traditional neutrality of the diplomats made Elmsworthy perhaps the best person to have along as help, should help be needed.

Unfortunately Draco's long memory for hurts to his pride wouldn't let him forget the humiliation of having to go to a sneering Professor Snape to have his feet and hands re-exchanged.

"Well, shall we go?" he managed smoothly.

Elmsworthy and Weasley shrugged. "Yes, let's," said Granger.

Draco nodded a farewell to Bulstrode, as did Granger. Millicent nodded back to Draco and ignored Granger and the Weasel. Draco rather suspected Millicent's abilities for settling disputes didn't extend to being cordial to Gryffs. Everyone had their limit.

"This way," he said, turning left.

"I thought we were going into the Forest?" said Elmsworthy.

"We need to get my other bodyguard," Draco replied.

ooOOoo

"You sure about this, Malfoy?" Elmsworthy said, studying the tall black horse from narrowed eyes. Simon, who had come at Draco's call (luckily – Draco didn't want the presence of Black sprung on Elmsworthy, who hadn't been at the meeting), had sniffed at the new person, snorted explosively at the bandoleer, and was now eyeing the lanky Slytherin just as intently. What with Elmsworthy's long face and protruding teeth set in an expression of intense mistrust and Simon curling his upper lip slightly to show his own yellowing incisors, there was a definite mirror-like surrealism to the scene.

"Oh, don't worry about him, he's just an old softy," Draco said grimly, determined not to laugh, as he pulled at the leadrope, trying to convince Simon that the gate was a good direction to start walking in. Unfortunately Simon was more concerned with the stranger in the paddock. "It's the potions smell. He's like that when I come up from Potions – and when Luna goes to see him after Care of Magical Creatures. He's even worse then – horses are very sensitive to smell. He goes completely bonkers when Lupin's around – I think he can smell that he's a werewolf."

"Do you think it's because Neville spends so much time helping Professor Sprout with her more exotic plants that Simon doesn't like him?" Granger asked. She, like Weasley, was keeping her distance from the horse. Her cat was sulking in her arms. Granger had tried introducing it to Simon. Simon had taken one sniff and snorted loudly, Granger emitting a squeal of disgust as the horse showered her and the cat with a light spray of snot. The cat had hissed and tried to do a runner; but Granger caught it by the tail only just in time. She'd taken the event in stride with a sort of grim fortitude, wiping her face and the cat as best as she could with a sleeve, wincing at the scratches on her neck. Even if it was funny, Draco found himself grudgingly respecting the way she didn't complain.

"No, he just doesn't like Longbottom," replied Draco. "Come _along_, Simon…"

"Well, I don't like Longbottom either," Elmsworthy said. "He's the first person in Hogwarts to come close to my meltdown rate."

Granger grinned. "Can't stand competition, can we?"

"Can't stand having to scrounge around for new cauldrons," Elmsworthy replied, his long face particularly morose. "Does that thing eat living flesh?"

"No," Draco snapped. He patted Simon's shoulder. Draco had taken the blanket off and Simon gleamed in the sunlight. "He's not a thing – he's an excellent creature."

Elmsworthy stretched out a hand and, when it wasn't snapped off at the wrist, patted the long nose. "Hmm," he said, examining his fingertips for the minute traces of dirt left from Simon's coat. "Just the slightest bit oily, what? Like one of those Hippogriffs."

"Well, they _are_ half horse," Draco pointed out, beginning to get cross at this continued belittling of Simon.

"Oh, are they really? I say, how lucky for me that you've pointed that out. I mean, I only did them for my OWLs and got an O, so I guess I'm no expert."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "If you're trying to fill the sarcastic potions maniac space just because Snape's gone, you're not managing very well."

Elmsworthy's nostrils flared. "I'm not. Neither am I some daft little Pureblood who can't figure out his own identity without his daddy giving him all the parameters."

Draco might have said something really nasty then, guaranteeing tomorrow morning's form would be much worse than the hands-feet episode, but Simon took charge of the situation by biting Elmsworthy.

"Ouch! The brute…" Elmsworthy reached into a pocket.

"Both of you knock it off," Granger said in her usual bossy fashion (and if she thought she could order Draco around like she did with Potter and Weasley, there was a nasty shock somewhere in the near future for her), putting her hand on the Slytherin's arm before he could draw a wand. "Simon has a point. We're going into something potentially dangerous. I don't care if Bulstrode says you're here for Malfoy's benefit, Elmsworthy, because right now you're not acting like you are."

Elmsworthy, to his credit, nodded. He rubbed his shoulder. "Sorry, Malfoy. Comrade. Whatever."

"It's Simon you should have apologised to," Draco grumped. "Oh, I'd better warn you – don't get out your wand with him around. Not when he's angry with you."

"Sorry?"

"He doesn't like wands much. He caught a few hexes in that last battle. Luna thinks he might have been owned by a wizard."

Elmsworthy frowned and, after the tiniest pause, took his empty hand out of his pocket. "He's a real horse, though?"

"Well, he's not an Animagus. Long story… Yeah, he's a horse and nonmagical, but I've got some charmed shoes on him – don't muck around with those."

"Those are the shoes that let you ride him through the barrier? Why don't you just ride through again? You could pop down to Hogsmeade and grab us a few bottles of butterbeer."

Draco didn't smile. "I don't want to use the same trick too many times." _And there's no way I want to go through that torture again ever in my life._ "Oh, by the way, there's an anti-theft charm in his chest. _Definitely_ don't touch that, by the way, it makes him homicidal."

"Don't worry, I won't. Huh. Well, a Muggle animal wouldn't have been used by Death Eaters."

"No, true."

"Sorry, horse. Comrade Simon. No hard feelings?" Elmsworthy smiled wryly, his hazel eyes creasing at the corners, the smile pulling at oddly shiny patches of old burns on his face. Simon allowed him to pat between his eyes, so evidently the horse considered one bite enough to settle an argument.

"Shall we go?" Weasley asked. His patience seemed to be wearing thin. Probably a red-head thing.

"Yes," said Draco. "Come _along,_ Simon. There. Good horse." He cast an eye up toward the dark entrance to the stable on the hill. Nothing moved there, to his relief. He wouldn't have put it past Black to do something stupid, like following them with a broken leg. Proud of his family tree though he was, Draco had to admit there were some complete dingbats hanging from its branches disgracing any intellectual contributions the family had made toward the wider community.

Simon swished his tail as they went through the gate, and swished it even harder when they walked through the trees on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. The horse slowed, dragging at the leadrope unhappily.

"Come on, Simon," Draco coaxed. "It's daylight. We're not going to go too far. I hope."

"I calculated the thinnest space should be within four kilometres of the anchor tree," Granger said.

"What's that in miles again?" asked Draco, who'd never bothered going metric.

"About two miles."

Draco felt the blood drain from his face at the thought of travelling _two miles_ into the Forest.

"Not more than three." She didn't appear to hear Draco's groan.

"Really? How'd you figure that?" Elmsworthy asked. Draco would have asked, too, just to make sure she had a valid reason, but he wouldn't have sounded half as interested in Hermione's opinion. Draco sneaked a look at Weasley, whose mouth was set in a thin line.

Ah. Weasley didn't like competition. Not that Draco thought Comrade Tyrol was romantically interested in Granger… or anything outside of a laboratory setting, for that matter. But this could be a tasty bit of entertainment.

The sun came out from behind clouds. Or maybe it was just the prospect of seeing Weasley with his knickers in a twist that brightened the day.

Simon cast the darkest cloud. The horse prowled along moodily behind Draco, ears swivelling and dark eyes searching out the shadows. Draco patted Simon on the neck and was ignored. Simon was working.

"It wasn't too hard – the hardest bit was finding out the right equations to use. I thought Biggham's Synthetic Parameters would be right, but they kept making three equal five…"

"Yes, you only get that when BSPs've been applied to standing wave-forms," Elmsworthy said happily, or as happily as he ever got. The effect made him look like a slightly less desolate undertaker. "It's a sure-fire sign that it's a standing wave. And BSPs are no good for those."

"No, talk about quarking up the wrong quanti-tree!" Hermione said, chortling. Elmsworthy grinned briefly – Draco guessed it was some sort of in-joke for the Arithmancy geek set.

Draco checked Simon again. No change there; the horse was still alert and in a bad mood. Hopefully that meant dire things for any monsters.

Granger was still talking, the know-it-all in her element, showing off. Seriously, if she could take out her brain and shove it under people's noses she would, she was that taken with own intellect. Well, at least it didn't seem to be harming anyone, even if it was getting up his nose. He had to admit, though, it was somewhat reassuring to have someone along who was capable of connecting more than two neurones. It was easy to get into the habit of thinking one was intellectually superior to everyone when your peers were Crabbe and Goyle. Reluctant to admit it though he was, Draco knew it was good to be challenged by the Mudbl- no, that wasn't diplomatic – good to be challenged by the Muggle-born chit.

"…So when I used the Huxley sub-variable to compensate for the fact it's oak-based…"

"– You based it around the Zaire Constant, of course –"

"– Oh, of course. And then I found that the wave-form has _secondary_ waves stacking up in reson-space over the primary."

"You're kidding!"

"No! I was absolutely stunned. These are ever so long, of course, and difficult to calculate temporally, but I had a stroke of luck –"

"– Malfoy was able to tell you the time discrepancy between either side of the barrier?"

"Yes! Exactly! And when I plugged that into the formula –"

"– Taking into account reson-_pi_ squared?"

"Exactly! Only I used the inverse…"

"I was just going to say…" Elmsworthy grinned.

"And bingo. There it was. Thin points, the closest being within a three point nine eight kilometre radius of the tree. Metric units, of course…"

"Ah, bless those Frenchies… can you _believe _what old Descart used to get up to in Cologne?"

"Meditations in front of a stove – hah! If you can call _that_ a stove…" Granger shook her head with a sniff of naughty disapproval.

Some bodyguard. What was the point of a bodyguard who spent all his time in orbit around Planet Granger? Weasley's scowl was about to leave a scar in his forehead to rival Potter's. Even that misbegotten furball's squashed face looked irritated.

"But what about the other trees?" Granger's new biggest fan was saying. "Three total, you were saying? Wouldn't the other two send back their own secondary waves to disrupt those of the others?"

Granger nodded. "Yes, quite fascinating. But – have you read anything on Turing?"

"Absolutely. One of the most underrated mathemages of all time."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Snape put me onto him, and I've found him invaluable for potions. Have you read his _Thinking Model of Efficacy_?"

"Five times. You get more out of it on each read."

"You do, don't you?"

Face contorted, Weasley mouthed _You do, don't you? You prat _at the indifferent trees.

Granger and Elmsworthy didn't appear to notice. Elmsworthy continued: "And he's got a new book coming out this year… if I can ever get hold of a copy. His daughter found some of his notes. She worked on them with some of his old apprentices and colleagues."

"Really? How exciting!"

"I'm just dying to read it. Now there's a good reason to get this rotten old barrier down."

"I'll say," Granger laughed. "Library ho!"

"Library ho!"

Draco found himself exchanging mutual looks of disgust with Weasley. They immediately looked away again – a Weasley and a Malfoy having something in common was bad enough without some sort of male-bonding going on.

ooOOoo

The found the tree – the three stones Potter had charmed to act as a beacon were still there undisturbed, sending out little magical blips Weasley (Potter had told him the frequency) picked up with a tuning charm. The tree was still invisible, but the small clearing was a hint that something should be there, and the stone Weasley threw bounced off something solid.

"Don't touch it," Draco warned. "I didn't enjoy it much the one time I did."

"I can believe that," said Elmsworthy, nodding sagely. "I've heard the static build-up can be lethal."

"Really? It's the tree you have to watch out for?" Hermione said sarcastically as she rubbed her arm. Simon had bitten her for getting too close.

"He's just trying to protect you," Draco said, tight-lipped. "Good boy, Simon."

"Huh."

Draco, who'd swotted up on Mendeleev gloves more than the others, used a magical echo charm similar to the one which had been embedded in his old gloves to calculate the distance to the barrier from the tree. He put a neat little Arithmantic triangulation formula into the secondary layer of the spell, allowing him to gauge distance not only from the tree but from the edge of the Forest. Granger even taught him a charm to convert the results into metric. The closest point was just under four kilometres from the edge of the Forest, according to the little silvery letters that floated in the air until a small breeze dispelled them, and almost spot on three kilometres from the tree. That was a relief – he hadn't fancied trudging two and a half mi- four kilometres directly into the heart of the forest. The closer to the edge the better.

"Oh, I was hoping the barrier might be a little bit closer here," said Granger, frowning slightly. "I didn't think You-Know-Who would have come this close to Hogwarts to set up an anchor tree unless he needed the barrier to be closer to the castle." She stared unhappily into the forest.

"Oh well," said Weasley, stretching out his arms until his shoulders popped. "Never mind. I vote we head slightly left. I mean, if the thin point is three point eight k's from here and the barrier itself is only three, that means there's a decent gap between them. And I'd rather take the point off to the left than the one on our right."

"I second that," said Draco.

"What's wrong with the one over to the right?" asked Elmsworthy, stretching onto his toes and peering through the trees even though his chances of seeing the barrier were near to impossible.

"Acromantulas," said Weasley darkly. "Three kilometres _that_ way would put us on the edge of their territory."

Draco nodded, wondering how Weasley knew where the Acromantulas lived. He realised with some surprise that he was standing on the healed leg, using his other foot to scratch the scar.

Elmsworthy paled. "Acromantulas? I hear their venom is useful… can't say as how I'd like to try harvesting it, however."

"Well, anytime you want to take a dekko that way, let me know," said Weasley. "And I'll be sure to be somewhere else, possibly alerting Filch to dig your grave." He shuddered, hunching his angular shoulders. "Spiders… Gah."

"Left it is," said Draco. "Come on, Simon."

With a heavy sigh, Simon followed, glowering at the dappled shadows.

ooOOoo

Despite everyone's pessimism, it was quite a pleasant walk. The talk subsided – the mention of Acromantulas had been a grim enough reminder that they weren't out on a picnic. Weasley took point, wand at the ready (Simon allowed this without any equine comment beyond a particularly cynical twitch of his left ear), Granger and Elmsworthy following. Then came Draco. A tense Simon brought up the rear. Weasley chose a deer trail, which angled along the gentle slope of a hill just nicely. This part of the Forest wasn't quite so densely wooded, and the increased visibility (plus occasional glades with a few late foxgloves and biting daffodils drowsing under the weak sunlight) reassured them. They saw nothing more threatening than the biting daffodils, although when one tried to take a chunk out of Draco's boot even Weasley didn't laugh: in the Forbidden Forest, even flowers needed to be taken seriously.

The daffodil whimpered and shrank back as a hoof landed next to it. Simon didn't stand on it, but the evil gleam in his eye suggested he was just waiting for a chance to do some serious damage. The daffodil cowered as best as it was able against the spreading roots of an oak. Above it, a small brown stick-creature shook a fist, warning it away from its tree.

"'When I return from trampling flowers, the hooves of my horse are fragrant',"* said Elmsworthy as he eyed the Bowtruckle with faint interest. "Or something like that."

"Is that a quote?" asked Draco, still cross with himself for letting his guard down. Not that his boot was marked by the buttercup, but it was the principle of the thing.

"A misquote, perhaps. From Chinese Muggle literature. Can't remember where I read it. Very elegant as threats go. Bit like your Simon there."

"Were you in China?" Granger asked.

"No. Mostly South East Asia. Malay. Kampuchea areas – sorry, Cambodia, I think we're meant to call it these days. Occasional forays into Ceylon at the farthest."

Draco pricked up his ears. "Er, is that where the Klingons come from?"

"Say what?"

"Klingons. Someone mentioned them and I've been trying to find out where they come from."

Elmsworthy's face went still. "Possibly," he said carefully, after a long moment. "I mean, there's a lot of International Federation of Warlocks influence there after all the atrocities that went on in Cambodia, and Klingons are notoriously anti-Federation."

Granger snorted. "Sorry. Grass seed went up my nose," she said. "_Qapla'!_"

"_Qapla'_, Granger," Elmsworthy intoned solemnly.

"Is that Klingon for 'bless you'?" Weasley said sourly. Draco couldn't be the only one who felt like the two uber-swots were not-so-subtly taking the piss. Or perhaps he should say 'extracting the urine' instead as he was in the presence of two self-professed intellectual giants.

Simon's tail swished again, recalling Draco to more physical perils than those his pride might be facing.

Simon's head went up and he yanked back on the leadrope. He snorted, startling Granger's cat, which tried to leap out of her arms again. Weasley leaped backwards as the bushes ahead rustled and a centaur stepped out onto the path. The centaur was armed with a bow and arrow – well, Draco could probably hit it fast enough with a curse if he had to – but no arrow was nocked. He looked like the centaur Draco had come across that night he'd been out looking for Snape. It had been hard to tell in the darkness, but he'd guessed that one had been a dun with brown hair and beard. This one was definitely a dun, with a dark dorsal stripe down its back and faint ribbing around its knees and hocks.

"Hello, sir," Draco said. His father reckoned centaurs to be subhuman. Perhaps they were. Now, however, was not the time to debate the issue. "It's a fine day. I hope I find you well."

The centaur raised an eyebrow. "As well as can be with the herd divided."

"I'm sorry to hear the herd is still divided. If it's any comfort, we're trying to find a way to bring the barrier down." Draco hoped the others would keep their mouths shut for a moment longer. Sometimes he found talking to potentially dangerous people or entities like a game of chess – it was best played with just the two opponents. Behind his new weapon of choice, politeness, Draco marshalled his thoughts and strategy, sure the centaur was doing exactly the same thing.

He smiled inwardly.

"I see. You strive hard for the benefit of centaurs, hmm?"

"No. Sorry. Purely selfish motives. We want to see our parents."

"Oh, but we mean to reunite you with the others in your herd, sir," said Granger, her eyes brimming over with earnestness. "It's important for all those of Hogwarts and the Forest, not just humans…"

"Do not presume to patronise me," the centaur said sternly. He held her gaze a moment longer until she blushed and dropped her eyes. He turned to Draco.

The centaur smiled; a rare event for a centaur.

"Honesty, young colt. Honesty! I don't recall your father ever giving me such a straight answer."

Oh, shit. The centaur'd had dealings with Lucius. Draco scratched his forehead. "He's never given me such a straight answer either if that's any consolation."

The centaur shifted a back foot and stroked his beard. "Yet you seek him out."

"Someone has to keep him out of trouble." If Weasley said anything now Draco would kill him slowly. There were plenty of secret places down in the dungeons…

The centaur didn't comment on this. Perhaps it was too obvious. Perhaps there was nothing not cruel for him to say. He stepped forward slowly, each hoof of his solid equine body easily twice the size of one of Simon's yet hitting the ground almost soundlessly. Weasley, Granger (clutching her cat) and Elmsworthy (rubbish bodyguard that he was) moved aside. If their wands were considered a threat, the centaur gave no sign of this. The centaur stopped before Draco, just at the point where Simon started tossing his head and pawing at the ground anxiously, and rubbed at his beard again as he stared at the horse.

"He found you that night."

"Er… yes?" Draco tried to stroke Simon's nose. Simon's eyes bulged with suspicion as he turned his head left and right to get a good picture of the centaur with both eyes. The horse snorted one of his long, low, rolling, what-the-bloody-fuck-is-this? snorts as he stared right back at the centaur.

The centaur nodded. "That is as it should be. Responsibility for one such as he is important. In your wizard view, perhaps, ownership is key."

Who exactly was he saying was responsible for whom? Draco for the horse, or the horse for Draco? This was getting out of Draco's depth as far as cryptic chess-game conversations went. "Ah… do you know his owner?"

"He is the owner. He is the owned. That rope you hold goes in two directions."

"Oh. I see." Yes, he did see. He saw that the centaur was a crazy centaur.

The centaur reached out one massive hand. To Draco's surprise, Simon gave one sharp snort and then allowed the centaur to stroke his nose. The centaur cupped his hand under Simon's chin, peering deep into the dark eyes. "He owns you. He owns them" – he tilted his head back towards the other students – "and in ownership lies responsibility. That is how he found you."

Yes – raving loony. Damn it. For a moment there Draco had been hoping for some centaur help. This centaur's idea of help probably involved certain interesting herbs.

Something seemed to glint momentarily in the centaur's dark, deep-set eyes. Impossible to tell if it was amusement or anger; curiosity or madness. The centaur turned and set off up a side trail, ducking his heavy head under a low oak branch. He paused halfway up the slope and turned, looking back down at them. "Keep left. The spiders are getting hungry and their webs spread further. There is only so much I with my arrows can do to prevent them. They hunt during the day now as well as night. I passed three scouts further back. Two will never see another moonrise. Keep your eyes and ears alert for their family. And, Wizarding colt, keep that rope between you and this horse. He is responsible, aye, but he is only a horse. If he gets confused he will leave you. He is not a dog to come when you whistle. He is a horse – they come when you rejoice or when you despair. Or not at all. That is the way of horses."

"Er… thanks. I'll keep that in mind." And then dump it in a Pensieve and lock it away in a cabinet before he could be infected with Mad Centaur Disease.

"There is no such thing as luck, but I wish you success. May Saturn align itself to your natal planets to allow you favourable fate."

"And you, sir," Draco called back as the centaur cantered up the rest of the slope and disappeared into the trees.

"He's a raving nutter," Weasley muttered.

Draco shrugged. "I'm not going to argue with him about the spiders. Nice to have a bit of a heads-up on them." He shivered. "Didn't think they'd be out in daylight hours. That was the whole point of going now."

"Should we turn back?" Granger asked. "We could ask some of the teachers to come out with us. Hagrid would."

Draco didn't sneer at hollow Gryffindor bravado as he might have done only a few months ago. Instead, he said, "I don't know. What does everyone think?"

Weasley and Granger looked at each other. "Well, we've come this far," said Weasley.

Elmsworthy said, "How about a show of hands? Everyone who wants to turn back, raise your hand."

No hands were lifted.

"Those who wish to continue?"

Four hands rose slowly.

"So be it," sighed Draco.

ooOOoo

*Elmsworthy quotes from "The Story of the Stone" by Barry Hughart.

ooOOoo


	64. Chapter 64

Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to JK Rowling and the Warner people. Although Elmsworthy might object (but perhaps not – he's a pretty clever sort of Slytherin so he should know when he's onto a winner).

ooOOoo

Chapter 64: Hurdles

After making sure everyone knew some spells and hexes to deal with spiders (Granger knew two Draco hadn't, so there was something he'd got out of the afternoon already), they kept going. It took less time than they'd thought, thanks to the trail they were following. The deer which kept it open were viewed a couple of times, once a solitary young stag which bounded off up another trail, ten minutes later there was a stag with several points to each antler and its mates, three hinds. The little herd cantered off downhill towards a stream, crashing through the undergrowth, the stag snorting alarm as it held its crown of antlers high. Simon watched them go with his own head high and his ears almost touching at the tips. Draco had to jiggle the leadrope firmly to get his attention.

They faced a few more hurdles – one was a literal hurdle: a fallen tree, the trunk lying across the path. Luckily it had been a particularly slender elm, so Weasley, Elmsworthy and Granger clambered over easily. But it was too long to lead Simon around – the hillside was very steep at this point, and Draco would have had to backtrack to find a way across the stream which had cut quite a deep bed between its slippery banks.

Draco stood, pulling at his lower lip thoughtfully as he eyed the trunk. It was about chest height for Simon. Too high for the horse to step over, of course. And he didn't know if Simon could jump so high. Then he remembered the fence outside the barrier – Simon had leaped over it easily when the Dementors had been chasing them. The sulky horse didn't seem keen on jumping anything now, and the leadrope wasn't long enough for Draco to let Simon get up a good gallop.

But did the horse really need to be running flat-out to jump over the log?

"Get a move on, Malfoy."

"Shut up, Weasley. I'm trying to work out how to get Simon over."

"How about levitating him?" Granger said. "Like Professor Flitwick did."

"You think you can levitate a horse? Because I don't care to try."

"Er…"

"I've got something to dissolve the log," Elmsworthy said. He fiddled with his bandoleer. "Stand back."

Once Draco and Simon had hurried back down the track a short distance, he threw a small glass phial at the tree. Smoke rose in a thick cloud. It cleared.

"That was brilliant, Comrade Tyrol. Smoke – and the tree's still there! How did you do it?" Draco sneered.

"Shut up." Elmsworthy picked up a long stick and poked at the tree. "Blast. It should have dissolved the cellulose matrix."

"Maybe it just needs more time," Granger suggested.

"Maybe it needs more work," Elmsworthy sighed.

Weasley said, "Maybe Malfoy could ride the horse over the tree. I've seen Muggles jump horses over trees – normally they have dogs and what-not. Foxes involved at some stage, too. The twins kept sneaking after the Muggles and nicking off with the foxes, making them smell invisible and hiding them. They found a way of making the foxes extra smart so they could outwit the Muggles. Mum found out, though, and put her foot down after a fox killed her chickens – killed the entire flock and only took a couple away with it. She was livid – reckoned it was a fox the twins had saved. Told the twins to stop making the foxes smarter and let the Muggles keep them."

"Poor foxes," said Hermione. "That's fox hunting you're talking about. It's terribly cruel, you know. How did she know it was one of their foxes, though?"

"It left a note thanking her for the chickens and asking her to replace them with ducks for a change of diet. Mum gave two Galleons to the local Muggle horse people the next time they did fund raising. How about it, Malfoy? Think you can jump Harry's horse over?"

"He's not Potter's horse, and why don't _you_ try jumping him over? Sitting on that spine is kind of like sitting on a broomstick, except that cushioning charms don't stick to him."

"Ouch."

"Exactly."

"Maybe you could run up and jump over," Hermione suggested. "He could run along after you."

Sounded incredibly undignified. But… "I'll lengthen the rope. Then I can climb up on the log and hopefully he'll have enough room to get up enough speed to follow me over."

"You sure he can't just jump over from a standstill?" Elmsworthy asked.

"Hmm. Worth a try, I guess," Draco said doubtfully. Now that the smoke had cleared, Simon followed him up to the log. Draco clambered onto it, avoiding the surprisingly large expanse the small phial of potion had stained with soot, and said, "Come along, Simon. Jump."

The horse walked up to the log and stared over it, obviously at a loss as to what Draco intended him to do. Simon sniffed at the sooty patch and then curled his upper lip back in distaste. Draco sighed.

"I'll try lengthening the rope. There. Hopefully that's not too thin – I don't want it to break." The rope now stretched out nearly twenty feet, but was correspondingly thinner. Draco wished he'd thought to bring the long flat longe-line Luna used.

"This horse is a liability, Malfoy," said Elmsworthy. "If the rope breaks and he trots off back to his field that won't be such a loss."

Draco shot him a vitriolic glare. "Back up, Simon." He lifted his arm up in front of him and made small chopping motions with his hand the way Luna had shown him when Simon was meant to walk backwards. Sure enough, Simon backed up. "Good boy, Simon. Keep going. That's it. Whoa, that's far enough. Okay now… Come on – gee up!" Draco jumped off the log and started jogging along the track, hearing Simon's hooves break into a reluctant trot on the other side of the log.

The hooves stopped. The rope jerked Draco to a halt. He looked back to see Simon glaring at him over the log.

"Just let him go back to the field, Malfoy. I'm sure he'll find his way back okay."

Draco ignored the other Slytherin. He coiled the rope as he walked back to the log. He patted Simon's head. "It's all right, Simon. I know you're just a little bit confused right now. Let's try again."

Weasley sighed loudly, but was hushed by Granger telling him, "Now, Ron, Harry'd be terribly upset it we left his horse wandering around in the forest…"

"FOR THE LAST TIME, IT'S NOT POTTER'S FUCKING HORSE!" Draco took a deep breath and calmed himself, realising it was lucky the log was between them because Simon wouldn't have let him get away with shouting like that otherwise. Maybe if he annoyed Simon enough the horse would jump over the log just to give him a nip. No – best to try something a little less violent. He climbed back up onto the log again. "Back up, Simon."

Once he'd backed up to the end of the rope again, Simon eyed Draco, ears cocked, plainly puzzled.

"Come on, Simon. You can do it!" Draco tugged on the rope until Simon broke into a trot. He jumped off the log and ran. The hoofbeats went into triple-time: Simon was cantering.

The sound of Simon's hooves lost the rhythm for a second. He was stopping. Draco turned, discouraged.

He was just in time to see Simon come flying over the log. The horse landed and kept cantering, bearing down on the students, and Draco, hastily gathering up great loops of the rope before Simon could trip on it, jumped sideways in the nick of time as the horse pranced to a halt where Draco had been standing.

Draco grinned in triumph, slapped Simon's shoulder and ruffled the mane. "See? Didn't I tell you he's a brilliant horse?"

"He nearly trampled you," Granger said, clutching her cat tighter.

"I was in his way. He knew I'd move. That's how smart he is," Draco boasted as he tapped the rope with his wand and reset it to its original length and thickness, although secretly he was a little rattled by having half a ton of animal bearing down on him. But it was worth it to show the other three that he, Draco, was right and they were wrong to have doubted him.

"Yeah, whatever. Come on, we've got ages to go," said Elmsworthy, clearly impressed but not wanting to show it.

Draco rolled his eyes.

They set off again, not looking back at the log.

A few wisps of smoke curled in the faint zephyrs.

ooOOoo

The wind rustled leaves high in the canopy and reached down to lift strands of Draco's fine white-blond hair from the hair-spell keeping it down, blowing it forward to tickle his nose. Elmsworthy's soft brown nest of spikes waved, as did Weasley's red mop. Granger's would take a small localised tornado to make an impact. Simon's mane ruffled in gleaming blue highlights along his crest as his head bobbed with each stride. But the breeze was welcome, for although the forest floor was cool the exercise would soon have brought them out in a sweat. It was easier to think when cool rather than hot.

Easier to think, yes, but not necessarily easier to notice things. Like any creatures sitting up in the tall beeches they passed beneath.

Simon had been getting progressively more nervous for some time now. He kept snorting low, rolling snorts and whipping his head around to glare into the shadows littering the forest floor along with drifts of last-year's leaves. Prancing and arching his neck, the horse barged into Draco for the third time, nearly knocking the boy over.

"Simon… calm down, boy…"

"We shouldn't have brought him. He's more trouble than he's worth," Elmsworthy complained. "Crikey! He nearly trod on me there! I say, get away, you brute!"

"Stop calling him that," Draco gritted out between clenched teeth as Simon pulled him around in a circle. He took a firmer hold of the leadrope. "Simon. Cut that out. Settle down, old boy."

Simon settled. For three whole seconds. Draco, moving forward to pat the horse reassuringly, was smacked in the face by Simon's head as Simon started and shied at yet another rustle of the wind.

"Ow! Fuck a bloody duck! Simon, you ar… dear old horse. Settle, I say." He glared at the horse as he rubbed his cheek. Simon's own cheek bone was hard as a brick and Draco had no doubt who'd be the one coming out of this encounter with a black eye.

Simon pawed at the ground in frustration. Then, when Draco (hoping his nose and eye weren't swelling too much) yanked at the leadrope, he followed, still prancing and twitching, refusing to walk like a normal horse. If there was such an animal.

"All right there, Malfoy?"

"Just fine, thanks, Granger."

The other three were cautiously putting a little more distance between them and the horse. That, along with Simon walking so close those great hooves kept clipping the backs of Draco's heels, didn't improve his mood. He was about to say something pointed about Gryffindor courage when a shadow flickered over him. It might have been the wind in the leaves or a bird, but the wind had died down and it had been a long time (come to think of it now) since he'd last seen a bird. There was the awful empty feeling of his stomach plummeting into his shoes as he realised he should have twigged to something being very, very wrong. But then the rope in his hands burned as, the whites of his eyes showing, Simon reared and twisted, pulled back, and nearly broke free.

Draco was pulling on the leadrope, saying, "What's the matter?" and looking around to see what was upsetting the horse so much. Granger and Weasley were drawing back from the mental horse. Elmsworthy was pulling out his wand.

And that was when Draco finally realised he shouldn't have been looking around.

He should have been looking _up._

A branch creaked as the weight of a spider suddenly left it.

The spider pounced on Weasley.

Weasley shouted and cast a hex – Draco didn't hear which one. Blue light frazzled around the spider and the legs spasmed. The spider rolled towards Draco and Granger as the spell knocked it off balance. They should have finished it then. But one hairy leg flicked out and smacked Weasley's wand hand, sending his wand flying. Granger tried to get out her wand, but was interrupted by her cat going ballistic in her arms. She leaped backwards as the spider tried to snag her leg, and stumbled on a root. Elmsworthy had out his wand, but Weasley, who had dived to retrieve his wand while the spider was still rolling, was in the way of a clear shot.

And Draco had frozen.

The scar on his leg ached. All the muscles in his body were jelly. Welling up in his mind was the memory of darkness, of was how awful it was to be relegated to the sidelines, thrust out from the Machiavellian joy of daily Slytherin life, drowned by this darkness... The spider, which had curled up its legs, suddenly extended them and moved into a crouch. Its many glittering eyes seemed to fix, each and every one, on Draco. Moving suddenly and like lightning, it scuttled forward.

There was a ringing in his ears. His hands went weak and dropped the leadrope.

Simon squealed. His shoulder sent Draco flying head-first into the trunk of an elm as he spun and smashed both back hooves into the face of the spider.

With stars twirling around his head and popping little bright lights in his eyes like that Creevey snot's damnable camera, Draco staggered back just in time to see Simon, eyes wild, nostrils flared so that the lining showed in small scarlet glimpses of fire, hammer the spider again with his back feet. The arachnid curled around its own head, legs twitching, a few little blue sparks from Weasley's spell still twinkling off the ends of its legs. Then the horse pivoted one hundred and eighty degrees and struck with its front hooves, again and again, until the spider was pulped into the dirt. The horse's ears were flat back and Draco would have sworn on his grandfather's grave Simon was frothing at the mouth. With one final ground-shaking thud, the horse ended its attack and backed up a step.

The other three students had their mouths open in silence as they gaped at the horse. Draco approached carefully. Veins were crawling over the black hide like throbbing worms and flecks of foam trembled off lips and bared teeth. The horse was shaking all over. The hints of red in the distended nostrils made it look like the horse had just been ridden up from Hell. The look in Simon's eyes only compounded that effect. White ringed them like an eclipse, and yellow and graphite lines flickered in the charm in Simon's chest. Draco wondered if Simon was still capable of recognising friend from foe.

Somewhat unnerved by the horse (let alone the spider oozing various fluids into the dirt), Draco picked up the end of the leadrope. "Good boy, Simon," he said, trying to convince himself that this was still his horse, his friendly kind Simon who never did anything nastier than give out the occasional nip. It had been night when Simon had killed his first spider (and Draco had been curled up into a ball). He'd heard the banging and crashing and screaming when the vrikolaki died, but he'd not _seen_ it.

If Potter had seen this side of Simon and stayed, he was braver than Draco had given him credit for. Or possibly luckier – Potter had always been luckier. Draco held the rope, still speaking calmly to the horse.

A spider leg twitched.

Simon struck again, making Draco jump. Draco blinked. Something was in his eye. He wiped the back of his hand across and it came away bloody.

"Oh, God – I'm going blind again!" For a moment he thought he was going to faint.

Granger of all people came to the rescue. Making a wide detour around the dead spider, she said softly, "It's all right, Malfoy, it's just a cut over your eye."

"It's not spider venom?" he said in a weak voice.

"No. Just some blood getting in your eye. You'll be fine."

The air sang in his ears and the Forest swayed around him. "Oh. Okay." Draco steadied himself by grabbing Simon's mane. Granger went to check Weasley, who had found his wand and was peering around into the trees, checking for movement.

"You okay, Ron?"

"Yeah. It – it was close, though."

"You're telling me," said Elmsworthy. "What'd you go and get between me and the spider for? I couldn't aim at it without hitting you?"

"Yeah, well, like you couldn't have moved sideways?"

"Er…"

"Look, let's all admit things could have gone a bit better," Granger said crisply. "But we got lucky."

"No we didn't – Simon got the spider. That wasn't luck, that was a horse." Draco took a deep breath and patted Simon's neck. It was impossible to tell who was shaking worse, himself or the horse. Simon arched his neck and blew softly into his face, checking he was all right. Draco hoped he was. He felt cold all over – his hands were blocks of ice – and his teeth were still chattering. And he refused to allow himself the thought that he'd frozen with his wand in his pocket when the spider… Draco shook himself.

Elmsworthy crouched by the spider and poked it with a stick.

Simon bit him.

"Ow!"

"He's just trying to keep you away from danger," Draco pointed out with a small laugh. "Ahem." Bugger. Hopefully he wasn't getting hysterical. God – what if Weasley told everyone Draco had needed to be saved by a Muggle animal _yet again_?

"Yeah. Fair enough." Elmsworthy rubbed his shoulder. He didn't seem angry – perhaps it was too obvious that Simon had his best interests in mind. "Can you stop him biting me again? I need to check something."

Draco held Simon's headcollar under the chin and tried to warm his hands from the furnace heat coming off the horse as Elmsworthy poked at the spider with a stick some more. "I think it's dead," Draco pointed out dryly. "It's that whole being mashed into the ground look it's got – that was a clue for me."

Elmsworthy ignored the sarcasm and took out an empty phial from a pocket. "The fangs are relatively intact. One of them, anyway. I'm going to get out my wand again for a sec' – try not to let your horse kill me for it." Very carefully, he used his wand to shift one of the mandibles around so that he could position the nasty tip of it into the mouth of the phial. A yellowish fluid dribbled into the bottle.

"There," Elmsworthy said with satisfaction as he stood and capped it. "You never know when Acromantula venom will come in handy,"

"I have absolutely no answer for such a patently insane statement," Draco replied stiffly, still wiping blood out of his eye. His cheek and eye already felt swollen from the earlier smack to the face, and now he knew he could expect a bump coming up on his head the size of an egg. What were the signs of concussion again? He ran through the checklist in his head and, when he realised he was able to run through the checklist, decided he was probably free from concussion. He wiped a bit of foamy saliva off the front of his robes where Simon had dribbled on him. "Now let's get moving before this spider's friends come looking for it and find us. Granger – you okay?"

"Just a little bit more bloodied," she said, dabbing at a scratch and wincing. "Poor Crookshanks was frightened." Her cat was still firmly tucked under one arm and it looked immensely displeased about the whole arrangement.

Draco wiped at his face again. He didn't want blood getting in his eye. The trickle seemed to be slowing, thankfully, but the trouble was that as blood dried the smell of it grew stronger. He wrinkled his nose. Bleeding in the Forest was a good way to find new and interesting creatures, many of them hungry.

"Come on," said Elmsworthy.

They moved faster after that, pushing themselves along at a quick walk. Weasley, still pale, and Draco (despite his slightly wobbly legs) did the best – they were both fit from Quidditch. Elmsworthy didn't do too bad for an indoors person: his lanky legs covered the ground at a good clip. Granger struggled to keep up although she didn't say anything. Weasley offered to carry her cat for her, but for some reason the animal didn't want to be carried by him. Draco sensed the two had some sort of animosity going – perhaps the cat was jealous. It wouldn't be the first time a familiar had tried to drive off suitors. His great aunt had been a witch of great renown, famous for her beauty, infamous for having a macaw named Diablo that had swallowed three engagement rings and bitten off four fingers, two ears and a nose of the various wizards who had asked for her hand in marriage. His great aunt now lived in South America, running a sanctuary for rescued macaws. It was rumoured she was still beautiful, still single, and still had Diablo.

"Hey, Granger?"

"What?"

"I really think you should let Weasley carry that cat for you," Draco said.

"Why? I can carry him just fine," she bristled.

"Not with a twisted ankle you can't," he pointed out.

Fury crossed her face. "I don't have a twisted ankle."

"I believe it was when that spider came at you and you tripped on a root."

She whirled and glared at him. "Of course it's always the _girl_ who twists her ankle and has to be helpless! I refuse to be a cliché!"

"Ahh… you're scaring me," he said, only half-joking. The spider had been unnerving enough. He didn't need flashbacks to the fourth-year Rampant PMS Granger version.

"What's wrong?" Weasley called back. "'Mione?"

"I'm fine!"

"She's twisted her ankle," Draco said, ignoring the Granger Look of Death. When you were Housemates with Pansy you got worse on a daily basis. (This escalated once a month like clockwork to something homicidal – and to compound this, for some unexplained reason it seemed to hit _all_ the girls in Slytherin at the same time, making life in the House of the Snake just that bit more dangerous. Any Slytherin male with a gill of self-preservation kept careful tabs on the calendar. And now that he'd been at Hogwarts for six years he'd had a bit more experience with females and their chemistry, so he wasn't so perplexed by their mood swings – not now he had a good calendar that informed him when to duck and hide. Feminine mysteries? Bah. You could keep them – and keep them as far away as possible as far as Draco Malfoy was concerned.) Besides, Granger had been giving him her Look of Death for six years and it was getting a little stale. "But she doesn't want to slow us down. Look, I'll take the damned cat if you want."

"I'll take Crookshanks," Weasley said, striding back down the path. "Honestly, Hermione, you tell me and Harry off every five minutes for being daft, and here you are, walking on a sprained ankle…"

"I've cast chill-spells on it…"

"I've got some stuff that might help," Elmsworthy said.

"'Might'?" said Weasley.

"One batch stopped sprains."

"How about this batch?" said Draco, who could read between the lines when he had to.

"It's a new formula. I've been wanting to test it out."

"Test it out when we get back to the Infirmary," the red-head said huffily. "Now give me Crookshanks. Um, hey, Malfoy, d'you think that horse would be able to carry her?"

"Here's Crookshanks," Granger said angrily, thrusting the struggling cat into Weasley's arms, "and there's no way I'm sitting on that thing."

Elmsworthy, who had been casting about in the bushes (those closest to the path), did something with his wand to the base of a sapling. Then he stripped the leaves and topped it, and came back up to the path with a strong pole. He tapped it with his wand, frowning in concentration. The pole turned into a crutch, at just the right height for Granger. "Try this. It's not going to help matters if your foot's too painful for you to concentrate on any spells you might need to cast."

"Thanks," she said grudgingly. "Sorry. I just didn't want to slow everyone down."

"You should have told us back at the spider that you'd hurt yourself," Draco scolded. "We wouldn't have come this far if we'd known."

"Lay off, Malfoy," Weasley snapped.

Draco scowled at him. "Let her be a martyr, then. Come on, Simon."

He pushed past them. Or tried to. Simon refused to let anyone stay behind him and ("Ow! Get out of it, you brute! OW! MY BUM! MALFOY CALL OFF YOUR BLOODY HORSE!") nipped Weasley, first for being slow and then for being obstreperous.

When Granger tried to say something about horses that go around biting people, Weasley (almost making himself human in Draco's eyes), sighed and told her to lay off. "Any horse that can do that to a spider has the right to tell me to hurry up," he said, shaking his head as he massaged his backside where the second, stronger nip had landed. "When we finally get the barrier down, I'll ask Mum to knit something for him." He grinned and rubbed his long nose on the back of his wrist. "It'll keep her too busy to knit me any more jumpers for at least a year."

He patted Simon, ignoring the cat's hiss of protest at being so close to the horse, then pulled out his wand and retook his place at the head of the procession.

Granger and Elmsworthy followed without needing any prodding from Simon.

But then everyone always said they were smart.

ooOOoo

Granger was puffing and red-faced and visibly relieved when they finally sighted the pearly wall standing between the trunks of the trees. This close to the ground it seemed to take substance from the very earth: Draco had noted that as it climbed higher it became invisible, allowing natural sunlight through and a clear view of the sky. He didn't know why – Granger probably had some jargon-heavy theory, but he wasn't interested enough to ask, not at this point of time. Some trees were growing so close they touched it. One oak seemed to be growing partially within it. The leaves of the nearby sycamore, rowan and other… trees… (Draco had never been all that keen on Herbology and wasn't really sure if that was a sycamore) had shrivelled and died, but the oak looked remarkably vibrant.

"So how do we find the weak spot?" Elmsworthy asked, studying the barrier with his hands on his hips. He touched a branch of the oak growing in the barrier gingerly then, when nothing killed him, he plucked a leaf and put it in an empty bottle. "Fascinating," he said, apparently to the oak. He took another leaf from the possibly-a-sycamore.

Weasley bent and placed the cat on the ground. It stretched and flicked its tail, which was as bushy as its mistress' hair. "Crookshanks will find it, I hope. How about it, Crooky?"

The cat (Draco guessed it had been named for its bandy legs rather than the squashed face, which gave it the appearance of a cat that won prizes for chasing and catching parked cars) gazed around at the Forest, blinking slowly, sneeringly. Draco remembered he didn't like cats much.

"Well? What's it meant to do? Cough up a furball on it?"

"Come on, Crookshanks," Granger coaxed. "Find the weak point."

Giving out the air of someone with nothing better to do, the cat strolled along the edge of the barrier, first to the left, then, with a sudden swish of its tail, back towards the right. Its whiskers tickled at the pearly grey wall. Simon had done the same thing, Draco recalled. Simon did it now, too, as Draco led him towards the barrier. The horse, however, lost interest far faster than the cat did.

The cat stopped after twenty metres. More animated now, it batted at the barrier with its paw. Draco got the impression the cat was about to walk through the wall. Granger might have, too, because she stooped awkwardly, wincing as she put weight on her sore ankle, and picked it up. She gave Draco a significant look.

"Huh? Oh. Um, Comrade, could you just go and keep an eye out for spiders over there for a couple of minutes?" Draco said.

"What? Oh, for… All right, I'll let you lot play Secret Aurors. It's not like I'm not risking my life or anything by helping you… not as if I've not had to worry about Acromantula attack already today, but _no,_ I'm too…" Tyrol continued to chunter as he stalked off to sit on a stump, his back pointedly towards them.

Sulking was very Slytherin.

Simon did the same thing when he was offended, which, in Draco's opinion, proved he was a Slytherin horse and thus superior.

Once the older Slytherin was out of earshot, Draco tied Simon to a thin branch that would break if the horse really had to run, took out the message and gave it to Granger. She, in turn, attached it with a bulldog clip to the cat's collar.

"Will it stay on all right?" Draco asked. "I don't want it falling off to be picked up by just any passing idiot."

Granger nodded. "I've charmed the clip. It'll accept the message on return, too. Ron, do you have one of Pig's feathers?"

Pig, Draco remembered, was Weasley's owl. Weasley produced a small brown feather and tapped it against the letter, muttering something as he did so and squinting fiercely as he concentrated on the incantation.

Something glistened along the edge of the letter like a snail trail. "There. Only Pig can take it off now. Or me. Hope you made it waterproof, Malfoy."

"No need. Some of us can afford proper owlgram grade paper."

"Huh." Weasley let that one slide, to Draco's relief. He hadn't actually meant to sneer at Weasley. Not in the middle of the Forest at any rate. Sneering could wait until they got back to the relative safety of the castle.

Trying to sound more conciliatory (and probably succeeding, if Weasley's widening eyes were any indication), Draco said, "Good owl charm, Weasley. Does that mean only your owl can find and deliver the letter now?"

"Yes. You sure about the addressing charm?"

"I'm not sure about anything. But…" Draco tapped the folded letter and said, _"Inverte sonorous chronos. Tactilo._ There. I hope. Now you just have to say the address, Weasley, and your owl will trigger your voice as soon as it takes the message, thus getting its instructions."

"You hope."

"Hope is a virtue." Draco carefully didn't smile.

"Huh."

Weasley was trying not to say it was the only virtue Malfoy would ever possess. Draco was no Legilimens, but he didn't need to be: he could virtually see the words hovering in giant neon lights over Weasley's head.

Weasley bent over the envelope again, still keeping his voice down, and said, "Narcissa Malfoy, Malfoy Manor."

Granger took the letter and fixed it to the cat's collar.

"How will you know when the cat comes back?" Draco asked. "Do we need to come and get it, or will it return to the castle by itself?"

She took off one of her earrings – Draco had noticed they were bells, but they didn't tinkle when she moved her head – and fastened that to the collar, too. "There. I've charmed the bell so that it will ring when Crookshanks is back on this side of the barrier. That is, I'll activate the spell on the earring I'm wearing" – she tapped it – "once he's gone and then, when he comes back, it will ring."

"Clever," said Draco. "I hope it works."

Granger gave him a sour look. He returned it, saying, "What I mean is, the barrier is inverted magic. How do you know it won't wipe spells?"

Her sour look turned to one of consternation. "I hadn't thought of that."

Draco was already shaking his head. "I think it shouldn't be a problem. The active spell is on _your_ bell, right? Well, when I rode Simon through the barrier the only active spells I had were those embedded in the shoes. They survived. The muffling spell certainly still works; I tried it the other day just to check its longevity. The spells on the message are all sleeping – they won't be activated until the owl touches the letter. I just forgot I was counting on that when I came up with this plan…"

"It would be fascinating to see if the barrier compromises integrity…" Granger shook her head. "Let's talk about it after we get out of here."

"Amen to that," said Weasley, who, wand out, was scanning the trees. "I thought I saw something move."

"Hopefully it was a falling leaf," muttered Draco, "although hope, like virtue, would be a fine thing in this forest."

Granger held her cat's head between her hands, her eyes half shut as she whispered to it. She gave it one last pat. "Good luck, Crookshanks," she said as she let the cat go.

Crookshanks padded off silently and was absorbed into the barrier. Draco caught one last glimpse of the bushy tail swishing before pearly mist obscured it from sight.

He breathed out. Time to get moving. There was Simon, beginning to paw at the ground, but not yet upset enough to pull free from the branch. And over there was Elmsworthy, eyes transfixed in a disturbing way… Draco untied Simon and called to the other Slytherin.

"Comrade Tyrol? Comrade?"

Comrade Tyrol wasn't moving. He was bent forward slightly. Draco felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"Comrade Tyrol…?" _Oh, hell…_ "Here," he said to Weasley, thrusting Simon's leadrope into his hands and ignoring the squeak of protest. Cautiously, walking almost sideways in case he had to make a dash in the opposite direction, he crept up behind his Housemate.

Elmsworthy had his eyes fixed on something in front of him.

Ever so cautiously, Draco craned his neck to see what it was.

It was a small white mound swelling up from the roots of a dead tree. Purple spots blossomed and then shrank away as they emitted small clouds that hovered and crept over the floor of the forest. One curled around Elmsworthy's foot and trailed a tendril along his ankle. Something about the clouds seemed almost sentient, the way they tested the small zephyrs and climbed through updrafts and skulked in lees.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Draco snapped, making Elmsworthy jump, "couldn't you have a better reason for ignoring us than watching exploding puffballs germinate?"

"Sorry. But they _are_ interesting. It's not often they get observed in the wild. I've certainly never seen it."

"No, because most people have lives outside of a book," Draco snarled. He shook his foot as one of the little clouds tested his ankle as a potential place to grow. "Shoo. Go on, get off. Wretched stuff… I thought you were keeping an eye out for us."

Comrade Tyrol had the grace to look embarrassed. "Sorry."

"Well, we're leaving. You can come if you want."

"I said I was sorry."

"Huh."

"Malfoy…"

"Stop mucking about," Weasley said. He was very pale and clutched Simon's leadrope in a white-knuckled grip. With a nod into the shadowy undergrowth between two oaks, he showed them why.

Three Acromantulas, none of them very large as Acromantulas went but all of them bigger than Snuffles (or Black, as it had turned out), were watching them. Draco might not have seen them if not for the glitter of their eyes and the way one of them was slowly extending one leg.

Draco hurried over to take the leadrope and run a hand along Simon's neck. The horse's muscles were bunched up and felt like rock. Simon's ears weren't back yet, which was good. Draco didn't want Simon charging off after the spiders.

"Don't run," said Elmsworthy. "Walk."

"Easy for you to say," said Granger. She was easily as pale as Weasley, if with more reason: her ankle must have been agony by now.

Draco thought like lightning. "Come here, Granger. You're going to get on Simon."

"Like hell I am."

"Yes. You are. You're limping. Those Acromantulas are looking for anything weak. You're a target."

"But…"

"Get on the horse, 'Mione," said Weasley. "We can't levitate you all the way out of the Forest – we might need our wands."

"What? No! I can–"

Not taking his eyes of the spiders, a bead of sweat trickling down from his temple, Weasley cut her off with a slicing movement of his hand. He spaced the words out from between clenched teeth: "Get on. The fucking. Horse. Hermione."

Granger's mouth opened and closed. She went red. Then she hobbled over to Draco and Simon. She shut her eyes for a moment. "M'scedahis," she said.

"What?" said Draco.

Granger jumped as Simon pawed the ground again and tossed his head, shaking his mane at the spiders.

"I'm scared of heights, all right?!"

Draco blinked. "Oh. Well, never mind. Just hold onto his mane and if you fall off… relax."

"Relax?" she squeaked.

"First rule of flying a broom – learn how to hit the ground. Relax and roll. But Simon won't want you to fall off. Will you, Simon? Good boy. Now, come up a bit, Granger… I'll have to levitate you onto his back…"

She squeaked again then pressed her lips tightly closed as he levitated her (in rather a wobbly fashion – curses rather than charms were his strong suit) up and onto Simon's back.

She winced.

"At least you're not male," he muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing." Hell, she looked terrified. She wouldn't last long on Simon's back if she was rigid with tension. "Never mind. Just… keep your toes up. It helps your balance. And look where you're going – that's not the ground. Hang onto his mane – that's right – no, don't worry, you won't hurt him. Very good. Sit up a bit. That's it. There! You're doing fine."

"We haven't started walking yet," she pointed out shakily.

"No, but just sitting on a horse is a big step."

She gave him a quick, grateful smile. That was a first.

"Weasley, can you walk to Simon's right? You can keep your hand on her leg…er… oh, hell, you two are a couple so that's acceptable… and Comrade Tyrol, if you want to take the lead…?"

They set off. Granger made a small squeak when Simon started walking, but then clenched her jaws shut and made no more sounds although her face was very white. Simon, thank whatever powers kept horses in check, had decided to be a riding horse rather than some attack-horse, and kept walking at a smooth, even pace. With one hand holding the leadrope, the other his wand, Draco kept looking back.

The spiders didn't appear to be following them. As they rounded a bend in the trail and the shadow between the two oaks went out of sight, Draco fancied he saw the three spiders still squatting there watching the humans and horse depart.

He tried telling himself that that meant they were probably not going to attack anyone, but Draco wasn't good at lying to himself.

They weren't out of the woods yet, not by a long shot. And when the woods were the Forbidden Forest…

ooOOoo

"Are you sure this is the way we came?" Weasley asked.

They were standing on the trail. Draco was sure it was the one they'd come by. That fallen beech which seemed to have collapsed into the embrace of an oak was familiar.

That web strung across the trail was new. He might not have seen it had he been travelling at speed.

Perhaps that was why the deer, still struggling in the sticky mesh, had not seen it until it was too late.

Weasley swallowed audibly. "I remember those two trees there," he said, gesturing towards the pair Draco remembered. "But that… that's new. Oh, bloody hell… there's going to be spiders coming out of the woodwork any minute now…"

Draco said nothing. He watched the young stag as it thrashed its legs and made a hoarse moaning sound. It looked like the one they'd seen earlier. Its eyes, big and dark, reminded him of Simon's.

Simon, ears canted slightly back as his neck arched and his eyes bugged at the trapped deer, snorted fearfully.

Draco licked his dry lips. "We can't just leave it here."

"It's not like we can hang around ourselves," Elmsworthy pointed out grimly. "Look."

Weasley made a sound not unlike that of the deer at the sight of two spiders climbing up trees to either side of the path.

"Where's the third one?" whispered Granger.

Draco desperately wanted to know the answer to that one, too.

"Everybody ready?" Draco muttered. He was well aware that spiders could talk – he'd tried talking to one right before he'd been bitten. That had taught him two things: one: you could try reasoning with creatures, and two: creatures otherwise capable of reason generally considered it an unnecessary encumbrance for dealing with someone who could easily fit into a menu.

Draco wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. However… "Spiders! I know some of you understand English! We are powerful wizards who can kill you easily. Leave now and we will not fight you."

The uphill spider made an agitated chittering. It seemed to be communicating something to the one downslope.

The two spiders gradually shrank back into the cover of ferns and leaves. This did not reassure Draco – all it meant was that the spiders were now out of sight. Not necessarily gone. And what had happened to the third?

"Come on," hissed Elmsworthy.

"In a moment," said Draco. He led Simon closer to the deer, but then stopped when it began struggling so hard he feared it would break its legs. "Damn. How am I supposed to get close enough to free it?" he muttered to himself.

"Petrification hex?" Granger suggested.

Draco looked up at her. "Maybe. But I hear deer can have heart-attacks under those." Hopefully she wouldn't know how he knew. His father's library was none of her business. He sighed. "Do you lot promise you won't breathe a word of this?"

"If it means we get out of here faster, then yes," said Elmsworthy impatiently. "For God's sake, Malfoy – if those spiders think you're taking their dinner away from them there'll be hell to pay…"

"All right," said Weasley, albeit with palpable suspicion.

Granger nodded.

"Good," said Draco. He pointed his wand. _"Imperio."_

Freeing the deer was a matter of moments and a good, soapy jinx to dissolve the sticky goo on the spider silk. The deer was soon standing on its own four hooves, free.

They walked past the web and then Weasley hit it with a burn-hex, crisping the web into fragments that curled and drifted away.

There was an angry chitter from the bushes downhill.

Not showing how alarmed he was becoming Draco calmly said, _"Finite incantatum."_

The deer shook its head, briefly bewildered. It looked around, got its bearings, and cantered off along the track. It moved quick and easily, bounding around one particular tree.

Draco squinted and saw the third spider crouched there.

Then the deer was gone into the trees.

ooOOoo

They knew they were going the right way when they came to the fallen tree with the dark stained patch in the middle. Elmsworthy's potion still hadn't dissolved the cellulose.

"I am not staying on while it jumps over that," Granger said definitely. "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't."

"We can levitate you over," Weasley said. "We – oh, shit!"

Spiders – five of them – scuttled out from behind trees or climbed down from the branches.

Acting as one, the three boys clustered around Simon, who had whirled to face the spiders, nearly unseating his rider.

The horse made an angry squealing roar – Draco had heard it the time the vrikolaki had attacked – and pawed the ground. Granger gasped sharply but said nothing.

"They think they've got us trapped," said Elmsworthy.

"You mean they don't?" Weasley replied with a death-head grin.

_"Incendio,"_ said Draco, hitting the nearest spider which screamed and curled up on itself and was dead within the second.

_"Arachne inhume!"_ That was Granger, white-lipped but accurate as her spell hit the next.

Elmsworthy's anti-spider spell only clipped the next, and now there were more spiders coming from over the hill.

"Let's keep going along the track and put that log at our backs," said Granger.

"No," said Weasley, his eyes fixed on the nearest spider, "a clear – _arachne inhume! _Damn_ – _space is better. Spiders can creep up too easily – _arachne inhume! _Ha! Gotcha! – and if we're back-to-back we can defend ourselves."

Draco had to agree, especially as several more spiders had crept out of the bracken down near the stream and were sidling around behind the log.

"Two Incendios to blast a hole in the middle," muttered Elmsworthy from the side of his mouth, "and we can leg it through the break."

He and Draco nodded to each other. "The stain? Three, two, one… _incendio!"_

The two spells hit the blackened patch.

There was a roar and a flash of blue and crimson light. The log exploded. Splinters rained down over the Forest. Draco was nearly dragged off his feet as Simon bolted forward in terror. He yanked on the leadrope and the horse slewed around, almost tripping on its own long legs, Granger yelping as she slid to hang upside-down under the long neck.

"Crikey!" exclaimed Elmsworthy. "Wow. Now that's what _I_ call the subtle art of potion making…" He scrabbled at his bandoleer. "Hey, spiders, I've got more where that came from…" he breathed. He extracted two phials and threw them at a rotting log in front of the nearest spiders. The phials broke on the crumbling wood. When the fire spell hit the potion soaking into the crumbling wood, the flames roared up and over three of the spiders. "Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-haaa! Yeah! Eat hot potion!" he bellowed as the spiders flailed and died.

The spiders withdrew to a safer distance. A few twitched where they had been crushed by the ends of the logs; the ends of the first log had been blown up and around and in the process rolled over several spiders, pulping them as thoroughly as Simon could ever have hoped to do.

That was lucky, because Draco was being dragged around by a frantic Simon, who had Granger still hanging for dear life around his neck, and Weasley was pulling at a piece of wood embedded in his cheek.

"Elmsworthy! Calm down! Just… wait half a moment before you blow anything else up, okay?" Draco called out. "Granger?"

She dropped to her feet, winced as her ankle gave out, then sat down heavily. "Ow."

Draco helped her up. "We need to get out of here before these spiders recover," he said.

She nodded in resignation. "If that horse stays still long enough, can you levitate me up again?"

Simon did and Draco could. Granger winced as she tried in vain to find a comfortable spot to sit (Draco could have told her it probably took a special knack or special genes that gave you a bottom made from leather).

"Come on, you two," she called out. Weasley (who must have decided to leave the stick until they got back to the Infirmary) and Elmsworthy (who had a phial in one hand, his wand in the other, and an unsettling new light in his eyes as they passed the smoking wreckage of the elm log and the dead Acromantulas), were quick to move even without being bitten by the horse, who kicked out at one moving Acromantula before Draco pulled the leadrope and insisted he keep walking.

The surviving spiders did not follow.

ooOOoo

They took Simon back to the paddock first, then returned to the castle, taking Granger to the Infirmary on a stretcher. Although Elmsworthy (muttering something about interesting properties of unstable cellulose) nearly disappeared down towards Slytherin and whatever laboratory he'd managed to find for himself, when Draco said he was going to go with the two Gryffindors as he wanted something to take care of the black eye Simon had given him, Elmsworthy decided to tag along, too, suddenly remembering he could ask Pomfrey about his sprain potion.

They were just in time to see a red-faced and clearly at-the-end-of-her-tether Pomfrey Summon Potter down from the windowsill where he was trying to roost.

Luna, who was holding a bowl of corn, had a rumpled look. "Harry… it's all right, we're not going to deep fry you… Mmm… looook…. yummy corn… Draco! What happened to you?"

"Simon nutted me. By accident, of course."

"Well, it's hardly as if he'd do it on – oh, Harry, _please_ calm down!"

Potter clucked and tried to escape from the bed where Pomfrey had landed him. He bounced off an invisible wall and squawked some more.

It might have been funny if Draco hadn't already had a trying day and wasn't in the mood for more foolishness. Still, once he got a Pensieve he could always decant the memory and laugh over it another time. Being a wizard was awesome.

"Make him drink this," Pomfrey told Weasley, who was boggling at the sight of his best friend pecking corn from Luna's hand.

"What is it?" Weasley took the small steaming beaker and peered into it doubtfully. "Alphabet soup…?"

Potter crowed.

Pomfrey pursed her lips. "It's the spell. Distilled straight from the remedy book _Chicken Soup for the Brain_. Give it to him while it's hot. I'll hold his mouth open…"

They poured it into the squawking Potter, who immediately sagged, unconscious.

"Is he okay?" Draco was surprised to find he was the one who'd asked the question.

"Yes, yes, he'll be fine when he wakes up. He won't remember any of this. I hope you'll be kind enough to gloss over some of the details, Mr Malfoy." She glared at him. Knowing she'd never really liked him (she was a Potter fan, of course, silly woman, Draco thought), he gave her his best bland look in return, only making her glare harden. "Hmm. Chance would be a fine thing. Now what do the rest of you want – oh, dear… Mr Malfoy, have you been fighting again?"

Draco bristled. "No." _You deranged harpy._ "I walked into a horse."

"Well, that's novel. I'll get you some Bye-Bye-Bruise. No concussion?" She waved her wand over his head. "Big lump there, but no, no concussion. You got off lightly. Honestly, those Muggle animals are worse than Quidditch… Now, Miss Granger. Your ankle, is it? Tsk. Mr Elmsworthy, do you have any of that sprain potion left?"

"I made a new batch. It's untested – I modified the old recipe but I don't know if –"

"Give it here." She waved her wand over the phial he took from the bandoleer. "It should be fine."

To everyone's retrospective disgust, it was. Granger's ankle glowed fluorescent orange for two seconds, then the swelling disappeared and the ankle was left looking completely normal. She flexed it, then stood, testing her weight. "Goodness! It's like I never hurt it. Huh. All that, and I never needed to sit on that bl-" (she glanced at Draco and visibly caught herself) – "on that horse all the way out of the forest." She sounded quite vexed. Her cheeks went pink as she shifted gingerly in her chair. "Er. Ahh… Madam Pomfrey, do you, er, have anything for, um…" she leaned closer to whisper into the medi-witch's ear, but Draco's ears were sharp enough to hear the word _blisters._

Weasley's ears must have been sharp enough, too. They went scarlet.

Luna's silvery eyes were almost popping out of her head. "You'd never been on a horse in your life! Don't tell me you rode _Simon_ bareback all the way through the Forest?" She was sitting on the side of Potter's bed, stroking his hair. (Draco didn't know why she bothered; Potter was out like a light.) Luna shook her head in sympathy. "Ouch. And people tell me _I'm_ crazy!"

Granger glared at her.

Draco gave Luna a wink with his good eye as soon as Granger wasn't looking.

ooOOoo


	65. Chapter 65

Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to JK Rowling and the nice folk at Warner.

Author Notes and Warnings – PLEASE READ (because some people are still not reading my warnings – for example, how many times do I have to tell people this story is one giant shooting-off-at-tangents ramble? You should be reading something else if you want a conveniently simple plot, certainly _not_ this chapter, which has very little to do with plot development and was written simply for the heck of it):  
1. Grammar freaks beware – the tenses are completely haywire. This chapter will be confusing enough, what with converting Horse into Human, without worrying about your red pen overheating. Feel free to skip this chapter and go reread your copy of _Eats Shoots and Leaves_ (ironically enough I can't remember if there was meant to be a comma in there).  
2. This chapter is written from the PoV of a horse. Not accurately, no, as I believe a real equine PoV would go along the lines of: "nothing nothing nothing react nothing nothing react react nothing yummy yum nothing nothing," which would be very boring. Horses are also very easy to distract, so the chapter will (or should) be jumpy in places.  
3. I haven't had this much fun writing a chapter since the Republic of Slytherin was formed. Unfortunately it's still not right after three months work… but I had to post it at some stage, so here it is.  
4. Before anyone writes to tell me Simon is OOC because he's so taken with himself, in my experience horses are capable of vanity. Simon has had Luna telling him he's wonderful for nearly two months. Don't expect humility. Not from the self-styled Resident Stallion. Read this chapter more closely if you want to get his state of mind and self-worth as of two months ago.  
5. There are some naughty words in this chapter. Two or three. Eek.

And now… (drum roll)

"Ugga bugga! Eat apples! Enjoy this chapter!"

ooOOoo

Chapter 65: Simon Says

There are three monkeyhorses coming up the hill. The Horse knows them. He doesn't like them. He doesn't _dis_like them. He merely knows them, their looks, their smells, their postures. They are not a threat, although something twitches, connecting them to a Fright not in the Now.

They come into the paddock, making noises at each other. "Uggabugga ugga bugga." The Horse puts his head up. This is Not Usual. When they come walking up towards him, The Horse begins to turn away. They stop. The Horse stops when it doesn't look like he has to keep going away from them to keep a comfortable distance.

One is holding out half an apple. He can _smell_ it as well as see it.

Horses have a brain the size of a fist. A horse's stomach isn't big either, not comparatively speaking considering the size of the animal, but it carries the casting vote in most non-predator, non-sex, non-hierarchy situations. The brain doesn't usually have a chance when stacked up against the stomach.

The Horse isn't stupid, not as horses go, and these three smell like trouble. They stand like colts looking for trouble. They know they are being naughty… their dams are probably looking for them now, wanting to nip them for being foolish. Letting them near is trouble. The Horse does not doubt this.

But they have half an apple. Half an apple is half an apple is half an apple… and half an apple is very hard to argue with.

Absence of dunderhead colts or half an apple?

Hmm.

Greed wins.

Half an apple is compensation for putting up with their presence. The Horse can be generous. He swishes his tail as he ambles down to get his half an apple.

Something goes _click_ under his chin. A leadrope. It means he has to obey them. To an extent, anyway. But only if they keep up their side of the Rules. The Horse puts that aside as he snags the half an apple (nearly taking off a squealing monkeycolt's fingers, but then it is a stupid monkeycolt if it keeps its fingers between half an apple and The Horse's teeth) and enjoys all the bliss half an apple holds.

The sugar is fading on his tongue (along with the bliss) and he is beginning to wonder grumpily where the next half an apple is, when he realises the monkeycolts are communicating in their clumsy, noisy fashion. The whinnies would be incomprehensible but body language and smell and pitch of the voice tell The Horse a great deal. More than he wishes, perhaps.

"Ugga bugga. I am nervous."

"Ugga bugga? Ugga? Me too."

"Ugga. I am nervous and trying to hide it behind a façade of posture and bullying tone. Look – I have stuff with me that is made from dead cow and smells like that really weird soap and The Horse."

Oh, they've found the stuff that makes his head and back itch. Damn. The Horse wants more apples and for the monkeycolts to go away. He most certainly doesn't want them sitting on his back.

The Horse suffers patiently as they try to put the headstuff on first. They don't have a clue. They are meant to put the backthing on first, not the headstuff.

Initially they try to put the headstuff over his ears instead of putting the metal thing into his mouth first. Then they shove the cold metal thing in his mouth, banging his teeth. The Horse shakes his head. Their first Warning. The headstuff drops to the ground as argument commences.

"Uggabugga. I don't know what I'm doing and I'm a total incompetent."

"Uggabugga. I think I know what I'm doing but I don't really and I'm a whiney little shit."

"Ugga. I'm frightened of The Horse and I'm getting stinky because of it."

"Uggabugga! I'm a total incompetent but I think I'm in charge here, and I'm about to get a really nasty shock from The Horse as soon as I go too far."

Stinky, Total Incompetent and Whiney Little Shit unbuckle one side of the headstuff and put the cold hard thing into his mouth again – sideways, this time. Also back to front, because they've twisted the strap on the other side. It is already digging into The Horse's cheek. They buckle the strap up again. It is too tight now. The corners of his mouth, which should only wrinkle a little, are now pulled higher.

The Horse's patience is wearing thin after only two minutes.

They lift the backthing up and put it on – backwards.

The Horse decides to be patient. These three are obviously insane. He wonders if he should put up with them or cull them for the good of the herd.

Total Incompetent waves his forelegs. "Ugga bugga ugga! I am right you two are wrong and I think I can ignore what The Horse thinks. Do this! Do that! Obey me! I claim I am the leader!"

Whiney Little Shit whines. Stinky takes the backthing off and puts it on again – right way around this time, to The Horse's relief.

Relief is short lived. They push the backthing, which is placed too far towards his tail, up towards The Horse's head, rucking up the hair underneath.

Rucked up isn't the half of it…

The Horse is getting very, very annoyed. Culling is beginning to look good.

The bellything goes underneath and Stinky buckles it up. The Horse breathes in as he does, inflating his ribs like a balloon. The strap under his belly is nice and loose. They don't notice, of course.

Heh, heh.

He breathes out as Total Incompetent tries to get on his back.

The backthing becomes a bellything. Total Incompetent is hanging under The Horse now.

The Horse smirks.

"Ugga bugga! It's your fault! I am getting very angry because The Horse makes me look like the idiot I don't want to admit to being!"

"Ugga ugga ugga ugga ugga ugga! Whine whinge moan it's Stinky's fault! I am a good monkeycolt! Don't bite me! I don't want you to remember me laughing! Whinge fawn moan submissive stance!"

"Ugga bugga mumble ugga… I hate you both and wish I am somewhere else eating grass. I smell really bad and I eat too much meat. I am a very lowly member of the herd and I think if I participate in stupid stunts like what we're up to now I have higher status."

"Ugga bugga growl. Do it right or I bite you and drive you out of the herd." Total Incompetent drops to the ground and crawls to his feet. "Ugga bugga. I am standing in a dominant way. I want to bite The Horse."

If any biting is to be done, The Horse will do it. He swishes his tail and arches his neck just enough to warn Total Incompetent who is Resident Stallion.

The breathing-in trick doesn't work a second time. Someone jabs The Horse in the ribs and he breathes out. The belly-thing is too tight to slip. Now Total Incompetent sits on The Horse's back like a sack of potatoes, or like The Horse's Palomino Colt or The Horse's Black Colt the first times they sit on The Horse. The Horse likes those colts despite their embarrassingly blatant youthful idiocy. They bring him peppermints. They should be here now. They are not. It is very bad of them. If they were here he would bite them for not being here.

He doesn't like Total Incompetent. He wants to bite him but it's hard with Stinky holding the leadrope. Maybe he should bite Stinky instead. No – Stinky really is very stinky. He smells almost as bad as That Damned Dog.

The Horse seethes.

Total Incompetent picks up the reins, putting pressure on The Horse's mouth. The hard thing (still too high in the mouth) bangs against teeth and sensitive gums.

"Ugga bugga? What do I do now?"

"Ugga bugga bugga ugga ugga bug bug ugga bugga. Long-winded whiney explanation even though I don't know what I'm doing either. Look at me wave this book with diagrams. Listen to me try to increase my status by coming up with piss-poor plans. I tell you what to do. Whine whine whinge whine."

"Ugga bugga ugga bugga. I wish I am not here we're getting into so much trouble because we are bad and acting very suspiciously," mutters Stinky.

"Ugga bugga. Ugga. I am in charge. I am the boss of The Horse. I think I am, anyway. Do this, Stinky, do that, Whiney Little Shit."

Whiney Little Shit runs to open the gate. Stinky (why does it have to be him right by my nostrils? thinks The Horse) takes up the leadrope and tugs.

"Uggabugga Simon. Good uggabugga. Please do as I ask and don't hurt me, The Horse."

Stinky keeps the leadrope tight even while The Horse follows. Doesn't he know The Horse is a good horse and will follow without having someone dragging on his head? It is an insult!

The Horse is still pondering how he should reply to this insult when they reach the open gate, and he is distracted by this new conundrum.

Oh. They want him to go through it.

Wait a minute. The Horse is not allowed to go through it unless he's with one of The Horse's Dim But Important Colts or The Horse's Palomino Filly Who Knows What She's Doing. Going through the gate without them is Against the Rules. The Horse believes with all his heart in The Rules. The Rules are the heart of being the Herd Stallion. Without The Rules, the world falls down and The Horse feels powerless and afraid and angry and lowly in status, and werewolves run amuck devouring foals while evil monkeyhorses hold out sugar to trap angry frightened stallions…

The Horse obeys The Rules and makes sure youngstock learn to do so, too. He doesn't want them trapped like he is-in-the-past.

Maybe it's time to teach these three monkeycolts some Rules?

Stinky tugs on the leadrope. When The Horse stands his ground, he says: "Ugga bugga? The Horse is not doing what I want. What do I do now?"

"Uggabugga. Ugga bugga ugga ug bugga ga ugga bugga. I don't know, whine moan, but I try something probably really really stupid. Wait here." There goes Whiney Little Shit, down the hill into the trees. The Horse watches him, wondering if he will be eaten by a monster but somehow failing to particularly care. Hmm. Is this a failing as Resident Stallion? It is forgotten the next second as he is distracted with:

"Ugga bugga I wish I am somewhere else. It's lucky I'm too weak and smelly to win a monkeymare because I'm such a pathetically sad specimen it is a tragedy for the world if I breed."

"Ugga bugga. Shut up. I am getting nervous and my brain might actually be beginning to work, telling me my plan, which may be unknown by The Horse but is undoubtedly inspired by a rabid stoat, should have been thought out better. My hind legs are very stiff and my toes point down, putting my balance off. If I know anything about sitting on The Horse I would be more aware of how I sit because The Horse could get rid of me very very easily just by moving sideways."

The Horse weighs this up. He is about to move to the side – that butterfly looks very fearsome, not to mention those three alarming stalks of grass, and is the perfect excuse to move sideways very fast – but then he is distracted again.

The Horse lifts his head and wrinkles his nostrils. Whiney Little Shit is coming back up the hill. He has a stick in his hand. It's big and heavy, not one of the evil little pointy Hurt Sticks, but The Horse shifts uneasily at the sight.

Total Incompetent squawks at Stinky. Stinky clutches at the leadrope, trying to pull The Horse's head down.

Whiney Little Shit makes a long speech. It begs a response from their leader (well, the leader they think they have as they are too daft to recognise the universal truth that the only leader around here is The Horse).

Total Incompetent sits up straighter. "Ugga bugga ugga bugga ugga ugga ug bug bugga bugga ug ugga ugga ugga bugga ug bugga bug ugga ugga Simon ugga bugga Simon ugga ugga bugga bug ug ug ug bugga ugga bugga ugga bugga ug ugga ug ugga ugga bugga ug ug ug ug bugga ug ug bugga ug ga. Yes," says Total Incompetent, who seems to be feeling full of himself now he is up high and The Horse is not moving about. While The Horse can't make forelocks or tails out of what the daft monkeycolt actually said, he's mentioned The Horse in there, which is sinister.

The Horse begins a philosophical consideration of status and the way monkeyhorses act like they feel like they've gained it as soon as they plant their scrawny backsides on his handsome back, not realising they are only allowed there by the grace and goodwill of The Horse. The Horse is a – The Horse is derailed in this latest train of thought by Whiney Little Shit handing the branch to Total Incompetent.

"Ugga bugga, Simon. I want you to go through the gate you are not allowed to go through and I am mentally deficient enough to think you obey me," says Total Incompetent.

"Good ugga, ug ugga. I am sucking up to you, O Mighty The Horse, trying to entreat you to grant our request. If I pull the rope really hard maybe you obey me."

The Horse is not inclined to grant Stinky anything other than a nip for yanking on the leadrope like that.

"Ugga bugga! Bad Simon! UGGA UGGA UGGA! Ouch that really hurts! Bad The Horse! And now he's standing on my foot! get the evil bastard off my foot!" Stinky howls.

The Horse, eventually and with what he considers great magnanimity, condescends to allow Whiney Little Shit to push him off Stinky's foot.

"Ugga ugga. I am getting impatient and am about to do something so stupid it will go down in history," shouts Total Incompetent. He lifts the stick. The stick comes down.

WHACK!

The stick breaks with the force. Pain hits, but is immediately swept away by the vast tsunami of The Horse's anger at this… this… monumental indignity against his person.

For a bare second, The Horse's four hooves are glued to the ground by sheer outrage.

The second ends.

Total Incompetent hangs on to the backthing as The Horse whirls around. One toss of The Horse's head flings Stinky several metres away.

Then The Horse goes up like Vesuvius.

One leap, one back-arched, four-straight-legs vertical bound, and Total Incompetent shoots up into the air, squealing like a piglet.

He comes down. By sheer bad luck he lands, still squealing, on The Horse's back.

The Horse is almost frothing at the mouth with rage: he cannot believe Total Incompetent's continuing insolence. Does he think he can mock The Horse? The sheer cheek of him!

This time The Horse performs a full head-down-between-the-knees, hind feet to the sky buck, sticking in his speciality – a nasty little corkscrew twist that would even get rid of The Horse's Palomino Filly, competent though she is.

Total Incompetent finally gets one thing right: he flies away and lands in the grass with a bone-shaking thump. Shame – The Horse aims him at some gorse.

"Squeal! Squeal! Squeal! Help help help!" shouts Whiney Little Shit.

Ah. The one who brings the stick. The Horse's ribs ache down one side. It is Whiney Little Shit's idea to try beating The Horse, is it?

The Horse lowers his head, bares his teeth, and charges.

Screaming and smelling of fear-sweat, Whiney Little Shit streaks through the gate. Running down the hill, away towards the castle, still screaming like a little filly with a wolf on her tail.

The Horse cannot follow. There are invisible Things on the fence; even when the gate is open, the things remain hanging in the air, the flutter of them against his whiskers telling him the Boundary Rules. Still hopping mad, he wheels in search of a new target. Ah-ha! There is Stinky, picking himself up.

The Horse kicks him. Harder than he should, but The Horse is in a vindictive mood and wants to make this obvious.

There is a cracking sound and squealing. Stinky squeals in short bursts rather than a long high-pitched howl like Total Incompetent. Bones are cracked. Oops, maybe that kick is a bit harder than The Horse intends. But it isn't anything fatal – The Horse isn't quite ready to kill a colt yet.

But then again…

Over near the gorse, Total Incompetent is staggering up to his feet. And he has a small pointy stick in his hand.

The Horse knows what that means in the hands of an enemy. It means pain. It means fear. It means death.

Chaotic images of running lost through a dark forest punctuated with bursts of pain and threats of death tremble at the edge of memory. The Horse's heart is racing now as his body shakes with the shadowy horrors that creep out in his nightmares. The Horse is frightened. There is only one thing to do in a situation like this.

The Horse attacks.

_"Ugg-"_

The uggabugga is never finished. The Horse snaps at the stick.

Sparks fly. A terrible taste – bitter despair and sour jealousy, stale-biscuit of mares stolen by another stallion, mildewed hay loneliness and bone-deep-familiar fermented oats of waiting for punishment to strike, the dry-tongued nightmares he gets of fighting monsters in the night forest, the old snow horror of foals being eaten by wolves – all this fills his mouth at once.

The Horse spits out the broken stick and shakes his head in an effort to rid his mouth of the vileness. That taste has only darkened his mood, turning it murderous.

He swishes his tail as he prowls around the cringing monkeycolt, checking to make sure there are no more traps.

"Uggabugga ugga ugga bugga Simon good ugga ugga good ugga Simon… I am very very frightened and I stink of fear and I am hoping I am not going to die even though I deserve to for frightening The Horse Onceuponatime and causing the hurt of The Horse's Palomino Filly Who Knows What She's Doing…"

Ah-_ha!_ The Horse _has_ known him in the not-now. It has taken this long for his memory to be jogged. The memory is involved with frightening him and making The Horse's Palomino Filly damaged. The taste of the broken stick lingers in his mouth. It is like flies that won't go away. It is the throbbing ache in his side. It is the smell of monsters that come in the night or creep into stables to try to kill and eat The Horse and the Palomino Colt.

And the stick is brought by _this_ monkeycolt…

The Horse arches his neck and glares down his long nose at the monkeycolt quivering at his feet. The monster in the night looks-in-the-past a little like that as it cowers from The Horse, and the taste in The Horse's mouth… the taste… the taste overrides smell which is telling him this is a monkeycolt and thus must not be killed…

The Horse blinks.

Something goes click in The Horse's brain and the monkeycolt becomes the Monster In The Night. Total Incompetent stops being a naughty monkeycolt and becomes A Threat. There, at The Horse's feet, lies The Monster In The Night.

The Horse knows how to deal with threats like Monsters In The Night.

He kills them.

He rears.

_"Uggabugga!"_

Instinct makes him jerk his head back. Yellow light streaks past The Horse's nose. Rearing higher, he turns his head.

IT IS THE WEREWOLF!!! IT ATTACKS THE HORSE!!!

The Horse comes back down to his front feet again, ready to charge at THE WEREWOLF! One hoof brushes something a little bit soft and he moves it back, not wanting to stand on squishy stuff.

The Horse is in bad trouble. THE WEREWOLF! is standing there with a pain stick in his hand and he wants to use it on The Horse. He is upwind from The Horse, and The Horse can smell the terrible smell of monster…

Should The Horse run away or charge? He rears a little, bouncing on his forefeet, trying to make up his mind between fight and flight.

But here, running down the hill, comes That Damned Dog. How strange – it is limping. Has it hurt its leg? It has its teeth bared and the hair along its back is standing up. It makes loud noises that hurt The Horse's sensitive ears.

"BACK OFF!! BACK OFF!! BACK OFF!!" shouts That Damned Dog.

This is strange. Instead of running to help its friend THE WEREWOLF!, That Damned Dog stands between THE WEREWOLF! and The Horse. It bares its teeth.

"Grrr-don't-do-anything-you-will-regret-grrrr," says That Damned Dog.

The Horse is completely stumped. That Damned Dog is not growling at The Horse – it is growling at THE WEREWOLF!

Oops, he has forgotten about the threat under his nose. But a whimpering reminds him.

"Whine whine whine I am frightened and deserve to be," says the voice and smell of Total Incompetent.

How strange – isn't The Monster In The Night there? The Horse peers down at the ground, first with one eye then the other, trying to get a fix on What Is Real.

The Horse is briefly confused between What Is Past and What Is. For a moment The Monster In The Night wavers and is Total Incompetent, that stupid monkeycolt. The Horse does not kill monkeycolts, no matter how stupid they are, not unless they are Threats to The Horse and The Horse's Herd.

The Horse decides to back up a little bit.

But then THE WEREWOLF! growls at That Damned Dog, unnerving The Horse yet again, and The Horse decides he might as well take care of all threats right now.

Now, where am I? thinks The Horse, very confused and angry again. Oh yes. Stomping threats. Is the monkeycolt a threat? I feel very unnerved, so it must be a threat. Yes. I must stomp on the monkeycolt which is a threat.

But the taste in his mouth has faded. He can smell non-monsters more easily now. And the monkeycolt is cringing quite pleasingly. Maybe it has learned a lesson. The Horse can afford to be generous. The best stallions (like him) are magnanimous in victory. Equine instinct lets him know mares think it's sexy. Besides, The Horse does not stomp monkeycolts into the ground. That's against The Rules.

The Horse backs up a step and swings his head around to get a better idea of how That Damned Dog is faring with THE WEREWOLF!

Maybe it's a good time to run away or attack THE WEREWOLF! instead.

Oh no – things are getting worse: the werewolf! is in the paddock and now here come The Horse's Black Colt and Palomino Filly. They shout angry uggabuggas at THE WEREWOLF! They say: "Get out! Get out of the paddock! Do not stand so aggressively before The Horse!"

THE WEREWOLF! says, "I am the leader. I tell you what to do. Do not argue with me, I am very tired and angry and things have not been going well for me for a very, very long time and I am all alone in a place where I thought I would have friends. My temper is very short."

The Horse has little sympathy. Many are alone. The Horse is alone for most of the day – or he has been until lately. It is nice having Sleepy Monkeystallion in his stable, even if it does stink the place up a bit.

Here comes The Horse's Palomino Colt. He is running fast. He has one of those little sticks in his hand, but that's not what bothers The Horse: all three of his youngstock are very, very close to THE WEREWOLF! now.

THE WEREWOLF! will kill the colts and filly.

That switch in his equine brain clicks over to a setting marked: DEFEND FOALS FROM WOLVES.

Red mist closes down just about every other neuron not dedicated to this task and The Horse barrels down the hill.

THE WEREWOLF!'s face goes white as he leaps out of the paddock, crashing into the colt and filly. The Horse screams at THE WEREWOLF!, telling him to _**get the FUCK away**_ from the foals! The gate slams shut – but so what? The Horse doesn't care about minor rules like staying in his territory now, not when wolves are near The Horse's Colts and Filly.

He jumps.

Wards tickle his belly and flanks as he clears the high gate in an easy leap.

There is a scream from the filly but The Horse is too busy dealing with Threats to look at her. He protects her and the colts – all the youngstock – from Threats like THE WEREWOLF!

_WHUM!!!_

The Horse prances to a halt, nearly tripping over his own forefeet in astonishment. There is a large sky-colour wall in front of him. Has the sky fallen? Is THE WEREWOLF! beyond the sky?

This is bewildering. Infuriating.

The Horse is still intent on attacking… something… He is breathing hard and the hair is prickling down his neck and shoulders. That means he is meant to be fighting. But here is the sky, come down to meet him. The sky is not an enemy, is it?

Just in case it is, The Horse strikes out at the sky-colour wall with a forefoot. His hoof bounces off! He peers closer and snorts at it to see if it will react or respond to the challenge. Ah yes – there, behind the thick sky-colour, is THE WEREWOLF.

The Palomino Filly is making fast ugga-bugga noises.

The Horse barely notices her. There is THE WEREWOLF to deal with. The Horse rears and hammers at the wall of sky with his forefeet. Behind it, THE WEREWOLF cringes. THE WEREWOLF has dropped his painstick and the sky has taken away the smell of werewolf…

Who is The Horse meant to be fighting?

Flies and ticks – he keeps losing track. Blood is pounding in his ears and behind his eyes and his head hurts with the pressure of anger and fear. He is sure he is fighting a Monster In The Night and a Werewolf… but where are they? He can't smell enemies any more. All there is is a silhouette of a worn-looking monkeyhorse at the back of a wall of sky.

The Horse rears once more, drops to the ground and paws at it in frustration. It feels like The Rules are crumbling around him. He is shaking all over. His head aches with trying to understand this world of attackers which pop up out of nowhere and melt away as fast as they arrive. Leopards; leopards and bears and lions all around… His memory – such as it is – keeps shouting warnings of bright lights flying through the air towards him, coming to sting and burn and wound and turn him inside out with agony…

Where are all the safe places?

"Simon. The Horse," says Palomino Filly. Her voice is calm, as is the set of her shoulders and angle of her head. She pats the wall of sky. "Ugga bugga. Simon, ugga bugga. We are here together, The Horse. We are safe together. You protect me and I protect you by reminding you who you are. I find the safe places and lead you there."

She…

…is competent.

The Horse takes a cautious step towards her.

She comes the rest of the way. And then her hand is on the headthing, unbuckling it, taking the hurting metal thing (tasting nastily metal with The Horse's blood) out and handing it to The Black Colt, who is standing just in front of That Damned Dog. Her hand is holding the rope under The Horse's jaw. It is a quiet, gentle hold. The Horse could break it easily, but the world is safer with her hand directing it. She murmurs quiet reassurance and directs The Palomino Colt to unbuckle the bellything and remove the backthing.

What a relief! The Horse shakes himself all over.

Movement behind the sky. The Horse flicks his ears back and rears just a little, warning enemies, wondering if it is THE WEREWOLF coming back. It certainly looks like that particular monster.

Gentle reassuring whickers from Palomino Filly tell The Horse he doesn't need to fight anyone right now, though. She is unafraid. So are his two colts, although he can smell that they have recently been very upset. The Horse's Black Colt smells of chickens.

That's definitely strange.

He swings his head around to snuffle at The Black Colt to make sure he's not turning into a chicken, testing around the colt's face to see if he has chickenbreath.

The colt makes that odd burbling whinny they all make sometimes when they are in a good mood, and pats The Horse's head.

The Palomino Colt says huffily, "Ugga bugga. Hey, I'm here too, you know. I'm very important in the world and The Black Colt isn't the only one in the herd." He pats The Horse's shoulder.

The Horse briefly checks his hands for peppermints.

None. Just a slight odour of jealousy.

Oh well. The Horse gives him an affectionate nip on the shoulder before lifting his head to look around for any new attackers.

The Palomino Filly is giving commands. But she is competent, so that's acceptable. She takes the rope again and leads The Horse back into his paddock.

The Horse pricks up his ears. There are two wounded monkeycolts in the paddock. They whimper when they look at him. Oh, now he remembers. They are very badly behaved monkeycolts. The Horse punishes them in the past.

They look extremely punished in the now. Wet stuff is running from their eyes and noses. The Palomino Filly doesn't appear to notice them – she wants him to follow her up to his shelter.

The Horse stops. He doesn't care too much about the bad monkeycolts, but he doesn't want to leave The Horse's Colts alone with… with… aren't there monsters here? Something bad. Very recent badness. He doesn't want them in a Bad Place. It would be negligent of the Resident Stallion to leave them. The Horse shakes his head when The Palomino Filly tugs at the rope, and stops and looks back.

The colts are communicating with a monkeyhorse shape behind the wall of sky. That Damned Dog is with them.

The Horse whinnies – "Come along this instant! Don't make me come back there…!" – and paws the ground impatiently.

The colts obey. The Black Colt checks the punished monkeycolts on the way towards The Horse, but doesn't stop for more than a few brief angry ugga-buggas at them. That Damned Dog follows. The Horse lays back his ears at the canine shape, but the Palomino Filly clucks at him and shakes the rope, distracting him, reminding him that this is not a Bad Dog, even if all doggy-shapes are an abomination against the security of the Herd. The Horse, impatient with the energies left over from rage and fear still bubbling in his blood and twitching his muscles, prances on the spot and tosses his head, not enough to unbalance The Horse's Palomino Filly, just enough to remind everyone that the Herd Stallion is around and not in a mood to put up with nonsense or monsters.

He rears, momentarily startled, as The Palomino Filly pulls out a pointy stick, flicks it, and mutters something. But then he remembers how competent she is. She would never use it to harm her The Horse. The Horse settles again, bouncing a little to feel the springiness of tendons and ligaments in his legs, reminding himself he is powerful enough to deal with those who _would_ use their pointy sticks to harm The Horse and his herd. Just to prove it, he rears, leaps up, and kicks out backwards.

There is a quick breath from The Horse's Palomino Filly.

"Ugga bugga, Simon. Good Simon. Settle down, The Horse. Good The Horse. Stand with all four feet on the ground."

"Ugga bugga!" says The Palomino Colt. "Bloody hell!"

"Bark! Bark bark whine. I don't want to get kicked by The Horse and I don't want anyone else getting kicked by The Horse either," says That Damned Dog.

That Damned Dog has a point. Damn it. That kick goes a little too close to The Palomino Colt. The Horse decides to keep all feet on the ground. For now.

"Ugga bugga. Ugga ugga bugga ugga. Bugga bug ug ug bugga bug. Come on," says The Horse's Black Colt, who is finished checking the punished monkeycolts. He wants to go for a walk. Good idea, thinks The Horse. Time to get some exercise and work out all this pent-up energy.

He looks back and sees the wall of sky is gone. There is a monkeyhorse standing where it should be.

The monkeyhorse looks like THE WEREWOLF. The Horse stops and flicks his ears as he considers this. Well, he decides, calming down a few knots, The Werewolf is nowhere near any of The Horse's youngstock and not even in the paddock, so he guesses that's not The Horse's problem. He doesn't mind the werewolf so long as it is far away. Providing everyone in the Herd stays near The Horse, that's okay.

(Although if That Damned Dog gets any closer he gets such a hoof between the eyes…)

They walk around to the other side of the hill and continue out the far gate, wandering along progressively rocky sheep trails between banks of bracken and heather. The occasional rabbit or bird – partridge, grouse, pheasant… all the same as far as The Horse is concerned – rockets up, the first few startling him massively, making him rear and shy, but eventually he becomes indifferent.

They stop on an outcrop far from the paddock. Marvellous view over my territory, thinks The Horse. The turrets of the castle are visible over the ridge, but tiny, as if the castle is the size of the little stable. There is the usual blot in the distance, that mess of trees and darkness. The Horse hates the forest. The forest is uncertainty and Anarchy. The forest is in a time when he is not Herd Stallion, therefore not powerful and sure, instead it is a time when he is always angry and uncertain and under attack. Only the company of a herd of unicorns could make The Horse stay in the forest. Other than the peace he finds in the company of unicorns, the forest is made up of lies and the only truth in it is that foals who wander without a stallion to look after them get eaten by monsters.

The forest is far away. Satisfied by this, The Horse puts his head down and begins to graze on some of the grasses not in his paddock – a change of diet is always welcome.

That Damned Dog flops down on his side, long pale tongue lolling. The colts find rocks to sit on. The filly brushes her hands over The Horse, checking him for any gorse prickles. He twitches his tail and stamps a back foot as she touches his sore ribs.

"Ugga?"

He turns his head to watch as she gets out her pointy stick, waves it, and his side glows like buttercups with sky-colour splotches over the painful parts.

"Ugga bastards," she says. Her upper lip has gone very tight. She wants to bite and kick someone. The Horse knows it's not him she's angry at, of course. Who, then?

The colts, who have been following the dog's example and lying back to stare up at the sky, sit up. They ask questions. At The Palomino Filly's answers, they take on belligerent stances.

The Horse hopes they aren't going to start fighting. He's got enough going on lately without breaking up squabbles between colts whose hormones are kicking in.

A flick of the filly's wand and the sky-colour spots disappear – along with the pain, although there's still some tenderness. She checks the rest of The Horse, paying careful attention to his bruised gums.

The Horse swallows his mouthful of grass and yawns, making things even easier for her. She finishes and begins to scratch his neck in all the places he likes. Ahh – lovely. He yawns again and begins to groom her in return, biting gently at the loose hide of her shoulder. The Horse is a well-mannered horse – he remembers it's strange how The Horse's Colts don't like being groomed, though; when _they_ groom him they push The Horse's head away every time the well-mannered The Horse tries to groom them back. Maybe they are in awe of such an astonishingly majestic Herd Stallion. Luckily The Palomino Filly is more relaxed, because The Horse enjoys a spot of Mutual Grooming as much as the next horse.

He's feeling quite relaxed now. Grooming is good, even when you're not allowed to groom in return. That is a nice walk to this calm place. And the youngstock he looks after are all here, the colts settling down again. Everything is good. Everything is correct and Within The Rules. Apart from That Damned D- hay, that's _really_ strange!

The Horse's ears shoot forward, almost touching at the tips, as That Damned Dog stretches and changes.

That Damned Dog is gone.

There, where it is in the past, is Sleepy Monkeystallion.

The Horse whinnies, pleased to see his friend out here.

Sleepy Monkeystallion makes the burbling whinny sound, although his sounds a little bit like a dog barking, and stands up to pat The Horse's nose.

The Palomino Filly is tense; suddenly, unreasonably, unfathomably sad. The Horse doesn't know why. They are away from the commotion going on earlier. She's not afraid of Sleepy Monkeystallion (well, why should she be? Sleepy Monkeystallion is a fine chap. He even has hopes for Sleepy Monkeystallion learning how to groom properly!). There are no monsters out here – on this wide open ground he would be able to see them coming from miles away. No crazy monkeycolts are trying to make him do something outside The Rules. Thank goodness that part of the day is over. There is enough ugga-bugga'ing around for one day from dolts of colts. He is taking a bite from the next one who tries anything Against The Rules.

Sleepy Monkeystallion pulls at The Horse's ears. The Horse could fall asleep to this… the day has become almost perfect.

But he wishes he could make The Horse's Adored Palomino Filly stop being so sad.

Why is she sad?

The Horse wonders if it's something to do with him being friends with Sleepy Monkeystallion – she starts being sad when The Horse whinnies to Sleepy Monkeystallion.

She doesn't smell of jealousy, which would be more normal. She smells of sadness.

The Horse nudges at her arm. She ruffles his mane. She makes the burbling whinny sound, which should be a happy sound.

She doesn't smell happy. The Horse nudges her arm again, trying to get her focussed on this good part of the day. She leans in, resting an arm over his neck, he taking her weight easily. Sighing, she moves back until she can put both arms over his back and rest her head against him. He can feel her breath slightly moist through his coat. It is a living reminder he is not alone any more.

"Ugga. Good Simon."

And he knows she is saying "I love you."

She knows he would kill werewolves for her.

If she asks him _not_ to kill a werewolf, could he do that for her?

Maybe. That's how important she is.

ooOOoo

A/N: 6. Ugga! Whew!


	66. Chapter 66

Disclaimer: Hogwarts and its people still belong to JK Rowling, bless her cotton socks for letting us play with them.

ooOOoo

Chapter 66: Stubby Boardman Never Studied Divinations

The meeting between Sirius and selected members of Hogwarts went better than expected. After the fiasco of the morning (those three clowns would never go near a Hippogriff again, let alone a horse), and a lunch where Lupin was absent (apparently he was taking out the last of his fright on Myers, Hitchcock and Blume, although he took the time after lunch to update Sirius on the miscreant three), it was almost an anticlimax to walk Sirius (a limping Snuffles, rather) from Lupin's rooms to the Infirmary, where all those who'd been in Dumbledore's office were waiting to hear the confession of the notorious criminal, Sirius Black. Harry took the big black dog to the small Infirmary room where he and Severus had stayed after the werewolf attack and, after checking no-one was watching and there were no eavesdropping spells, gave Padfoot the thumbs up.

Padfoot turned back into Sirius, notably paler than usual, and sat down on the bed with a groan. "Argh."

"How's your leg?" Harry asked. He'd initially thought Sirius was pale with nerves, but he seemed to be in pain instead.

"It aches." Sirius massaged his thigh and grimaced. "But painkillers would interfere with the Veritaserum so it's best if I don't take any until afterwards. I don't want to be accused of fudging the results."

"Hm. Good point. Well, shall we get it over with? Sooner finished, sooner you can take a potion." Harry stood, looking down on his godfather. "By the way, thanks for defending Simon. Luna thinks you're a hero now." He smiled. "Even Comrade Draco thinks you don't automatically need to be locked up in the dungeons."

Sirius ducked his head and shrugged. "I think Simon was more surprised than anyone. I swear to Merlin I thought someone was going to die, though…"

"If he'd killed one of those idiots he'd have had to be put down…" Harry kept getting nasty cold feelings run down his spine and settle in his stomach every time he thought about it. It was even worse than that time with Buckbeak… "What the hell were they doing in there, anyway?"

"Apparently they thought they'd ride him through the barrier and be heroes – according to Remus, and it's not often you see him that angry…"

"Is he angry at Simon?"

"Probably a bit, but he's smart enough not to push the issue. I think he's reasoned with himself that Simon was provoked, but it was still a stroke of luck none of those three were seriously hurt. Myers won't be able to do much magic now – Simon chewed his wand into smithereens. I, personally, think that was what convinced Remus that Simon doesn't target people so much as he targets wands. That and the way the horse started calming down when Remus dropped his wand after Luna put up that wall of sky…"

"I told him he'd been hexed before the barrier went up…"

"Yes. Remus got top in CoMC – he's reminding himself that Muggle animals have just as much right to react to trauma as any Manticore." Sirius smiled. "Or werewolf." He raked his fingers through his hair, which was almost in as great a need of a brush as Harry's. And in more need of washing than Simon's. "Lucky Luna thought to put that barrier up – I couldn't have saved Simon if he'd gone any closer to Remus."

"They really hate each other, don't they?"

Sirius cocked his head, much as Snuffles might. "Remus doesn't hate Simon. Remus doesn't tend to hate, come to that. Other than Wormtail, of course. And I don't think Simon hates Remus. I think he, as a horse, gets intensely protective when he sees a werewolf around his foals. But I don't think he thinks anything of Remus. He settled down fairly quickly when we moved away – well, when you kids and he moved away. I still think he's dying to plant a good kick between Paddy's eyes."

Harry lifted one corner of his mouth in half a smile. "But not Sirius'. He's your bestest forever buddy now. Have you been sneaking him peppermints on the side?"

"Huh. Not a chance. No, it's just spending time with him. I hadn't really twigged until recently that he's a herd creature – dogs are similar. He'll take any sort of company – well, providing it's not a werewolf or a dog."

"I wonder if it's the shape?"

"I think it's the smell. As well as the shape, probably, yes. I noticed that as soon as Luna cast that barrier, Simon calmed down fairly quickly. Well, compared to how worked up initially he was, of course. It was almost as if he sees Remus as two different people – one a threat, one tolerable."

"He did that with you."

"Exactly. When I triggered that spell I was Evil Incarnate, and then I changed into a dog, which is something he feels doubly obligated to attack… but then when I changed back from being a dog, he was almost solicitous. He kept me company all that night. Strangely reassuring… not that Remus would believe me. Come to think of it, I think it might be something along the lines of proximity with Remus. As soon as he gets too close to one of you kids – Simon's foals, perhaps," he paused with a small smirk as Harry snorted, "… then some sort of alarm bell goes off in his head. Simon's, that is. And Simon goes bananas." He stretched out his leg and sighed. "It still aches, especially with all this walking. Damned lucky the bone had knitted. And that the splint disintegrated so easily when I needed to change into Padfoot and run down the hill… I'd never have been able to change with a broken bone again, let alone the cast. And as I'd promised Albus I wouldn't let any other students see me, I could hardly make a star appearance…"

"I'm glad you did. And that the bone had healed. If it hadn't… Uh." Harry shook his head and looked down. "I could see and hear you barking at Lupin. He'd have hexed Simon for sure if you hadn't been there," said Harry quietly.

Sirius smiled almost shyly. It was an unfamiliar look on his face. He ducked his head again and sighed. "Aren't they ready yet?"

"I'll go and tell them you're ready if you like."

"Thanks, Harry."

"Um, there's a hair brush there… Just if you want to look a bit more… you know…"

"I do know and you're one to talk," Sirius replied with a grin. But he picked up the brush as Harry left.

Harry closed and locked the door behind him (just in case) and found Dumbledore in the room on the opposite side of the Infirmary. The room was already nearly full with staff and students, waiting, pretending they were waiting patiently as they fiddled with thumbs and cuffs or picked at cuticles or (in one case) a pimple. Now that Harry had arrived, there was only the guest of yet-to-be-proven honour left.

Harry nodded to the headmaster, who pretended not to notice particularly (but then left half a minute later).

When Dumbledore returned, Sirius Black was limping next to him. In the minute or two since Harry had left him, the man had made a remarkable improvement. He'd brushed his hair, which now flowed in clean black waves to his shoulders. He'd shaved in Lupin's bathroom and his robes – Harry hadn't asked where he'd got his clothes, because they seemed in better nick than the robes Remus habitually wore – were now neatly pressed. He looked somehow less disreputable than he usually did. Perhaps he'd taken Trudi's remark about looking like an unsuccessful pirate to heart. Or perhaps Dumbledore had cast a few spells to clean him up, which seemed more likely as Sirius didn't have a wand and the robes looked like they'd been subject to a starch-charm.

There were gasps. Sirius ignored them as he sat down in the chair placed towards the front of the room and rested his hands on his thighs. He nodded to the assembled students and staff, not singling out anyone for special attention, which Harry approved of.

Dumbledore flicked his wand and there was a purple shimmer towards the door. "Privacy screen," he said. "No-one who does not have business here may enter or listen in on the proceedings. Now, Madam Pomfrey, would you please check that Mr Black is fit to take the Veritaserum?"

Pomfrey waved her wand and frowned. "He is, Headmaster. But he's also in need of a pain relieving potion…"

"I didn't want anything interfering with the Veritaserum," Sirius said. A few students looked at each other at the sound of his hoarse voice. Sprout and Flitwick frowned down at the floor.

Pomfrey nodded. "Fair enough. In that case, Headmaster, shall we begin?"

"Yes. Madam Pomfrey, if you would be so kind as to administer the Veritaserum? Three drops will suffice."

The mediwitch put three drops in a small tumbler of water and held it to Sirius' lips. "Drink."

Sirius gave her a wink. "Why, Poppy… it's not like I can't hold my own cup…"

She sniffed. "Don't tell me my business, Mr Black. You're not too old for me to give a detention. Those bedpans always need scrubbing…"

"You're a hard woman, Poppy."

"You'd better believe it. Now drink, you reprobate." But she smiled.

Sirius swallowed the water.

"Your name?" asked Dumbledore.

"Sirius Black."

There was an impatient sigh from the students – yes, they knew this man was claiming to be Sirius Black, but was the Veritaserum really working? And was it really Veritaserum Dumbledore had given him? Harry clenched his hands tighter – how were they going to show Sirius was telling the truth?

"Now to test it's working," said Dumbledore, solemn but apparently not concerned with the doubts of the audience. "Questions, anyone?"

Trelawney raised her hand. "I have one. Sirius Black. What did you do with my underwear? And don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about…"

Sirius' eyes widened, then he went scarlet and ground his teeth together.

"It was Jamie's fault… argh!" He threw back his head and grimaced in agony. "No! It's.. okay, it was my idea, all right? And I… dammit… I waited until you were…"

ooOOoo

The students buzzed with excitement over what they'd heard from the murd- well, the man who'd been accused of murder but was apparently innocent, if the Veritaserum was to be believed (as Trelawney, Sprout, Vector and that Lovegood girl claimed it was after their questions were answered to their satisfaction and Black's obvious mortification… and how did Loony know that interesting anatomical detail about Black? Even Black had gaped at her, appalled, when she asked! And then, to cap it off, she'd asked him for details of his affair with the former Divinations teacher, which had gone on while he was a student… and Black, face scarlet, had been forced to admit to it. Even Dumbledore had been shocked), but, thanks probably to the charm Dumbledore laid on them, they all immediately went quiet on the subject of Sirius Black as soon as they passed through the purple barrier. Harry was grateful they didn't stop to ask questions about the murder of his parents. It wasn't like he cared to go over it again, certainly not in this forum. But they were too busy exclaiming gleefully over the teacher-student affair to stop and think about anything more serious, like murder.

Black was left in the custody of Professor Lupin, who cast a chameleon charm over Black (and offered to teach it in DADA on Monday when students showed an interest in it) and took him back to his quarters.

It left the question of how to break the news to the rest of the castle, but the students seemed happy to leave that up to Dumbledore and the other teachers. Even the Slytherins didn't argue – Pansy tried, but stopped when it appeared no-one wanted to back her up, not after Comrades Draco and Millicent claimed they were happy with the arrangement, having so much more to concern themselves with in the Republic of Slytherin. Wink, wink, nod.

Harry wondered if they'd meant it as a threat. Possibly. He was a Parselmouth, true, but it didn't mean he spoke Slytherinese.

Really, it was all a bit of an anticlimax.

He went, with Hermione and Ron and some bogus questions about DADA homework, to see Professor Lupin later that afternoon as the lowering sun puddled warm and golden on the floors of the west-facing corridor where Lupin's rooms were to be found.

Lupin let them into his quarters and showed them into the sitting room where a certain Animagus was resting on the couch with his leg propped up on cushions and a cup of tea and a mountainous selection of biscuits sat on a table next to him. A Quidditch magazine lay open across his stomach.

"Bit of a step up from a stable," said Harry.

Sirius smiled lazily. "Isn't it, though?"

"Would you three like some tea?" Lupin asked. "Or would you prefer pumpkin juice?"

"Tea would be lovely, thanks," said Hermione, carefully not looking at Sirius. Or Lupin, which Harry found slightly strange.

Ron and Harry both nodded. "Yes, please."

Lupin spoke into a small silver bell which had survived Draco's pillaging of the castle when he made the silver shoes, and a moment later there was a sharp cracking sound and Dobby appeared, wearing a T-shirt long enough to serve as a dress, and balancing a tray wider than he was tall on one hand. A fat willow pattern teapot with matching cups sat on it, sending up steam, along with a plate containing a pile of biscuits to show Sirius' plate held a mere foothill, and gleaming semicircles of cut fruit (Dobby knew Hermione's tastes). There was even half a grapefruit decorated with toothpicks stuck into it – the toothpicks skewering pieces of pineapple and cubes of ham and cheese so the orange looked somewhat like a hedgehog on a downmarket Epicurean bender.

"Cheers, Dobby," Ron said enthusiastically. "That's brilliant!"

Dobby bowed, placing the tray on a low table. "Dobby is pleased to bring you afternoon tea. And Dobby is pleased Master Black is not hiding. Kitchen elves gossip… oh, but only to ourselves," he added hastily as he caught Lupin's expression of horror. "Dobby makes sure no students not meant to be knowing will know." He tapped his misshapen nose. "House elves are modellers of excretion."

Ron choked on a biscuit.

"Er… models of discretion, hopefully. Thanks, Dobby," said Harry, as Hermione slapped Ron on the back.

"Anything for Harry Potter," Dobby beamed. "Anything else for Harry Potter?"

"Er, not at the moment, thanks."

"How are things in the kitchen?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, very good now we has lots more food. Master Draco…" and here Dobby winced, looking around as if he expected Lucius to come out of the woodwork and order him to iron his hands "… Master Draco did… is it true he did something _good?"_

"He did something incredibly reckless," said Lupin shortly. "But yes, he also did something very good. It was very thoughtful to have brought back those letters – it's cheered up so many people."

"Hmm," said Dobby doubtfully. "But… sometimes Dobby wonders if Draco Malfoy, who is from a very bad family, should spend so much time with Harry Potter, who is all that is goodness and virtue…"

Ron choked on his biscuit again. "'Scuse me," he muttered through a spray of crumbs. Hermione sighed and went back to patting him on the back as her lips twitched.

"He's from my family," said Sirius.

Dobby winced. "Yes, sir. The Blacks is… er… a very distinguished family, sir…"

"Oh, look… Dobby, I'm well aware my family's rotten to the core. But sometimes it produces something not totally hopeless. Draco mightn't be quite as bad as you think he is…"

"Then he is merely a very very bad person instead of a very very _very_ bad person?" Dobby squeaked.

"No! I just meant… Oh, you don't have to have anything to do with him. But don't go putting hexes on Bludgers just because you think he's a danger to Harry."

"Don't you worry about me, Dobby," said Harry, taking pity on the house elf who was now wringing his hands in his T-shirt. "I'm fine. Malfoy's got a new agenda and I don't think murdering me is involved at any stage."

"Are you sure, Harry Potter?"

"As sure as I can be." Or he had been sure until Dobby had reminded him of Draco's family and potential allegiances. Damn Dobby for raising doubts like this! Harry reminded himself that Draco had trusted him with some potentially lethally damaging information about his family. But it was hard, sometimes, when Malfoy wasn't here and Harry was reminded how tricky he could be… "I'm sure, Dobby," he said firmly. Because he chose to be. The evidence as he had it was in favour of Draco being on… well, maybe not Harry's side exactly, but on a side opposing Voldemort and allied with Harry's.

"Much as it hurts to admit it," Ron said around a mouthful of his third gingernut, "Malfoy's been pretty good lately. Not that I'm saying I'd like him at my back if I was standing looking over a cliff… but then he'd probably say exactly the same thing about me. Cup of tea, Dobby?"

Dobby's eyes brimmed with tears. "Me? Have a cup of tea with wizards? Oh, Mr Weasley… you is the best of friends and worthy of the wonderful Harry Potter!"

And with a wail and another sharp _crack! _he disappeared.

"Mental," said Ron, shaking his head.

"Don't say that, Ron," Hermione said. "He's had a hard life…"

"Not Dobby – _me_, for defending Malfoy."

"True. There's no hope for you," Harry said comfortably. "But don't worry, we'll come and visit you in St Mungo's. Pass those macaroons, will you?"

Sirius passed them over. After a moments silence, he sighed, "Go on, spit it out, Hermione. You're just about bursting to ask."

"Er…?" she said, and blushed.

"About me and Violet Wotansdottir." He stirred a teaspoon of sugar into his second cup of tea.

"Er… she was a teacher? And… you…?"

"I was a student, yes. And she had great ti- teaching methods."

"I don't remember you calling them that before," Lupin said mildly. "I always thought it was the long blonde plaits. More tea, Ron?"

"Thanks." Ron held out his cup. "I thought those sort of things weren't meant to happen."

"They're not," said Lupin. "There are even spells against it, and there's a clause in the contract you have to sign to be a teacher. But you'd be amazed how the human heart can find ways around those. Not that Sirius was ever thinking with his heart, of course."

"Oi!" Sirius laughed, and threw a gingernut at Lupin, who caught it in his mouth with a quick snap of his teeth that made Harry wonder just how much of the werewolf was carried through into the rest of the month.

Hermione stared into her teacup. She probably wasn't looking for tealeaves to divine the future. Or if she was, then it was an embarrassing future, judging by the way her cheeks had gone pink. "But… she was a _teacher._"

"Taught me quite a lot," Sirius said happily. He looked at Lupin, who had one eyebrow raised, and added quickly, "Not that I recommend making a pass at any of your teachers. Especially current Divinations teachers. And can you imagine McGonagall's face if you… ah… Moony, you ever had anyone approach you?"

Remus smiled, swallowed, and for a moment something amber glinted in his eyes. "Would I tell you if I had?"

"No. Fair enough. Although I expect you'd turn them down in as kind a fashion as possible. You're revoltingly honourable sometimes."

"Thank you, because I am and I would. I suppose you think that was a complement?"

"Think what you like." Sirius winked. "My, these scones are good…"

Hermione was still pink. Harry took pity on her – Hermione hated having her nose rubbed in the fact her teachers were human – and said, "How did Luna know about it?"

Sirius shrugged. "Couldn't say. It's not like it was common knowledge. Of course, her dad's got his ear out for the craziest stories. It was probably something he picked up when _The Quibbler _was running all those stories on me."

"Was there ever anything in that Stubby Boardman thing?" Ron asked.

Sirius threw back his head and roared with laughter. "No! Merlin help me, but that story was the best thing that could have happened then! It cheered me up no end. I can't believe the people Mr Lovegood finds out there in La-la Land… Probably they find him. What was that woman's name? Lord love her, I have to write to the dear old duck and give her my best wishes… I'll send her a photo and sign it 'With love from your Stubby Boardman.'"

ooOOoo


	67. Chapter 67

Disclaimer: Characters and settings still belong to HRH JKR. Except for Elmsworthy and Trudi. They're on their own mystical journeys. Woo.

A/N: Cambodian history is very complicated. Elmsworthy gives a potted (pun unintended) history of recent events, but he doesn't know a great deal about the rise of the Khmer Rouge. It's a lot bloodier and more frightening than anything either fact or fiction I care to write about. If you want an in-depth analysis, don't ask me about it because thinking about it too much gives me nightmares. Don't bother asking Elmsworthy, either. This chapter is another of those weird brain fluctuations, this time on parallels and crossovers between Muggle and Wizard politics (and one theory on why international bodies haven't stepped in to deal with Voldemort).

Warning for those who like plot development: if you're bored by long spiels on politics, skip to the end.

ooOOoo

Chapter 67: Crack

That evening being a Sunday evening, it was time to do the last minute essays for Charms and History of Magic. That meant research. That meant it was time to hit the library.

Harry, Hermione and Ron found Draco and Trudi already there. Draco, though he'd been let off earlier essays thanks to his blindness, had found that this small ounce of luck evaporated faster than a warm puff of methane when teachers didn't want students sitting idle for too long – particularly when that student was Draco Malfoy, who had a history of proving the old adage about idle hands and the devil's work being true even in a modern setting. So Draco was up to his pale eyeballs in books as he tried to make sense of the goblin sacking of Crete in terms of the spread of the Phoenician oligarchy. A spark was applied to his tinder-dry temper when Ron remarked casually, "Oh, right, I'm glad I finished that last Friday… took me at least half an hour…"

There was a hiss of indrawn breath from Draco as he puffed himself up like a Kneazle confronted by a Crup.

The day was saved by Hermione, who slipped a crucial book under Draco's nose at the same time as she elbowed Ron in the ribs. The look of surprise on Ron's face was quickly eclipsed by one of chagrin as he realised Malfoy might have easily taken his comment as an attempt to run him down in front of Trudi. And Malfoy had probably been working on the essay for a good deal longer than half an hour as he didn't have the Hermione-equivalent to point him in the direction of the answers.

Luckily the arrival of Luna defused any further tension. "Hello," she said, happily unaware of metaphorical steam rising from Draco's ears (or of the quizzical sideways look from Ron, a look that didn't escape Harry's notice, however). She dropped her books on the desk, seemingly unaware of the sharp glare from Madam Pince at the noise. "Glad everything's sorted. Or nearly." She waggled her pale eyebrows and Harry stifled a groan. Was she going to announce something about Sirius here, in public?

"Really?" said a quiet voice from behind Harry, making him jump.

"Comrade," said Draco, and Trudi smiled at the new arrival. "Grab a chair. Balance things out a little bit – otherwise it's me and Trudi against the Gryffs. And Luna."

"I'm neutral," said Luna as she, too, took a seat.

"Nice to hear it after all the acid comments flying in Slytherin earlier," Elmsworthy said as he sat between Harry and Draco.

"Was that after the big explosion?" Trudi asked.

"What explosion?" said Hermione, looking worried.

"Er…" Elmsworthy bit his lower lip – easy enough to do with his protruding upper teeth. He now looked like a particularly saturnine rabbit.

"Didn't you feel it?" said Luna, her eyes bulging in surprise. "The portraits are still talking about it. The headmaster was… um…"

"Er…" Elmsworthy was beginning to turn red. "Yes. He… um… discussed it with me."

"_You_ did that?" Trudi said, eyes narrowing. For a twelve year old she had a very fierce stare when she needed it. "You broke my china unicorn!"

"I'll fix it, I promise…"

"Millicent fixed it, and that's not the point. The point is that the whole ceiling nearly came down and there's a big crack in the wall and half the lake poured through it. Goyle can't swim, you know. And Zabini swears he saw a water snake. Debbie Bailey and her third-year coven had _fits_ because they're convinced snakes will climb into their rooms."

Ignoring a perfectly good opening for some comment on Slytherins and snakes (in Harry's opinion), Elmsworthy frowned and said, "Since when do you care about them?"

"Since they started giving everyone headaches. They're very shrill, and there's no Professor Snape to tell them to shut the flipping heck up. So now there's a lake in the common room. Do you think the Giant Squid gets out of the water to go to the toilet? _I_ don't think so! We have to pole across to the door in our trunks using our brooms as poles because the bristles are too wet to fly…"

"Dumbledore told me he'd fix the hole," Elmsworthy sighed, and ran his fingers through his spiky brown mop of hair. "I am sorry, if it's any help. And I think I've worked out what went wrong…"

Draco shook his head. "If this is going to get technical, I've already got a headache from those rotten Phoenician goblins."

"It's going to get technical. So I'll save the explanation."

Hermione drooped.

Elmsworthy either didn't notice, or had something else on his mind. Probably the latter, and Harry felt the hairs up the back of his neck prickle in horror as the Slytherin said, "I've been meaning to ask you lot if you've noticed anything… well… _weird_ about Lupin's dog."

Elmsworthy hadn't been at the meeting – he wasn't a prefect.

"Errrr…." said Harry, stalling for time and hoping like hell someone would come up with a way of explaining away any concerns Elmsworthy had about Snuffles.

"He seems awfully intelligent for an animal," Elmsworthy continued. "I was wondering if one of the Aurors got transfigured into a dog during the fight. But then I remembered the dog had been present before the battle. I only really noticed it when we went out last night. I nearly had my finger on what's strange about it when I had the little accident this afternoon."

_"'Little accident',"_ Trudi mouthed to herself sarcastically, brow thunderous.

"It's something the headmaster wants kept secret for a little while longer," Draco said, turning a page and making another note with a quill pale as his hair. "There's going to be some sort of announcement… best not to push things."

Elmsworthy nodded. "Oh. One of those things." He smiled and shook his head. "Glad you warned me. I was about to cast an Animagus revealing spell on that dog, can you believe it?"

Only Luna wasn't staring at him.

Elmsworthy's expression could have soured milk. "Oh, you've got to be kidding. The next thing you'll tell me is that it's Potter's runaway godfather…"

"How the hell did you know that?" Ron hissed, sounding like a kettle on the boil, should a kettle suddenly come to grips with English.

Elmsworthy rolled his eyes. "Okay, you had me fooled…"

"It's not a joke, Comrade," Draco said calmly. "Oh, here we go… it was Carbunculus the _Great_, not Carbunculus the Traitor…" He made another note. "And please keep it under your proverbial hat. Best not ask how you worked it out – not out here in public."

Elmsworthy was still shaking his head. "All right, all right… That old rumour about a rat with a silver paw is accurate, then?"

"I'd really like to know how you hear these rumours," Draco said, finally looking up. His eyes were cold, speculative. "Especially some of the old ones."

Elmsworthy, unfazed, replied, "Hogwarts is a rumour mill. Everyone knows that."

"Rats with silver paws are not common knowledge. Or rumour. I would have heard it by now."

Elmsworthy shrugged. "Just because I'm a Halfblood doesn't mean I can't keep up with the Pureblood news. Gives me an edge, in fact – I can compare shifts with what's going on in the Muggle world and keep track of certain trends."

Draco was beginning to bristle. Harry wasn't altogether sure why, but suspected it was some old Slytherin issue. Time to change the subject. "Does anyone know about the Apsala charms? Some sort of siren spell, I think. It's my individual research project for Charms."

Ron yawned, covering his mouth with a broad, freckled hand. "You get all the good ones, mate. Siren charms. Half of that's myth, the rest is speculation."

"Not the Apsala charms," Elmsworthy countered. "Have a look under Angkor Empire magic, Potter. I think the Apsala sirens had their hey-day about eight centuries ago."

"Where was the Angkor Empire?" Harry asked. "Never heard of that one."

"Not many Wizarding people have. It was Muggle and covered most of Kampuchea, extending into Thailand and maybe Vietnam as well. Possibly even Laos, but don't quote me on that. A big chunk of South-East Asia, anyway."

Harry must have still looked blank.

"Is that where the Klingons come from?" asked Draco.

Harry frowned thoughtfully. He still hadn't found out about the Klingons.

"Huh? Er… no, I really doubt it." Hermione blinked and her mouth twitched. "But it had the biggest city in the world in its day, but then it fell and was almost forgotten by the outside world until about a hundred years ago."

"Why didn't we study it in History?" Draco asked.

"Because it would be in Muggle Studies. Apart from the sirens, the magic wasn't substantial – not by the standards of what was going on in other parts of the world at the time, so it wasn't regarded as part of the wizarding world."

"Oh." Draco could sneer even when he wasn't intending to.

Hermione's eyes hardened. However, her voice continued sweetly with, "It's a shame, because Kampuchean history – particularly the recent history with Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge – can tell us a lot about the rise of Dark wizards, and what can happen when politics get out of control. Kampuchea's gone from being the most powerful country of the region to one of the poorest in the world. It's quite scary."

"Were Dark wizards involved?" asked Harry.

"Yes," said Elmsworthy, thankfully distracted from his speculations on Sirius, "but not as the primary initiators of the conflict. Kampuchea's the old name. You probably know it better as Cambodia."

No, Harry didn't know it under either name, but he didn't want to look like an idiot when everyone else at the table seemed to assume everyone knew all about this place, whatever it was called. "Studied it, have you?"

"Well, I did live in Kampuchea for a few years. Although to be fair it was while I was also at Hogwarts, so I was only there for the holidays. There's this tree where…" He broke off, looking around the table. "Never mind."

"What?" said Draco. "Are we too delicate?"

"I don't know, but after I worked out what the tree was all about I didn't keep food down for a whole day. And no, before you ask, it wasn't food poisoning. You've just had dinner. Suffice to say, Muggles are very inventive. And highly imaginative."

"I remember Professor Snape saying that once…"

"Because, Comrade, he wasn't an idiot. And no, he wasn't just talking about art and literature and movies. There's a theory going around, countering the argument that Muggles have a better grasp of fine arts than wizards because of the wider pool of talent, that Muggles in fact turn a lot of their magic inwards. Dufont's been doing some research, Granger, if you're interested – he came out with a paper on it last year in _Comparative Muggle Sociology._ Worth a read, in my opinion. Ignore all the tripe they teach us in Muggle Studies and go out and subscribe to the journal. Anyway, the theory postulates that internalised pseudo-psycho magic, IPPM, which is the name of the new theory, it, um, postulates that Muggles can come up with some interesting solutions to their problems we can't possibly contemplate until they've become fact. That's why it's important we keep ourselves apart. Can you imagine what would happen if Muggles found out about us and decided to exploit our world?"

"I thought you liked Muggles?" Hermione said, her brows drawn together just slightly.

Comrade Tyrol gave her a chilly don't-you-dare-presume-to-tell-me-my-morals look. "I like or dislike people regardless of classification. And I appreciate the fact that Muggles are a hell of a lot more dangerous than wizards give them credit for. As should you. Any informed person would. They're not a bunch of delicate flowers who die as soon as a wizard looks at them. Some of them would probably get along really well with us. However, at the other end of the scale, there are those who would not, and would perceive us as a threat. And act on that. Much like that Simon creature, but with weaponry infinitely more subtle and more devastating than four hooves. Sooner or later they'll discover us. We need better methods of protecting ourselves than mere secrecy and hatred." Elmsworthy lowered his voice for the last after Madam Pince shot him a glare.

Hermione ducked her head gracefully in mingled apology and acceptance of his points. There was a silence owing more to sudden, unhappy thought than the nearby librarian.

Luna said, eventually, "So what sparked off Kampuchea if it wasn't Dark wizards?"

"Politics. Communism versus democracy – same old story of Muggle twentieth century. There was a war going on in Vietnam, and one of the invading powers – one of the North American ones, typically – thought Kampuchea was helping the enemy, which factions probably were, so..."

"What?" interrupted Harry. "I thought the North Americans – Canada and the USA – were the good guys… They are for Muggles, anyway. And American Aurors really helped us out with Grindelwald…"

"Not for all Muggles. Well, Canadians seem pretty popular among Muggles…" began Elmsworthy, but was interrupted by a snort from Draco.

"Silly, silly Muggles. You can't trust anyone based on nationality. Not even Albanians."

Elmsworthy ignored this. "Okay – where was I? Kampuchea. Cambodia. Well, the US, a country which uses a political system called democracy similar to what we have, the US – I'm a bit hazy on the details, sorry," he said as Hermione shifted in the manner of someone about to ask a question, "to make a long story short, it was trying to root out communist factions in the area with the help of its ally, South Vietnam. That polarised Kampuchea, which already had a pretty rocky government with lots of rebels from what I can figure, Then one of the non-government factions took power – the Khmer Rouge. Underscoring the irony was the fact that these rebels were communist… and they were absolutely brutal as they took control of the country. I always thought it was ironic, because this is just one example of how Muggle democratic countries have managed to stimulate the formation of communist countries or fascist dictatorships… well, I don't think Khmer Rouge was properly communist from what I know of Muggle political theory – more of a vile dictatorship. It really fu… um, really didn't do the country much good. There are places you can't walk today."

Harry's head was still spinning as he tried to work it out. "Huh?"

"Bandits?" asked Trudi.

"Landmines," Elmsworthy replied. "Sort of like Muggle hellpits – stand on one and you lose a leg and probably your life. Think of Great Britain seeded with millions of hellpits and you get some idea."

"Gosh," said Trudi. "It sounds like Muggles have Dark Lords."

"They do, according to Dad. He's met a few of them in Asia. But he reckons that quite a few of them know that it's better to rule by public good opinion, so they don't get time to do a lot of evil."

"Huh. Sounds like Fudge."

"Same tactic, different attitude towards human rights."

Trudi frowned. "So what's the difference?"

"Oh, the difference is there. Dad says it is." Elmsworthy grinned lopsidedly, although smiles on his sad clown face made him look cynical rather than happy, and ran his fingers through his spiky brown hair. "Irony again – y'know how they say power corrupts?"

"And ultimate power corrupts ultimately," said Hermione.

"Well, some of the Muggle Dark Lords have to prove how incorruptible they are to keep power more easily… so they end up doing good just to keep their power."

Hermione shook her head. "Can't happen very often."

"More often than you'd think. But only with the really canny ones. Keep an eye on the Han Republic for Wizarding Dark Lords who're doing actual good in the world, if you want an example."

"Getting back to Kampuchea… as it's a Muggle problem and on the other side of the world, it doesn't really impact us," Draco said, although he was studying his hands unhappily.

What Draco'd just heard seemed to have affected him, but how, Harry couldn't say. Harry did wonder about what Elmsworthy had said about power forcing people to appear squeaky-clean. Was that what Malfoy was doing? No – Harry was pretty sure Malfoy wasn't quite that Machiavellian. Not _quite._ Probably not.

Draco was still speaking quietly but firmly: "Slytherin had it right – total separation of Wizarding and Muggle worlds. So long as we keep ourselves apart, why should we concern ourselves with Muggles?"

Hermione, her eyes hardening, suddenly smiled and sat back in her chair. "Excellent question. It's a shame more wizards don't ask it."

Ron gave her a sideways look of barely-concealed alarm.

"Well," Hermione began, "Cambodia's Khmer Rouge has parallels in the Wizarding world. Albeit in another country. You know about the Hummingbird Brotherhood, of course."

Draco nodded. "It's not part of History of Magic, though. Too recent. We don't even learn about the first rising of the Dark Lord." To Harry, who must have been looking as confused as he felt (especially as his brain tried to sort through what Elmsworthy had said about Cambodia – a country he'd not known existed until three minutes ago), Draco added, "The Hummingbird Brotherhood was a group of wizards in Chile sometime in the… in the seventies, I think. A lot of other wizards just… disappeared. Like what was going on in Europe under Grindelwald."

"There was a Muggle parallel to the Chilean crisis. Muggles were also 'disappeared' by their new government. And perhaps slaughter by the powers that be is going on in Britain right now," Hermione put in darkly.

Draco nodded. "I've heard stories of what the Aurors get up to."

Hermione's face darkened. "That wasn't what I meant and you know it."

"I do know, but you've got to be aware that being on the same side as you doesn't automatically make someone a good person," Draco said bluntly, and Comrades Trudi and Tyrol nodded. "Blind yourself to that, and you'll end up giving yourself grief later on."

"Constant vigilance?" Ron said, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

Draco shrugged. "If it works. Of course, too much paranoia can send you into St Mungo's, either the mental ward or from a plain and simple heart attack."

"So you can't win," Harry said.

"Oh, I never said that." Draco smiled like a cat.

"Huh," said Ron. "You should play poker, playing your cards so close to the chest as you do."

"Poker? What's that?" said Draco.

Harry, seeing Ron's eyes gleaming at the prospect of Malfoy gold, kicked him under the table. "It's that game you were teaching Trudi and Daisy last week."

Draco glowered.

Ron muttered something that sounded like 'bloody hell, that was a close one…' and went back to his book.

"So what happened in Chile?" Harry asked.

"Some stuff that wasn't very nice," Draco said. "Their Ministry of Magic was corrupt and then another country undermined it. In this case it was instigated by a group of Canadian wizards who overthrew the elected Chilean Ministry of Magic. All very complicated – something to do with the rights to harvest certain magical mines in South America. After they installed a new regime which was more interested in trade with them, the Canadians got their cinnabarmarine, so that was just lovely for them. Unfortunately the Chileans were slaughtered en masse by their own, new government. And as a reaction to this new government, a group calling themselves the Hummingbird Brotherhood was formed from people angry at the new government and North American interference. The Hummingbird Brotherhood, proving itself to be even more brutal than the new government, used guerrilla tactics –"

"Gorilla tactics? Like… big monkeys? Banana Republicans?"

"No, Ron – _gue_rrilla tactics," said Hermione, as Draco appeared to be struggling hard not to laugh. "Underground war," she continued before Draco could burst a blood vessel. She seemed annoyed with anyone laughing while such a topic was under discussion. Fair enough, thought Harry. "And no, not _literally_ underground," she continued brusquely, "just… not conventional armies. Like what's going on with You-Know-Who. The Brotherhood had a set agenda – witches were to be stripped of magic and confined to the house as they were female and therefore inferior. Any wizards who were homosexual would be 're-educated' or killed."

"What's wrong with being homosexual?" Trudi asked, surprising Harry. He'd heard attitudes in the wizarding world were more relaxed, but it was the first time he'd really been shown just how relaxed. And by Trudi, of all people… Draco didn't seem surprised, neither did Ron or Elmsworthy. Only Hermione suddenly looked as flustered as Harry felt.

"Er… a lot of Muggles have strong attitudes against same-sex marriages," Hermione said. "So do some of the traditional magical cultures in South America, Asia and Africa. Where was I? Oh, yes. Healers, teachers, politicians… all educated people, in fact, disappeared. Investigators after the Brotherhood was defeated found the spell-residue and confirmed the deaths of those people – apparently they hadn't died quickly. When it threatened to spill over into other South American countries, International Law was brought in. The elected national body – well, elected in the sense of vote-for-us-or-we-kill-you – of Chile was arrested and sent to trial. Most were found guilty of crimes against humanity under international wizarding law and a new governing body was set up."

"Why don't they do that with You-Know-Who?" Ron asked, then answered his own question: "Oh, right, because then we'd cease to be an independent nation. Sovereign state. Whatever. Bill's penpal from South America told him about it – Chile is still being governed by an international committee, or at least until stability is re-established. But of course by wizarding standards, this takes somewhere between fifty and a hundred years. And the British Ministry wouldn't want that, oh no, because that'd mean they'd all be totally removed from power for at least twelve years but probably a lot more, until this country was regarded as being not in critical danger of being undermined by having Brits in any way, shape or form shaping its future."

"And that's what's happened to Chile?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. Apparently they've only just had their first local body elections. Grass-roots governance, but no real power. And there are officials from the International Federation of Warlocks who're posted in each district."

"Same in Cambodia." Hermione put in. "That's been quite recent. It got less press because all the reporters who went in were murdered as a matter of course. But it's in its fourth year of total occupation by the I.F.o.W. The mortality rate got so high it was in danger of magical implosion. Oh, go and look it up, Harry. I'm not going to explain the higher-level Arithmancy behind magical collapse within an area. Turing's biography says a lot about it, with nice graphs of the waveforms and concentration gradients."

Harry would look it up just as soon as the insomnia became life-threatening.

Draco was staring off into space. "Maybe it would be for the best," he said. "But I'm selfish enough not to want a bunch of foreigners telling me what to do. It's bad enough having Gryffindors in charge of Hogwarts – I bet if there was an intervention we'd have some French wizard in charge of us."

"I would've thought with a name like 'Malfoy' you'd be cheering for the French to come in and take over," said Ron.

"Not with the reason the Malfoys came over here in the sixteenth century – slight problem with religion."

"What, they wanted you to change your religion?"

"They wanted us to _get_ religion. Malfoys are not religious. And we won't pretend to be."

"What happened about the Dark wizards from Canada?" Harry asked, frowning.

"Nothing. They're immune under international law – they skimmed the edges just enough to avoid prosecution. Father has some of them round to dinner occasionally." He paused, as if he'd just thought better of adding something to that.

"Speaking of politics, what sort of ideology has been decided on within the Republic of Slytherin?" asked Hermione.

Comrades Draco and Tyrol glanced at each other. Elmsworthy shrugged. "At the moment, it's going to be democratic. Ish. We're still not sure, but the elections to place people into their roles within the Republic should be on Wednesday."

"What happens to the people without roles?" Hermione asked.

"They still get a voice. Their elected representatives have to stick to their promises. Otherwise… Well, let's save the surprises for later, shall we?" He smirked, proving he was a Slytherin, even if his goofy exterior tended to fool people into putting him into the Luna bracket of Ravenclaw.

"Are you running for anything, Trudi?" Hermione asked the youngest of the study group.

Trudi shook her head. "No. There's going to be a first-year representative on the Year Committee, but I can't be bothered."

"I'm not running for anything either," said Elmsworthy, his long face developing a hint of disdain. "Not until they come up with a technological advisor post."

"You can have the Inter-House Liaison post," said Draco. "Milli's still keen on someone doing that."

"I thought you were going to do that," said Harry.

"I decided to be president instead."

"Oh. Fair enough. Any special perks come with the job?"

Draco smiled like a crocodile this time. "I'll see what I can arrange."

Harry rolled his eyes. "All comrades are equal, but some comrades are more equal than others."

"Huh?"

"Come on, I'll see if the book is here…" Harry wasn't giving out Severus' copy to anyone. Not until he'd finished reading it himself, that was…

They found it in Muggle Studies. Draco sneered at it out of habit, then decided to check it out.

Back at the table, Draco held up the book. "Anyone read this?"

Elmsworthy smiled, or twitched his mouth into a slightly less mournful line. Something gleamed deep in his eyes. "_Animal Farm._ Yes. It's very good."

"But it's Muggle."

Elmsworthy's eyes narrowed for a millisecond. "Get over it, Malfoy. And get some education. You should never turn your pointy little ferret nose up at knowledge." He picked up his Potions text and stalked out of the library.

"Huh. Those potions fumes have gone to his head… But it's getting late and I've finished the essay, so I'd better go, too." Draco collected up his books. "Well, this has been pleasant. And not entirely pointless. But I've got an election to arrange."

Harry frowned. "What?"

"We need to work out who is going to do what in the Glorious Republic. And since I want to be Comrade President I guess I'd better put some work in." He sounded quite sincere – Harry hoped he wasn't starting to take the whole Republic of Slytherin thing seriously. "See you tomorrow."

"Got some vote-buying to do?" Ron asked.

"No, thought I'd just rig the ballot-boxes." Draco smiled sweetly. "So much as touch the nib of your quill to the wrong box, and _bam._ You're out in the middle of the Forest. With a long walk that should give you enough time to reconsider which box you're going to tick when you get back. Hmm. Might not want to do that to Elmsworthy… I need his help for something later and he's already in a bit of a snot with me… but then he'll probably vote for me so I should be safe. Might just tell him the counter-spell just in case – it would look friendly for me to do so…"

"Do you think he means it?" Ron asked as soon as Draco had wandered off, Trudi trotting along next to him as Malfoy's expression lost focus, mind probably sparking in whatever mindscape political animals (ferrets included) dwelt.

"Maybe," said Hermione.

"Probably," said Harry.

"Glad I'm in Gryffindor," said Ron.

"He's changed," Hermione said. "A lot."

"Blindness would do that," said Luna, surprising them. Everyone had thought she was asleep.

Hermione nodded, opened her mouth to say something, and…

… And that was when the bell in her ear went off like a fire alarm.

ooOOoo

When he got back to Slytherin, it was to find there was a small problem with the phrasing of the ballots. Luckily the hole in the wall had been sealed, and Vector and Sprout had been along to help dry everything out. The heated argument going on when he arrived had probably evaporated any remaining dampness. Draco and Millicent worked it out with the help of a self-appointed committee of interested Slytherins. At that stage, Hermione, Ron and Harry (Luna muttered something about checking on how a potion was getting on and slipped away as soon as everyone was distracted with an enraged Madam Pince throwing them out because of the racket) were knocking on Remus' door, whispering among themselves about the wisdom of getting Sirius when it meant it would probably mean involving Lupin.

By the time Draco and Millicent and the Ad Hoc Committee of Equal Opportunity Advancement of Slytherin Leaders accepted Comrade Pansy's alteration (adding 'please use the power of your vote wisely' to the posters, replacing Draco's first choice: 'vote or die, apathetic morons'), a rumpled Sirius and Remus were arguing with Harry, Hermione and Ron over the wisdom of venturing into the Forbidden Forest after dark.

Sneaking away with a mild headache, Draco opened the book at roughly the same time the Gryffindor trio (plus shaggy black dog and a werewolf in a dressing gown with purple rabbits) convinced Hagrid a walk in the forest to find a missing cat was more exciting than an early night with a cup of Bovril. They didn't have to argue much.

A pair of third years tried to interrupt Draco just as the animals in the book launched the revolution, driving out the farmer. Wands weren't meant to be used in the dormitories for defence – not in the way Draco used his. The third years should have taken the hint that he was busy before they suddenly sprouted pig snouts. As they ran squealing back into the common room, Harry and his companions were casting spells to find Crookshanks' direction.

Draco had to flip back a few pages after the Battle of the Cowshed. He wasn't quite sure what a windmill was, and he was confused as to how animals could harness themselves up to drag stones around. Was there magic involved? He couldn't quite see Simon ever putting on his own saddle, for example. And what exactly was the significance of Snowball the pig? He made a note in his diary to check out parallels with the Muggle world the book was meant to represent. He hadn't wanted anyone in the library to know, but he'd found the comparison between Wizarding and Muggle worlds both sinister and fascinating, like watching someone splinch themself. As he went back to try and clarify the Machiavellian moves of the pig Napoleon via his mouthpiece, Squealer the pig propagandist, he felt a chill, and resolved to keep an eye on his fellow Slytherins, because some of them, especially those like Pansy (and himself, Draco admitted without shame but with more than a smidgen of pride) wouldn't hesitate to undermine and drive out anyone they thought opposed them. This chill was, interestingly, at the same time Harry and the others also felt chilled as they hit an old cluster of slow-fade spells left over from the battle and were nearly absorbed into a semi-sentient quicksand. Fast wand-work by Lupin, who recognised the spell as something he'd learned from the first war against Voldemort, rescued Hermione, who clung shakily to Ron and Harry. There was a brief argument as to the wisdom of carrying on. Ron had been given quite a scare by Hermione's near-disaster. But Sirius and Harry (grudgingly backed up by Lupin) thought they should continue. Hermione insisted they find Crookshanks – she couldn't bear the thought of him out alone in the Forest, not with all the spiders around. So they kept going.

They found Crookshanks, who had a small cylinder of silver fixed to his collar, in a tree at about the same time Draco surprised himself by finding tears rolling down his cheeks as the horse, Boxer, was loaded onto some sort of Muggle transportation device and taken away. Draco guessed easily what had happened, even though he didn't understand the Muggle terminology, because he understood the chill mindset of those who had betrayed the horse. As Draco wiped at his face and checked surreptitiously there were no gaps in the curtains for anyone to see him, Hermione was also weeping with relief as she hugged her cat tight, Harry and Ron feeling a little embarrassed that their friend was being such a – well, a _girl_ about it. They gave each other manly punches on the shoulders instead, covering up how secretly relieved they were to find Crookshanks unharmed. Sirius and Remus merely exchanged a mildly cynical 'surely-we-were-never-this-young' glance, while Hagrid nodded, knowing the importance of animals, and patted Hermione on the head.

At two in the morning, not too long after the Gryffindors and Hagrid had made a relatively uneventful return from the Forest (apart from having to answer the riddles of a drunken Sphinx, which couldn't remember the exact phrasing of the riddles and became increasingly aggravated by how completely sloshed it was and would have eaten them out of frustration had Sirius not asked it a riddle of his own, which completely stumped the beast and gave the people and cat time to escape) and returned to their own beds, Draco closed the covers of the book and slapped it down on his green and silver quilt. He'd not done all the work towards the election he'd been planning for this evening, nor had he put the concluding remarks on his essay. Instead, he'd been blindsided by a book.

A _Muggle_ book.

"Bloody Muggles." How dare they write such a marvellously cynical book? And now he was going to be exhausted tomorrow.

"Bloody Potter." It was his fault for giving Draco the book.

Grumpily, he did have to admit it had been educational was well as mightily entertaining. The best read he'd had in years, in fact.

Did this mean he was going to be some sort of Muggle literary fanatic?

What an awful thought.

Draco noxed the light and lay back, staring up into the darkness of his canopy, turning idle thoughts over in his mind, pondering scenarios, weighing up ethics over consequences, wondering if he really wanted to be Comrade President, or if it was just another move in the chess game of his life and, if so, was it strategic? Or would it be better to take power in another way? Napoleon had been the source of directed evil in the book, but it didn't mean all his methods were unsound. Or did it? Draco's head was spinning trying to work it all out. It was like real life – the Dark Lord had so much leverage because there were genuine issues in the world needing to be addressed. But a homicidal tack wasn't generally considered a positive step forward in a society. Even if it was easiest in the short term. Draco himself had the urge to commit murder (or at least seriously incapacitate people) on a daily basis, but knew it would only lead to more trouble. Like with the Hummingbird Brotherhood. Shame the Dark Lord hadn't worked that one out for himself; it might have saved everyone a lot of bother and running around. Eventually he heard a mutter over in the darkness.

"No… stop it…"

Draco sighed and sat up.

"Zabini. Zabini, wake up. You're just having a nightmare."

"Hngh?"

"It's just a bad dream. Go back to sleep and stop waking us up."

"Hngh." There was the sound of someone rolling over, then their breath evening out in sleep again.

Unaccountably relieved he wasn't the only one in the world with weight on his mind (but too tired to analyse this insight into human nature or write it up in his journal), Draco was asleep soon after. He dreamed about a tree with blood and small bodies beneath it, and his father, who, for some reason Draco had to address as 'Squealer', nodding in satisfaction.

Draco woke up briefly, sure a hummingbird was trying to stab him in the ear, but there was nothing. He went straight back to sleep. The rest of his sleep was untroubled.

ooOOoo


	68. Chapter 68

Disclaimer: see chapter one. Nothing's changed.

ooOOoo

Chapter 68: "Whoops."

Harry bumped into Draco the next morning on the way to breakfast, just along the third floor corridor from the Charms classroom where they'd both just turned in their essays. Malfoy looked rather tired – Harry, groggy himself, didn't see why, as it wasn't like Malfoy had been out in the Forest last night tracking down Crookshanks. "How's the election going?" Harry asked as they waited for a staircase. He scuffed at the marks in the floor with his shoe – Filch never had managed to get rid of the scrapes Simon had left there that day the horse had jumped from stairs to landing.

"Okay. Maybe. Who knows?" Draco grinned, yawned, and then, as a staircase nudged the landing and they stepped onto it together, he added, "You can sway things only so much, after that it's up to chance. I'm curious: exactly how much _should_ I leave to chance – I mean, how do you know when you've worked too hard and people are getting suspicious of you just because of that?" Harry couldn't answer that. Mostly because it wasn't something he'd ever considered in his life. Draco didn't seem to notice his mild confusion, because he was continuing, "…But to be honest, I'm totally knackered 'cos of that book you found for me."

"Good, was it?"

Draco nearly tripped on the stairs and his face started getting that pink tinge that warned Harry Malfoy was about to lose his rag. "Haven't you read it?"

"Er… I started it. But so many people have recommended it…" Draco's pupils were pinpoints. A change of subject was in order – fortunately Harry had a brilliant one up his sleeve. "Hey, Crookshanks got back last night. Do you have time after breakfast?"

Draco let out a hiss of breath. "History of Magic. Same as you. So, yes."

"Good-o. If you want to skip it we can ask Hermione to take notes for us," Harry added as a peace offering. Even so, Draco didn't seem totally defused, so Harry decided to clarify something he'd been wondering about since last night. "Uh, Malfoy… If you don't mind me asking… what did you find there – in blindness?"

Draco hesitated, one foot in mid air over the next step. He put it down slowly. "No, I don't mind," he said quietly. He took a quick look around, but the nearest student was far out of earshot. The staircase flexed and moved, stretching its banisters as if still waking up. Draco and Harry resumed walking down as soon as they were sure it wasn't going to shake itself like a dog. "Solitude," Draco said at last. "I found self-sufficiency. It's been hard to keep them now that I'm not blind anymore – not that I'm complaining. But… I have to remind myself from time-to-time. I liked to believe I had both before I was blind, but I didn't. Not really. I always had my parents to rely on. And then I had Crabbe and Goyle to back me up."

Harry respectfully didn't point out how Draco had replaced parents and bookends with a horse. Just as he didn't point out the pale dents in the wood where hooves had struck. It probably wouldn't be good to remind Draco how he'd nearly been killed – especially not as Colin had made tentative noises about taking some more photos.

"Nothing else?"

Draco's grey eyes skittered away, surveying the entrance hall, tallying up the students passing below and on the other staircases. He nodded to a sleepy Nott and another Slytherin Harry didn't really know, who were going upwards on another staircase, essays in hand. They nodded back politely, somehow managing not to look at Harry. "Nothing worth mentioning. So. Last night. Everything okay? Anything, er?"

Harry nodded. He appreciated needing privacy. Especially right now… "The cat came back with a message or something. Last night. Snuffles and… some of us went out to find him."

Draco turned and skewered him with a look. "Who –? What did…?" He paused, a little too pale, as a trio of giggling third year Hufflepuffs clattered down the stairs, overtaking them in the rush for breakfast.

What was Malfoy upset about now? Harry covered what could have been an incriminatingly awkward silence with, "I was going to ask you about spells on brooms – how long do they last without being activated, is what I mean. When do you think we'll be allowed to get the teams together for Quidditch again? Someone was saying an opacity charm would go high enough to screen…"

ooOOoo

After breakfast, where Luna was absent (and Ron remarked it was probably lucky for Dumbledore, because Luna had bailed him up at dinner last night over something he hadn't been able to overhear… not that he'd been eavesdropping, of course… but, y'know…) and Hermione grudgingly agreed to take notes as she slapped the small silver cylinder into Harry's hand, sarcastically adding that at the very least Draco could put it towards another set of shoes for the horse, Harry, Draco and a shaggy black dog found a quiet spot down by Hagrid's hut where they could claim they were helping Hagrid if anyone asked. Hagrid himself was out trying to coax the Sphinx into making a guest appearance in CoMC this week. Harry doubted his chances, not if the Sphinx had a hangover.

Draco told Harry they didn't need a dog following them around, but Harry, taking a breath, said that Snuffles could keep an eye out as they talked. And Draco didn't have to tell him anything he didn't want to.

In the pumpkin patch where Sirius had waited in dog form after Harry's disastrous experience with the Triwizard Portkey Cup, Harry and Draco threw up a do-not-disturb wall Draco had learned from… well, Harry was learning not to ask too many questions about where Draco had learned a lot of his spells – do-not-disturbs were Dark magic, working on the human psyche as they did. But it meant Sirius was safe to change back into human form for a short time – Draco was sure the spell would divert attention onto just about anything else in the universe instead of what it was concealing for at least ten minutes.

Harry handed the cylinder over. "It's got to be for you," he said.

"How'd you figure that?" Draco said, turning the cylinder over and frowning down at it as if he half expected it to explode. His eyes widened: he must have seen the picture engraved into it as Harry said,

"Well, the little silver dragon with its tail curved into a 'D' was a bit of a hint."

"Mm. Well, here goes nothing…" Draco winced, leaning back with his eyes slitted nearly shut and face turned away as he unscrewed the lid.

Nothing happened.

He turned it over and a small scroll of paper fell out onto his palm, followed by a smaller bag.

The scroll and bag quickly expanded until the bag filled the palm of his hand, knocking the scroll (now a foot long) onto the ground. Harry picked it up gingerly, then, as something tickled his nose, he brought it closer for a careful sniff.

The scent of freesias filled his mind with the memory of twenty-one years ago, Narcissa Black passing behind himself and Severus as they sat eating breakfast with the Slytherins. "It's from your mum," Harry said jealously. He'd remembered Narcissa Black just from the faintest hint of her perfume like it was some sort of trigger – there would never be a perfumed letter from _his_ mother that would let him recall Lily with such vividness…

"How d'you know," Draco said, eyes narrowing again.

"It's her perfume," said Sirius, sitting on the other side of Harry to Draco. "Funny how I can never remember an odour consciously, but then when I smell it again it all comes flooding back…" He frowned, as if some of the memories were not ones he wanted to return, and glanced in Harry's direction without actually looking at him.

Draco's lips tightened and he snatched the scroll out of Harry's hand. Wax crackled as he slid a thumb nail underneath and popped the seal.

His face went pale.

"What?" said Harry.

"The Dark Lord is going to raid Hogsmeade on Thursday morning. Early – say, four-thirty. He's counting on catching everyone in their beds."

Harry grabbed the parchment and scanned it quickly. "It doesn't say that."

Draco glared poison at him. "That's because you don't know how to read it."

"May I?" said Sirius. He held out his hand. After a few seconds, Draco nodded reluctantly. Sirius took the scroll and read in silence for a few minutes. Then he nodded. "Briar code. I can't read this."

Draco nodded. "How'd you know it?"

"Great-grandmother Briar invented it. I've got one of her letters. Had, rather. It's probably still confusing whichever Auror was assigned to go through my personal effects. I expect the letter is coded to you. Any idea what she used? Blood? Spit? Hair?"

"Probably hair," Draco admitted.

"We need to tell Dumbledore," said Harry.

"No, we don't," Draco said stiffly.

Sirius sighed. His expression was that of a man contemplating a long march across eggshells. "You can trust Dumbledore."

Draco gave him an incredulous look. "Do I have to spell it out to you? Okay – it's something like this: S-L-Y-T-H-E-R-I-N. Get it?"

Sirius merely retained his carefully impassive visage, although a small muscle jumped at the corner of his mouth, suggesting he wasn't as patient as he wanted to appear. "What are your options? You can decide not to tell anyone, thereby standing back and allowing the slaughter of Hogsmeade… And I can tell you it's not a proud thing to sit back and let others die because information you possess hasn't been passed on in their defence."

"What would you know about it?"

"Well, I might have informed people that Lily and James had been betrayed by Pettigrew but I kept my stupid mouth shut, thereby allowing that little shit to run free all those years and finally reach another vile milestone by resurrecting Voldemort."

Draco frowned. "So why didn't you tell people the truth?"

Sirius barked a dry laugh. He didn't sound amused. "Good question. I suppose I thought there was nothing I could say they'd believe. Not that anyone was listening… but I could have tried to get a message through to Dumbledore. Warned him about Pettigrew."

"Why not Lupin?"

"Because I was the one who'd originally thought he'd gone over to the Dark Lord. I persuaded James and Lily not to let him be the secret keeper… and to let people think it was me and then switch over to Peter. And after… they caught me… I was a little bit overcome, I think, by… let's call it guilt. I don't really have a word for it, but it's worse than guilt." He rubbed his hands together slowly, seemingly without noticing what he was doing. "Sort of a numbness where you can hardly stand up, even before the Dementors get to you."

Draco said nothing, his grey eyes cold and evaluating. "Nervous collapse. Nice story, but it still doesn't persuade me I should trust Dumbledore."

Sirius shrugged. "So Harry can tell him. He doesn't need to say where he got the information from. But it would be better coming from you."

"I'll think about it."

"I expect the people in Hogsmeade would hope you don't think about it too long. Not planning a midnight ride to warn them, are you?"

Draco met Sirius' eyes with a hard glare which, Harry guessed, meant he'd been thinking exactly that and didn't like Sirius suggesting it.

"What else was in the letter?" Harry said, before things could get more tense – he appreciated the fact Sirius was trying hard to be reasonable, but was doubtful of how long this would last.

Draco broke off his staring match with Sirius (and it was the first time Harry had ever seen any family resemblance, but it was there in the expression around the eyes and the line of the cheek along with a certain set to the chin he'd noted Narcissa also possessed). "The recipe. You know – that potion I told you about."

Harry went very still, but his heart was suddenly beating double-time. "Do you think it will work?" he breathed.

Draco shrugged and scratched his nose with a trace of irritation. "Dunno. Let's ask Granger."

ooOOoo

They saw Hermione at lunch after Divinations for Harry and Arithmancy for Draco. "Can we get the notes?" Harry asked, taking a seat next to her.

"What?"

"Oh – ear still dodgy?" The bell had rung so loud she was deaf in one ear (Pomfrey said it would come right in a couple of days).

"What?"

Harry stood up and went to sit on the other side of her. "Can we get those notes?" he said again, louder and clearer.

She rolled her eyes and handed over the notes for History in silence. Harry took them, knowing a reproach for missing classes when he saw one. Draco smiled sunnily and said, "Thanks, Granger," and it was hard to tell whether he knew Hermione was annoyed and ignoring it, or totally oblivious. He wandered off to the Slytherin table, probably seeing the same thing Harry did: obviously talking about Narcissa's potion would have to wait until they were somewhere private. Shouting about it over lunch wouldn't exactly be a good move.

Harry did see Luna at lunch, but only briefly, and she didn't stay at the Gryffindor table for more time than it took to eat a piece of pie and air a brief opinion on fairy dust as the next narcotic to be peddled by the Ministry of Magic, before wandering up the High Table and exchanging a few words with Dumbledore, who looked uncomfortable behind his flowing white beard. The afternoon passed with double Potions, taken by Sprout today, who was in a nervous mood (word had it that a Slytherin seventh year – Harry suspected it was Elmsworthy – had been asking questions that morning about the pyrokinetic properties of dark-of-the-moon fern seeds when brewed with salamander blood) and unusually strict, especially when it came to the actual brewing of a potion for removing scale blight from Chinese mandrake leaves. Neville was put at the front of the class along with Hermione, and told (loudly for the still partially-deaf Hermione's benefit) to take notes on the way Hermione brewed the potion. Everyone in the class looked relieved at that. And then there was an enforced study period after a short break – the students had no doubts it was designed purely to keep them out of trouble. Luna wasn't there. Perhaps she'd asked Dumbledore for special leave to go and tend to Simon or that potion she claimed to be working on. Harry wished he'd thought to play the Simon card, as he and the other fifth, sixth and seventh-years slogged their way through the underlying principles of transfiguring animate to inanimate objects under McGonagall's watchful eye. The Transfigurations mistress had claimed that sloppy wandwork wasn't enough to explain some of the more bizarre transfigurations which had been performed by the older students, so it was back to basics. Just before they were set loose to wash up for dinner, she did mollify them by promising an explanation of the Animagus transformation, and had promised the more enthusiastic students (Harry, Ron and Hermione among them) a series of personal tutorials to see if they could perform the highly-demanding piece of magic. Harry would have thought Luna keen on it, too, and resolved to talk to her about it at dinner. It would be fun to do a harmless project together – one that didn't involve life or death.

But Luna wasn't at dinner. Harry did look for her, but she wasn't there. Oh, well… maybe later. He planned on going up to see Simon after dinner – there'd been enough cerebral work for one day. It would be nice just to take the horse out for some good, healthy exercise. With luck, Harry's idea of exercise would coincide with Simon's, and no-one (especially Harry) would get hurt. For once. He was meant to have supervision, of course, and wondered if Hooch, whom he liked, would be keen on going with him. She'd not ridden Simon for some time now, so Harry could probably coax her out of the castle with the promise of some time on the horse. Shame he couldn't take Sirius up as the token adult. But as soon as everyone knew who he was, Sirius would be able to accompany Harry and his friends in public and not just in dog form.

Where was Sirius? Harry half-expected to see Snuffles over at the Slytherin table, watching Draco in a silent reminder that a certain someone should be discussing a certain something with a certain headmaster. But no, and if Draco was worrying about the message from his mother he was hiding it well behind a spirited conversation with Bulstrode and Nott. Trudi sat nearby, soaking up his every word, and Harry smiled to himself.

Sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table with Hermione (who kept shaking her head at the ringing in her ears) and Ron, Harry wondered in whispers just how soon Dumbledore would tell everyone about you-know-what. "I mean," he murmured as the remnants of the main courses blinked out and were replaced with a variety of desserts (the house elves always tried to cheer everyone up on Mondays), "Elmsworthy's already figured it out…" He looked around and realised Elmsworthy wasn't at dinner either. But then the Slytherin often skipped social activities in favour of extra time doing research, so that wasn't a surprise. Lupin wasn't up at the High Table – he was probably out checking the barrier with Sirius. Come to think of it, Harry didn't know any other teacher who patrolled half as much as the werewolf. Snape had been the one to avoid when he'd been out sneaking around at nights, he recalled with mixed feelings – maybe Remus really was falling into the Snape-shaped hole left at Hogwarts. And maybe, a sneaky little voice Harry didn't like added, maybe Harry should give Remus the benefit of the doubt for once. Harry might have loathed Snape, but he had to admit (grudgingly and only with the benefit of hindsight and examples he'd been given of students who got up to mischief for far worse reasons that Harry had ever had) that Snape had performed a vital function within the school. Nasty though he'd been, Snape had been at his nastiest when rules were broken. And although some rules were just plain stupid and even Dumbledore had turned a blind eye to Harry's escapades after hours, most were for the greater benefit. Lupin had only allowed them out of the castle last night to look for Crookshanks on the condition that he accompany them. He could have simply locked them in their dormitory. In fact without his assistance, Hermione might have died in that quicksand…

Frowning slightly, Harry turned his mind away from that with some effort as he found a bowl and dished himself up some fruit salad and trifle. Lupin had been there. Lupin had, in fact, been right to insist they not go out into the Forest without three other adult wizards (or two wizards and Hagrid). But it didn't mean Harry would go spilling all his secrets – the memory of how Lupin had dismissed Hermione's offer of help as childish back before they'd decided to send someone back in time to find the Golden Sickle still rankled like a thorn broken off under the skin. But what if Lupin had been trying to protect them? Harry was sixteen now – he didn't need protecting. Remus should recognise that. After all, he'd been running around at the full moon with his friends in Animagus form to keep him from attacking people when he was Harry's age…

…Maybe Lupin wasn't able to recognise a mature sixteen year old because he'd never been one. Harry and his friends had always been more mature than the Marauders. Well, usually more mature. Apart from Harry's disappearance back through time and sneaking around after hours under an Invisibility Cloak, yes, much more mature. Oh, and making up potions with ingredients stolen from Snape's stores, crashing a flying car into the Whomping Willow, going out to talk to Acromantulas, going out after Malfoy and coming back with a nutty stallion, taking on a three-headed dog or a troll, not working on the clues in the Tournament and relying on dumb luck, invading the Ministry of Magic after Harry'd been having visions sent by Voldemort, and…

…Lupin's opinions hadn't exactly been formed in a vacuum. It was amazing he let Harry go out without specialised safety equipment, Harry thought with a wry grin.

"Harry?" said Ron.

He was smiling to himself. Not a healthy sign. "Er… just wondering, do you think Professor Lupin would help us with the Animagus spell?" Yes. Maybe he'd try asking Lupin about becoming an Animagus as well as Sirius… and maybe if they caught Simon in a really mellow mood, he could try teaching the horse that he didn't need to be frightened of werewolves…

Ron shrugged. "Could be a good idea to at least ask. He might know someone with experience at it. I hope whatever… happens about it happens sooner than later, as it would be nice to – What was that noise?"

"What noise?" complained Hermione. She stuck her little finger in her ear and wriggled it.

But Harry thought he'd heard something, too. Sort of a low booming noise, like a dragon coughing underground. It was hard to make anything distinct out over the hubbub of conversation in the Hall, however. He craned his neck to look over the heads of all the students idly choosing from among the desserts, trying to see through the open doors down the other end of the Hall.

There was nothing immediately apparent. "Dunno. Probably just somebody dropped something." Harry shrugged mentally, turned his attention back to the trifle, snagged a big spoon before Ron could get it, and was smiling sweetly at a mock-scowling Ron when –

– When there was a clatter from the Entrance Hall, a scream of delight that sounded alarmingly like Peeves finding mischief, and a loud clanging of armour falling down that even Hermione heard.

"Uh oh," said Harry. That clatter sounded a lot like –

Screams from the students erupted as a tall black horse cantered in through the open doors, silver shoes ringing out on the stone.

There was someone leaning forward, arms wrapped around the horse's neck. Harry just had time to register the horrible realisation that it was Sirius when Simon, dark eyes fixing on Harry and a determined expression on the long, bony face, pricked his ears forward and cantered down between the tables towards him, veering to avoid a shrieking second year.

Students screeched and vaulted over the tables to get as far away as possible. Simon ignored them. He even ignored the trio who'd tried to take him out of the paddock yesterday morning as they howled something about bloodthirsty vampire horses coming to hunt them down and streaked out of the Hall.

Harry stood, wondering if he should leap over the table like everyone else or stand where he was and get trampled, decided to try for bravery and trust in the hope that horses don't like standing on squishy things such as humans.

He held up his hands.

"Whoa, Simon!"

Simon kept cantering towards him. Harry was reminded yet again that horses are _big_, and had a momentary vision of himself squashed against the High Table by half a ton of juggernaut.

Hermione and Ron shot under the table and popped up on the other side. "Harry! Get over here!" Hermione squeaked.

"Simon! WHOA!"

The horse bounced to a halt, silver shoes skating on the stone floor. Sirius, already lying halfway along the long neck, yelped and kept going as Simon put his head down. The wizard rolled down the last bit of neck, somehow managing to tumble head over heels _between_ Simon's ears, and, to a resounding crash of glasses and cutlery, landed on his back in one of the desserts.

Yellow jelly splattered the table, the cringing Harry, and Simon, who snorted and licked at the bit hanging from his nose like a rather colourful bogey. Apparently pineapple jelly was to the horse's taste, because after a short but (judging by the cant of the ears) deeply philosophical contemplation of the merits of jelly over panic, he began licking at the blobs still wobbling at random on the table.

Sirius gasped for breath. His face was very white. In his white-knuckled hands he clutched the reins.

"Hah. I finally got them back," he said shakily with a manic grin. "You don't get rid of me that easily, horse!" he added, and laughed.

Apparently unconcerned by this slight to his abilities, Simon turned his attentions to a bowl of fruit salad. There was a loud slurping as the horse tried to work out whether it was better to eat the stuff or drink it.

There was a new set of screams along the theme of: "It's Sirius Black!" and wands were coming out through the Hall.

Simon lifted his head at the sight.

His ears went back.

As he wiped jelly off his face and tried to shake out a bit which had slithered into his ear, Harry had another momentary vision – this time of the Great Hall being torn down by an enraged stallion with a grudge against wands.

Then Dumbledore, the Sonorous charm amplifying his voice, called out, "EVERYONE SIT DOWN! PUT YOUR WANDS AWAY! PROFESSOR FLITWICK WILL DEAL WITH BLACK!"

Even Simon blinked at this. But Dumbledore's words had immediate effect. ("I will?" squeaked Flitwick. "Oh – yes. Fine.")

It was strange how even Simon trusted Flitwick with a wand. He barely twitched an ear as the tiny professor ducked under the High Table and pointed his wand at Sirius' nose. "Don't move!" Flitwick said firmly, and struck a dramatic pose.

Sirius raised his eyebrows. Then his hands, dropping the reins. "Er… I surrender?" he said.

"Hooray!" shouted a Ravenclaw. "Professor Flitwick's captured Sirius Black! Three cheers for Flitwick!"

Cheers echoed from the ceiling. The horse danced from side to side nervously. Harry grabbed the reins before Simon could bolt again. "Steady there, old boy," he said. "Settle down. Have some more dessert or something… I'm not sure if horses should eat custard, though."

Simon turned his head until he looked back over his rump, and whuffled a soft greeting. Only Harry who was standing by the horse's head would have heard it through the loud cheering.

And that was when he saw the ashen face of Luna looking through the doors at the other end of the Hall.

He'd never seen her look half this guilty. So she was responsible for this, was she?

Harry'd never felt half this angry with her.

ooOOoo

To complicate matters, Lupin and Elmsworthy arrived close on Luna's heels. They were gasping for breath and each looked massively guilty about something although Harry wouldn't have guessed if he hadn't already known Lupin. As Luna slunk inside, Elmsworthy followed her while Lupin (correctly interpreting the dangerously cold stare from Simon) wisely crept around the edge of the Hall to join the other teachers. Dark eyes glittering with suspicion followed him until he was away from the students. Then Simon turned his attention back to what was offered on the table. He spared Sirius' hair a quick snort before rediscovering the joys of fruit salad. Colin (without getting too close to Sirius) offered a cupcake, which was cautiously eaten. Then his brother Dennis tried his luck with a custard tart, which was dribbled onto the tablecloth to a chorus of delighted 'Yuck!'s and one 'Oh, gross!' Then there was a mushrooming crowd around the horse as various students gaped at Sirius or held out offerings ranging from cake to bits of apple and grapefruit to a few cold sausage rolls. Most were from Gryffindor – it was the Gryffindor table – but Trudi was there, bossing around a handful of Hufflepuffs and telling them that _of course_ horses were vegetarian – did they see any fangs? And honestly, didn't they know they had to hold their hands flat so's Simon didn't bite their fingers off? To Harry's amazement most of them who were there almost completely ignored Sirius. Had Dumbledore put a spell on them, or were they merely that trusting of Flitwick? Harry met Dumbledore's eyes over the heads of those crowding around, and saw the headmaster nod, tucking his wand back into his sleeve. So. This was Dumbledore's doing… Whatever spell the headmaster had cast, it was certainly helping Sirius. But what was going to happen now that the students had lost their fear of Simon?

And then Hermione and Ron were there, threatening to take points off anyone who got too close to Sirius… and students suddenly shrank back, some clustering up against Simon.

He opened his mouth to tell them to back off in case Simon got scared and kicked someone, and, to his surprise, heard himself say, "He can't see under his nose – mind your fingers, you lot."

"That's what I said," said Trudi importantly. "See? Simon's not dangerous. He's very nice."

Simon was in some sort of equine dilemma. His ears were almost touching at the tips and his eyes bulged greedily at all the food being shoved at him. He was snatching at cakes even as he chewed at what had already been given. Harry was going to tell them to stop when his own eyes bulged as he noticed Dennis and a second year had managed to climb onto Simon's back. "Hey! Get off, you idiots!" he said as sternly as he dared – he _really _didn't want to upset Simon at this point. But the pair slid down, laughing like the horse was some new variety of playground equipment. Simon hunched up his back in surprise, but didn't kick. Thank Merlin… Harry began taking a mental tally of the students he would have words with later. Or maybe he'd just sic Comrade Draco onto them…

Speaking of whom – luckily for Simon (because Harry was beginning to wonder which the horse was going to have first: colic or a choleric fit) – Draco was now shouldering his way through the throng.

"Cut it out, you lot," he snapped, apparently less worried about upsetting Simon than Harry was. "Don't give him – for Merlin's sake, Potter, that maniac just gave Simon a sausage roll! Make him spit it out! Oof!" He'd just been squashed between the two large Ravenclaw seventh year Beaters.

But Simon was already chewing with a considering air and had swallowed the sausage roll before Harry could weigh up the dangers of sticking his hand into a horse's mouth.

"I thought you said he was a vegetarian?" a Hufflepuff complained to Trudi.

Trudi looked ruffled at having her expertise doubted. "I guess he got confused."

"Well, let's try him out on another one just to see," said a Ravenclaw, taking out a notebook. "It may be a new variation on horses – we could write a paper on it!"

"Don't you bloody dare! He's not meant to eat meat. He's just being a guts." Draco stuck an elbow in someone's ribs and snarled as they squeaked in protest. "Go on – move! All of you, get out of it!" he bellowed, and students jumped and looked around nervously. Draco didn't have his wand out, but his face promised slow and malicious Malfoy revenge upon anyone who didn't get away from his horse. In that moment the fear which Sirius should have inspired found a new source in the advancing red-faced and tousled-blond-haired Slytherin. "Don't make me find you later…" he growled.

Simon looked hurt as the hands holding out food suddenly shrank back out of fear of an outraged Malfoy. Luckily the angry shout hadn't upset him – unless all the food on the table was a happy distraction, which it seemed to be. The horse stretched out his neck and mouthed at another sausage roll ("Ah-ha!" exclaimed the Ravenclaw, quill poised to take notes) then spat it out ("Oh.") before Draco, leaning across the table to snatch it away, could reach him. Draco batted it off the table just in case and then wiped his hand ("Oi!") on the Ravenclaw.

"Everyone get away from Sirius Black," Flitwick ordered.

That seemed to do the trick. An expanding circle opened up around Harry, Sirius, Flitwick and Simon as the students suddenly remembered there was a murderer on the table.

Harry refrained from giving himself a slap on the forehead at the sheer stupidity of the human race.

He wasn't alone. Ron, freckles disappearing as his face coloured with annoyance, was dragging students out of the way by the backs of their collars, using his height and rangy arms to excellent effect. Hermione was trying to use persuasion on the students, but Harry could tell she was impressed by Ron's approach, and she soon gave up and allowed Ron to sway the argument with brute strength.

With none of his usual twinkle in his eyes, Dumbledore strode towards them and, wand to his throat, loudly ordered the Hall cleared of all students other than Potter, Malfoy, Lovegood and Elmsworthy. The students filed out, leaving the staff, the named students and a horse. And Sirius, who was still lying on the table eyeing a nearby chocolate cake which had escaped the onslaught. Angry though he was, Harry edged the cake closer. Sirius managed a watery smile of thanks and silently took a piece as the last students trailed out the doors. Sirius offered another piece to Simon. The horse snorted, blowing crumbs everywhere, then bit into the cake, tossing his head and dropping crumbs into Flitwick's hair. It seemed to be to equine tastes, because Simon then snuffled at the rest of the chocolate cake and began turning it into a mess. Harry pulled on the reins and, reluctantly, the horse left the remains of the cake alone. "You'll get fat," Harry whispered.

Draco ducked under the table and joined them. His mouth was in a thin line and he quickly ran his eyes over Simon's body and his hands over Simon's legs, checking for injuries. Still with his eyes on the cake, Simon picked up his feet to let Draco check under his hooves for stones, then, when Draco straightened and patted his neck, turned and whuffled into the boy's hair, leaving a streak of chocolate icing. Luna took out her wand and cast a quick cleaning spell along with a small, hopeful smile. If she was expecting thanks she didn't get it – Draco shot her a glare instead. Luna dropped her eyes.

"Best get 'im outside," Hagrid rumbled as Simon pawed at the ground in frustration at being so unfairly denied chocolate cake. "Harry?"

"I'd like Mr Potter to stay with us a little longer," Dumbledore said. "Mr Malfoy, if you would be so kind?"

Draco (expression mutinous) sullenly agreed to take Simon back to the paddock. He had to be reassured that Black wouldn't be questioned until he'd returned. Harry offered to meet him up at the paddock and double him back on his Firebolt, but Draco said he'd be fine and added loudly that he wanted someone who wasn't Luna and was involved in the care of Simon to stick around and find out what was really going on. Although Luna was now scarlet with mortification, Harry was privately flattered to be trusted within the bounds of Malfoy paranoia. However, he didn't think he would be allowed much input into Sirius' latest trial proceedings.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Dumbledore this angry. Luna still wouldn't meet anyone's eye. Elmsworthy also seemed genuinely repentant about his part in this (although like Luna that still hadn't been clarified), and Lupin, safely on the other side of the Hall, unnaturally busy making sure the last of the students were out and away from the doors.

Harry sighed and looked around as Draco led Simon carefully between the tables and out the doors, the horse sending a vicious glare at the werewolf as they went.

There was cake and sausage rolls on the floor. Pumpkin juice puddled on the tables and dripped to turn what was on the floor into an extra-sticky mess. Harry reached up and found he had custard in his hair. He looked across the table, wishing Hermione and Ron were still there (Dumbledore hadn't asked for them to stay, unfortunately), seeing only half the currant bun which hadn't been to Simon's tastes, Sirius, irrevocably revealed to the entire school, and Luna staring down at her hands with her lank blonde hair spilling forward to curtain her face.

What a mess.

ooOOoo


	69. Chapter 69

Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to JK Rowling and Warner.

A/N: Real life in the form of a six day working week and the relentless advance of carpal tunnel syndrome have hammered my hopes of getting this story finished any time soon. I've had to severely cut back on my (already limited) keyboard time. Hope you like this chapter – it's one of those experimental things, yikes! Spot the pricey item I'm putting on my Xmas wish-list.

ooOOoo

Chapter 69: The Expurgation of Sirius Black

Thin-lipped, McGonagall took a very subdued Luna off to her office to give her part of the story. Looking gloomier than ever, Elmsworthy was taken by Professor Sprout to parts unknown.

Harry, Sirius, Remus and Professors Dumbledore and Flitwick assembled in Dumbledore's office, where the headmaster wrote the password on a scrap of paper, handed it to Fawkes, and asked the phoenix to go and fetch young Mr Malfoy, who was returning from the paddock. Looking through the window, Harry watched Draco with his hands jammed in his pockets trudging back down Squirrel Hill. Draco gave a thistle a vicious kick as he passed it. Simon was standing at the fence, watching the boy go. He wasn't quite far enough for Harry to miss the toss of the head as the horse caught sight of the phoenix swooping down to meet Draco then zooming up again and turning back to fly to the castle.

"Nice view, sir," Harry said as Draco moved into the shadow of the castle and out of view, and he realised Dumbledore was watching him with a half-smile. Simon was still standing forlornly at the fence.

"I like to keep an eye on our visitor," Dumbledore said softly, moving over to close the window as Fawkes flew back through it and landed gracefully on the perch. He really didn't need to keep his voice down: with the argument going on between Remus, Sirius and Flitwick it wasn't like anyone else would have worried about anything he said.

"He needs another horse," Harry mused. "He gets lonely up there."

Dumbledore nodded. "Horses aren't like people. They are social animals. They need their friends."

"People are social animals," Harry countered, thinking of how lonely he'd been growing up at the Dursleys'.

"True." Dumbledore nodded.

After a time during which Flitwick waved a piece of paper under Sirius' nose, Sirius snarled some more at Remus, and the two by the window watched the horse and thought private thoughts, Dumbledore added, "If we are to find company for him then perhaps we should be careful to find a nice, steady sort of paddock mate."

Harry considered this, then nodded also. "He's a bit nervy, isn't he?" He smiled. "Maybe I could move up there the next time all the students are sent home. Better than going to the Dursleys'."

A flicker of sorrow crossed Dumbledore's face. "You need to spend at least one night under their roof per year to maintain your mother's protection, but… I think Simon would miss you a great deal were you to stay away longer. It's hard to tell with horses, but I believe he was quite sad when you were back in time even though you were well taken care of – by Severus of all people. My, but life takes some odd turns. I'm getting on to a century and a half and it's quite wonderful how often I fall prey to irony." He smiled as if he'd made a joke; however, if so it wasn't one Harry was privy to. But Harry was cheered by the implication he might be allowed to stay on at Hogwarts rather than return to Dursley purgatory. Well, should the barrier come down and the Blockade be ended and Voldemort defeated and –

The odds were great, but not, perhaps, impossible. If only Draco would talk to Dumbledore, maybe things would –

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door, the sudden noise stopping the argument. It opened a crack and a sleek blond head peered into the room.

Draco held up his scrap of paper. "Er… I guess by the password this is where I'm meant to be?"

"Yes, come in, Draco," Dumbledore said warmly. "Thank you for turning Simon out."

"Ah… not a problem." Draco slipped into the room. He gave Lupin a wary look and shot a lightning-quick glare at Sirius, who must have caught it but did not appear affected, being himself too busy glaring at Remus.

"Was I interrupting something?" The pale raised eyebrow and hint of a suppressed smirk suggested he knew he was and wasn't regretting it in the least.

"Not at all," Dumbledore reassured him. Draco deflated a little, disappointed at missing excitement, but puffed up again as Dumbledore added, "I promised we wouldn't start proceedings until after you'd returned from taking Simon home."

Draco nodded in satisfaction, although the wariness at the back of his eyes didn't entirely fade, and he took the seat Dumbledore indicated.

"All you missed was a small disagreement between Professors Lupin, myself and Mr Black as to the merits of recording Mr Black's statement," Flitwick said.

"Oh," replied Draco. He shrugged. "It didn't sound like accord had been reached. And no, I wasn't listening in at the door," he added with a scowl at Sirius, who'd raised his own eyebrow in return (perhaps it was a Black trait, thought Harry, trying to remember if Narcissa had done the same thing). "It wasn't like I needed to with 'Mr' Black shouting like that."

Lupin smiled thinly. "Headmaster, I still don't see that it would be harmful to take a written statement…"

"And I've been dying to try out this new spell I've been working on," Flitwick piped up.

Sirius folded his arms. "I don't like it when people experiment on me," he growled, sounding a little bit like Snuffles. "Especially when they say they're 'dying to try out' something, because generally speaking it's not them who's going to be in mortal peril."

"Shoe on the other foot, chickens coming home to roost, skrewts looking for burn cream…" muttered Draco, and smirked as Sirius shot him a glare.

Harry cleared his throat. "I don't mind if you test it out on me," he said. Hell, even _Simon_ trusted Flitwick…

"Absolutely no-one is testing anything on Harry." Sirius sighed and shook his head. "All right, all right… I just don't see the sense in it…"

"There's no sense in research," said Flitwick happily. "That's the joy of pure magic."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "If you say so."

"Well," Dumbledore said before anyone could say anything to cause further rancour, "I'd quite like to get to the bottom of why a horse decided to join us for lunch. It can't all be due to his sudden and unexpectedly gregarious new outlook on the world. Time for Sirius to fill in the blanks, and I don't see how it would hurt to have a record of his story. How does your new spell work, Filius?"

"Oh, it's very simple. That's the beauty of it. All you need is the right parchment…" Flitwick took out a blank piece of parchment from his satchel. "The parchment needs to be especially powerful to process the spell. That tends to make it almost prohibitively expensive, but I had this scrap ready and I can make some more. And, of course, we need the right spell." He tapped it with his wand. _"Draco vox vivo. _ There. That will convert speech into written text." He smiled nervously, obviously still not entirely sure of Sirius' innocence whatever the headmaster might say. "It'll only take down what Black has to say – not the words of anyone else. I'm still working on that part of the charm… Shall we try it out?"

Sirius winced as the wand flicked in his direction.

ooOOoo

Hmm. Yes. I suppose… Is that thing working…? Well, I'll be damned, so it is. Ahem. Well _(scribbles the quill as Sirius began to speak, slowly at first but then faster and more evenly as he stops paying it attention)_, it was what you might call a spur of the moment thing – no, Malfoy, I did not use spurs on your precious Simon, so put that wand away. Thank you, Headmaster. I'm getting a little sick of people pulling wands on me.

What was I saying…? Yeah, right. Okay. I was up at the paddock with Simon – well, because I thought I'd experiment with illegal Dark magic on him, of course. What the fooOOoo _(the quill judders as the Bowdler subcharm kicks in)_ do you expect from a mass murderer? Oh, for Merlin's sake, I go up there because he's easy company, not because I had some booOOoo*y idea of turning him into kebab, Malfoy, so give me a break and stop fingering your wand. We all know you're not going to use it in front of Dumbledore. _(Pause)_ Don't play dumb, I know what pocket you keep it in. You're not fooling anyone. Look, I may be related to you but it's not like I tend to behave like the branch of the family you're from… All right, I'm sorry, yes, that was uncalled for. _(Sigh.)_

Just for the record, I've never had any intention on harming Simon. Back me up on this, Harry. _(Pause.)_ Thank you. I certainly didn't think anything was going to happen today. What? Well, because Luna was there. She seems to be able to convince that crazy animal to do whatever she likes. Flaming hoops? No problem. She'd probably make it fly should she care to. As well as her, there was Remus – no, don't worry, Harry, I was keeping in mind Simon's antipathy towards him. Remus was staying well out of range. He was there mostly for emergencies and to keep an eye on Elmsworthy.

_(Long pause. Verbal heat from another person in the room begins to curl the quill.)_

…I know, but given the fact that there was a good solid wall up between us and them, I thought it would be safe. How could _anyone_ have predicted what happened? … I'm getting to it. Exercise a little patience for once, Malfoy.

Where was I? Yeah, up at the paddock. That's right. Yes, in human form – the headmaster reset the wards on the fence to stop people coming into the paddock who shouldn't be there. If certain people I won't name _(there is a cough which sounds like the word 'Harry')_ don't muck about with the wards again I'm perfectly safe. I was sitting in the stable, minding my own business and telling Simon how glad I was he had attacked me rather than turning into Snape … _(pause)_ … (well, it's true… hasn't Harry told you the details of that story yet, Draco? Later, okay?) … when I see Luna. She didn't have anyone else with her, so I called out hello and told her Simon was up with me. As he was. That's how disturbed he is by my presence, that he actively seeks it out and then goes to sleep _(the quill digs into the parchment in an effort to convey sarcasm)_. Sorry. Luna brought the bag of brushes up and we brushed the horse for a bit. She gave me a bit of a lesson in horse grooming – new career for me if the magic thing doesn't work out. Then she asked if I'd ever considered riding the horse.

I told her no, while Hippogriffs are fairly straight forward once you get the hang of them, Simon had always seemed a bit unstable to me. He _is_, Harry – you can't escape the fact that stallions tend to be more bolshie than mares or geldings, haven't you ever read that horse muttering book in the Library? It's by this American chap named … oh, so you have read it. All horses are potentially hazardous to your health, anyway. Plus I didn't want to end up being smuggled into the Infirmary again. Kind of puts a damper on one's day.

Luna thought Simon would be fine. She pointed out how well we get on these days. Which is true – never thought I'd end up bonding with a Muggle herbivore in any sense other than the digestive. Joke, all right? It was a joke. Cool it. But she agreed that it would be too difficult for a complete tyro to try riding for the first time on the side of a hill. And we'd be visible from the castle. But it seemed safe enough for me to accompany her as Snuffles down to the meadow so she could make Simon run around in circles for a while.

We met up with Remus and that Slytherin kid on the way – Elmsworthy. Y'know, the skinny one who looks like he was given a sense of humour bypass in infancy. Typical Potions swot. Even gave me the typical Potions Swot Glare like he thought I was up to something, even though he wasn't supposed to know who I was… silly me. Turns out he _did _know. Like to know how, I would… I already thought he was a bit dodgy after the For- … um… some explosion I'd heard about in passing… but Remus was with him. Turns out they were going to do some experiments down by the lake where it's too wet for fires and the ground's soggy enough to absorb any shocks. Remus was along to make sure the Slytherin didn't kill himself or anyone else. Luna – she was a little busy keeping Simon calm – h**l, that beast really takes exception to Remus being anywhere near the students! – said she'd been practising with her wall of sky some more, and would Remus like her to show him how to put it up in a cone to contain any reactions that get out of hand.

Remus did, of course, in fact he sort of smirked – you did, Moony, you _smirked_ – and said it'd be dead useful when some idiotic student started throwing about bits of newt spleen when making potions using peatpallum – that was cold, Moony, really cold, saying that… and then having Elmsworthy staring at me, Snuffles, like he knew that not only was I Sirius Black, but only I would be dumb enough to try something like that. However, he asked her to show him later. But Luna explained that she needed an adult on hand if she rode Simon, and she also wanted to try giving a certain someone whose identity had already been guessed by Elmsworthy – yes, I swear on Merlin's grave those were her words – giving this person a riding lesson.

Remus went kind of still – that's what you do, Moony, you go sort of rigid with this little smile like you're not about to tell everyone in your reasonable voice what complete aooOOoos they are and then you open your mouth and, well… it's not nice, that's all I can say. Not nice at all. So Remus was suspiciously quiet and I'm thinking uh-oh, Luna's not going to see daylight for a month what with all the detentions, and then Remus asks the Slytherin kid if it's true.

The Slytherin shrugs and nods. I can tell Remus wants the full moon to come early and give him the excuse he needs to do some damage (oh, yes you did, Moony, don't deny it!), but then he takes a deep breath and says well in that case I hope you'll respect the headmaster's desire for the secret such as it is to remain secret a little longer from all the students who don't yet know – there must be at least six of them. Elmsworthy ignores the sarcasm and nods like he's just worked out several things but he's not going to say what they are. I swear to Merlin, Albus, that boy's too smart for his own good. So sharp he'll cut himself one day, as James' mum used to say. Diplomat? Really? Well, probably hooray for us, but Merlin help the other countries, especially if he decides to go into blowing things up as a full-time occupation… I suggest we give him a post on Mars if Luna's theory on the Space Bunny colony is ever proven.

But I digress. Ah – that's right. Luna suggested we kill two harpies with one stone and have Remus put up a ward to divert attention from the meadow so that I can have a riding lesson, and she can twist the wall of sky into a cone to cover Elmsworthy's experiment, because she knows it's going to be noisy and she doesn't want Simon getting scared. The idea is that Remus can keep an eye on both parties from a practical distance.

I didn't think Remus would go for the idea (well, because you looked pretty annoyed by the whole Elmsworthy-figuring-out-Snuffles thing, Moony).

But he did.

So I changed back into the handsome chap you see before you. Was that a snort, Moony? True friend, you are. True, true, dear friend… I was relying on you to keep that little b- that dear chap Elmsworthy under control. Hmm? Oh, Elmsworthy barely raised an eyebrow when he saw me change back. Just said 'huh' like he'd had a theory confirmed, and not an interesting theory at that – the kind of theory that wonders if earthworms are worms that live in the earth. Yes, I was annoyed. Do you know how hard it is to be an Animagus? Let me tell you it's…

Sorry, Albus. The story, yes…

Luna set up a conical wall over the area the Slytherin wanted to blow up. She poked a small hole in it so that he could insert his potions and take stuff out when he'd finished. Elmsworthy stuck a few branches in – something to do with cellulose matrix and its rapid dissolution. Extreme exothermic reactions, blah blah blah. Basically what it seemed to boil down to from what I can remember of Potions classes (Merlin, Albus, but Hogwarts really has had a bad run of Potions masters – old Boggart was the pits!) was Elmsworthy wanted to make things go boom. Like that's ever been difficult – ask Neville!

You know how when things are going well it's only because someone's waiting around out of sight to give you a kick in the teeth? The eye of the storm? Yeah – they say you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, but any sane person would just to see how big the fangs are – right, Harry? Right.

Huh? Oh, Simon's not a gift horse. He's found some gift humans to give him lots of food and brushing _(chuckle)._

So there we are. Remus is watching the Slytherin and Luna is helping me up onto Simon's back. I must admit I was nervous – probably held the reins a bit too tight to start off with… Simon gave me one of his Death Glares. _(Chuckle.) _How many people have apologised to a horse? Err… outside of this room? Oh, thought I was being original. Never mind. But I manage to stay on his back… that is to say, he doesn't toss me over his head immediately. Then Luna leads me around for a bit while I try and get my balance sorted out. Not too bad. I even start to enjoy myself. It's kinda fun, riding…

So things were going well. Stupid of me, but I forgot the cardinal rule – the one that states if things can go wrong they will go wrong. Usually at the worst possible time.

Elmsworthy's experiments were working well – the cone of silence – hey! That's a better name for it! – was just like a bought thing. While there were faint little pops, there was nothing to alarm anyone, especially Simon. And I was about to learn how to rise to the trot and stop bumping around like a sack of potatoes on poor old Simon… _(chuckle)_… yeah, but who can blame him for getting mad? He was being amazingly patient, all things considered. We'll have to try putting you up next week, Moony. It's okay, I'm just kidding… stop looking so frightened. Yup, everything was going nicely.

And then I heard it: Elmsworthy said "Whoops."

It was really quiet, but even Simon stopped and went all tense like he knew that word. He might. It's universal for I've-fooOOoo*d-up-big-time-now-bend-over-and-kiss-your-aooOOoo-goodbye.

Then there was this explosion. Boom! My ears are still ringing. And Simon's standing up on his back legs. Luna's got the leadrope and I've got my arms around Simon's neck. I don't know what you were doing, probably wondering if you still had your fuzzy werewolf tail… I was too busy worrying about the fall from the top of a rearing horse… Hmm? Oh. No. … I didn't know horses ever fell over backwards. Thank you for that information, Draco. I'm sure that won't bother me at 2 am.

Right on top of this there's a whistling sound and then BAM! Right behind Simon lands the cone of silence with all the explosions it's been storing up all letting off their noises pop-pop-pop-screech-whiz-bang.

Simon goes mental. He rips the leadrope out of Luna's hand and starts running. Third stride in, he trips on the rope… Oh, glad you fixed that, Malfoy. I didn't get time to check his knees. Just a scrape, yes? Good. Poor sod. Well, he broke the clip and went straight back into the gallop. I'm leaning forward on the Simon Express with the reins just in front of my nose. The trouble is, I can't reach them because for some reason I can't stop hanging on. Scared? Me? _(Snort.)_ I wasn't scared – I was terrified. Too blooOOooy right I was scared. I thought this unstoppable force was going to run into some immovable object. Like the castle. Or Hagrid.

I was right with the first– it was the castle, which was basically between us and his paddock. Very single-track, horses are. Simon went up those front stairs like a kangaroo. I was worried he'd go up more stairs like he did with Malfoy… yeah, Harry told me about that and you were blooOOooy lucky is all I can say… but luckily Peeves saw us in time and headed us off, driving Simon into the Great Hall. I'm sure Peeves was acting solely on altruism, yes, not just because he likes flinging armour about the place and making a racket…

Then there we were, coming down the aisle in less than a romantic sense, and I'm outed to the entire school. In the middle of dessert, no less._ (krrrrk)_

Oh, is it? Doesn't last long, Filius. Given the massive cost of that blasted parchment, you'd think it would be _(kkkrkkrkkpst-t-t-t)_

Err… Albus? Now that we've finished testing this new _(krrrk)_ell, any chance of another go at that choc_(krrrk)_ate cake? … Oh, that's okay. Considering what I've eaten as a dog, I don't mind sharing with a horse. A _(krrkrrk)_ elf could _(krkrrrrrkrrrr)_ possib- _(fzzz… snp!)_

ooOOoo


	70. Chapter 70

Disclaimer: seriously, these people and places don't belong to me (except for the occasional potions geek). Hogwarts and its people belong to JK Rowling and Warner.

A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed – I'm amazed at your stamina for keeping up with this for so long. Cyber-peppermints to you guys.

ooOOoo

Chapter 70: The Common Denominator

Dumbledore pressed his hands together. "It all seems to have been an accident," he said, then, as Draco shifted in his chair, exchanging a look with Harry, the ancient wizard sighed and added, "And, of course, like most accidents, one that could have been avoided with a little forethought." He sighed. "Remus? Do you have anything to add?"

Lupin shrugged; grimaced. "Mea culpa? I thought things were under control, but obviously I overestimated the power of Luna's wall of sky… and underestimated the power of Elmsworthy's new potions. I plead guilty to poor judgement."

"I don't understand why you could underestimate those explosions," Draco complained. "I mean, the dungeons are still drying out, after all…"

Remus looked down at his folded hands. "Yes. However, there is a certain significant variable at work, which… Headmaster, we really need to discuss this immediately. And with Miss Lovegood."

Dumbledore's brow creased so quickly Harry nearly missed it. He took out a pocket watch and flicked it open. "It would appear we are in luck – she's on her way now."

"Er… is this about… that thing?" Sirius said.

Draco and Harry exchanged another look. "Is this a thing we aren't meant to know about?" Harry said carefully.

"It is a thing you are about to be given total and totally confidential information on," Dumbledore said, sharply enough that Flitwick looked up from his examination of Sirius' transcribed statement with a raised eyebrow. "And on this, there will be no excuses for revealing the secret, no accidental slips of the tongue. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," said Harry, quietly worried now.

Draco nodded, too. He said nothing, but he seemed more than usually on edge.

Dumbledore met his grey eyes. "It does coincide with the particular item you mentioned to Professor Lupin and myself this afternoon, Draco," said Dumbledore more softly. "Although I haven't told anyone else about it. I would quite like to tell Professors McGonagall and Flitwick."

Harry felt a sudden weight he hadn't known he'd been carrying lift and evaporate above his head. Flitwick suddenly became extra interested in something on the scroll, although Harry had the impression his ears were almost out on stalks.

"Yeah. Okay." Draco pursed his lips. "I told Professor Dumbledore when I had study period. Lupin as well," he admitted grudgingly to Harry, who must have been showing his astonishment at the fact that Draco had confided anything in Dumbledore, especially something so potentially damaging for his mother. It was even more mind-blowing that Draco had also included Lupin.

Dumbledore was smart enough not to push for a 'Professor'. But even so, Draco was looking increasingly uncomfortable. This latest fiasco with Simon must be making him wonder if he'd been insane to cast his lot in with this pack of incompetents. Harry hurriedly racked his brain for an appropriate next topic before Draco lost his nerve…

"Er… it's about Simon, isn't it?" Harry said. "Why we're waiting for Luna, that is."

Remus and Sirius looked at each other. Dumbledore twitched in surprise. He readjusted his glasses. "Dear me, what made you think that, Harry?" he said softly.

Draco, flicking a glance at Harry, answered. "Potter and I are here. You want to talk to Luna as well. The common denominator is our horse."

"It's best if we – ah, here she is now." Dumbledore beamed as Professor McGonagall opened the door and led in Luna, who blushed all over again and refused to meet anyone's eyes, especially Harry's.

"Hey, Luna; we're in trouble," said Sirius, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "Think we'll get detention together?"

Luna managed a weak smile.

"Miss Lovegood already has it," said McGonagall. She smiled coldly. "You know, I don't think it's too late to assign detention to you as well, Mr Black."

"I was joking…"

"I wasn't," she replied.

Sirius looked down at the carpet, squashed. Harry couldn't help feeling sorry for him, even if Sirius had been a colossal prat.

"And as for you, Prrrofessor Lupin…

"Remus has something to say about the flux," Dumbledore said, interrupting McGonagall before she could get a good head of steam up. "It's important that Luna be consulted on this – it concerns Simon's welfare."

"Simon? Oh, the horse. I don't see how… Oh. _Oh. _Yes. The horse." She glanced at Draco. "So you've worked out the parameters, then?" McGonagall enquired of the werewolf.

Remus looked grim. "Three months."

"What?"

"Three months. That's all we've got before the magic is leeched out of the stones to the degree where regeneration collapses. That's what Voldemort is waiting for, I suspect. At that point the wards protecting the school from attack will be so weak the Death Eaters will just walk through them."

Flitwick squeaked in alarm and dropped the scroll. McGonagall went pale. She sat down.

"Elmsworthy's explosion down in the dungeons, while quite violent, should never have breached the walls," Remus continued. "I factored that into my calculations and, well, got a rather nasty shock."

McGonagall nodded. She looked like she'd had a rather nasty shock, too. Dumbledore poured her a cup of tea and refilled Flitwick's. McGonagall picked up her saucer and the cup rattled briefly before she stilled it with the other hand.

"How does this concern Simon?" Luna asked carefully.

"We need Simon to carry two people through the barrier," Dumbledore explained. "Early on Thursday morning, to be precise, in order to attack Voldemort and bring down the barrier."

Luna went white. It was doubtful she was shocked by someone saying 'Voldemort'. "You can't," she whispered. "He – Simon's not able to do that. I need more time… to, um… to train him…"

"We don't have time," Dumbledore said softly, his face grave. "I'm sorry. But this is a desperate situation and we need to take desperate actions."

Harry thought that sounded a bit dramatic. Luna was shaking her head. "No, no… it's too dangerous for him… I swear, Headmaster, I swear I'll be ready soon, but…"

Dumbledore sighed tiredly. "We both know that isn't going to happen."

Luna bowed her head and covered her face with her hands. A long, shaky indrawn breath later, and she lifted her head again. Her eyes were dry and bleak. "So you've given up."

Dumbledore flinched as if stung. "Never," he said firmly. "I stand by what I told you at dinner last evening. But you know as well as anyone that if Simon understood the situation he would volunteer to go through the barrier despite the dangers."

Luna glared at him for a moment, and Harry was shocked to see something like hate in her eyes. Then that anger or hate or whatever it was crumbled and left her silvery eyes desolate. "I know. But why does it have to be him?"

Dumbledore stared at her silently, his eyes compassionate.

"I don't have any choice in this really, do I?" she said at last. "No, I thought not," she added bitterly. "So. Who's going to ride him? Don't tell me you're going to throw Harry to the mercy of the Death Eaters."

"Of course not. I am the one who will be going," said Sirius.

Luna laughed, slightly shrilly. "Oh," she said, sobering almost immediately. "I thought that was a rather good joke. Like the one about a horse going into a bar." She peered owlishly at Lupin. "I suppose next you'll say you're the other one he'll be carrying?"

"No, I've lost my capacity for blatant optimism. And he won't carry me. Or Sirius."

"Yes he will bloody well so carry me," Sirius snapped at Lupin. "If you think we can stand to lose –"

Harry frowned and opened his mouth to ask the obvious question. Draco beat him to it.

"What are you on about? Simon carrying people through the barrier? I suppose it's escaped your notices that he's not really all that fond of carting around people he doesn't know, let alone through the barrier. It took me a he- er, a heck of a lot to convince him to go through last time. You can't seriously expect him to drag any of you through it unless you put him under the Imperius…" Draco trailed off. A sudden ugly, angry expression twisted his mouth and pink began to stain his cheeks.

"There will be no spells cast on Simon. Especially any of the Unforgivables. Yet he will carry me," Dumbledore said serenely. "I am hoping he will carry Professor Flitwick as well. Simon seems quite fond of you, Filius."

Flitwick nodded reluctantly at this dubious evidence of favour in a horse's eyes. "If it means putting an end to this, then yes, I will accompany you. But, Albus, you–"

Sirius exploded. "Absolutely not. With all due respect, Headmaster, you're off your rocker if you think Hogwarts can afford to risk losing you. Er, you too, Filius," he added hastily as the Charms master frowned. "I'll go. Hogwarts can afford to lose me, and you know I'm damned good with a wand. Almost as good at duelling as Filius, in fact."

"Yes, you're good, but with a wand which you don't have," Dumbledore pointed out. "The one you have been borrowing – I've pretended not to know where you acquired it, but as soon as Auror Price is returned to his right mind, I trust his wand will be suddenly available to him again – the wand you have is not keyed to you as a properly selected wand would be. I've considered the possibilities of people able to ride the horse through the barrier, but I'm afraid it's limited to myself, Filius and Madam Hooch. And Rolanda, while capable, is not of a calibre which can stand up to Lord Voldemort. Only I can defeat Voldemort, although I expect Filius could give him a good run for his money. I'm hoping if I am unsuccessful, Filius, I will have weakened him enough for you to finish him off."

Flitwick nodded, although beneath his mop of fluffy white hair there were lines deepening around his eyes.

"So," continued Dumbledore, "the list of riders is a limited one."

"You left out me, Draco and Luna," Harry pointed out quietly.

"You're indispensable, Harry," Sirius pointed out. "The prophecy –"

"Says that I have to face Voldemort and defeat him. Or he will defeat me. I found that out in the Department of Mysteries last year, remember?" he added bitterly. The memory of how easily he'd been tricked still rankled. Not to mention the burningly cold horror when he'd thought Sirius was killed by Bellatrix LeStrange. No matter how much power Sirius had to piss him off, Harry never wanted to feel that terror again. "I'm the one who has to go, if anyone."

"Don't place all your faith in prophecies," said Dumbledore. "Besides, Harry, I'm afraid it's time we stopped treating you as our weapon and started treating you as a person. You are still a student."

Harry breathed heavily through his nose. "Forgive the impertinence, sir, but it's a rotten time to suddenly treat me like a child," he said, spitting out the words. His hands were shaking. He realised, on some displaced level, that he was angry. "I can go. In fact I'm the best choice…"

"I forbid you to go," said Sirius heavily. "You are too young. Dumbledore, I may not be your godfather, but I suggest very strongly you take my advice. With some more riding lessons, I –"

Before Harry, fighting to see through a rising red mist, could find words, Dumbledore intervened. "There is not enough time for the riding lessons you would need. Minerva, Filius, Miss Lovegood… I am afraid we are running out of time. And there are hints that Voldemort is key to the integrity of the barrier…"

Harry hadn't know that. A new chill that cut through the rage. It seemed like every time they found a way forward, Voldemort was there, blocking their path. On the heels of his fading fury a wave of helplessness rolled over him. He rubbed his face with his hands, feeling the scrape of stubble which told him he was getting near to needing a shave again. So close to being a man – but would it give him the strength he needed? All he ever seemed to find on the brink of adulthood was an ever-increasing depth of confusion. The powerlessness of childhood was being exchanged for this new, murky dimension where good people like his father and Sirius showed themselves up as corrupt, and evil was a slippery fish that slid through his fingers every time he thought he had a grip on it leaving him with nothing but poisonous slime.

Did Ron and Hermione ever feel this way?

He looked sideways. Malfoy's face was a perfect blank now, but his grey eyes glittered in the tail end of the day.

Harry wondered, not for the first, second or even twentieth time, what it would be like growing up as a Malfoy – growing up under (from the little Harry understood of French) the name of Bad Faith. Oddly, this made him feel better about his own lot. Sirius and Dumbledore might be trying to run Harry's life for him at present, but it didn't mean Harry would let them. They wouldn't try to twist his life to their own purposes in the same way or with the same intensity Lucius Malfoy would Draco's. And with that thought, the terrible feeling of helplessness fell away, although it left a twinge of sympathy for his Slytherin… ally.

Dumbledore was still speaking. "…Remus, you are sure of your data?"

"Yes, Headmaster. The fields of the castle walls are definitely showing the first signs of decay. It would have been going on for some time, probably even before the barrier itself was solidified, but the decay is exponential. It will only get faster. As for the barrier, the monitoring charms show that the causative locus moves independently of the three anchor trees. I expect the causative locus is our favourite neighbourhood Dark Lord. I don't think You-Know-Who remains vital to the stability of the barrier now that it's been completed, but…"

Dumbledore lifted his glasses and pressed his fingertips against his eyes. "Yes. Although we can probably lower the barrier without needing to resort to killing the causative locus, for reasons of greater security it is imperative we find and destroy Voldemort. What is vital is the knowledge of where he can be found. Mr Malfoy, would you like to tell those who do not already know what you found out today from a source which I believe is reliable." He lowered his hand and somehow managed to pin everyone in the room with a sober gaze. "I must stress to everyone that this source is to remain totally confidential and must not even be speculated upon in private. Draco?"

Draco nodded reluctantly. "There is to be an attack on Hogsmeade. This Thursday. Four, four-thirty in the morning. Oh, and I don't consider myself dispensable, thank you, Black. Probably not even Luna is dispensable, although after that piece of idiocy you and she got up to that's stretching probability."

Luna and Sirius had the sense not to argue that. No-one wanted Draco to walk out at this point.

"So you intend to ambush him, Albus?" asked McGonagall, who was slowly regaining some colour.

"Yes. He won't be expecting me. And this time I won't let him escape…" Dumbledore steepled his fingers before him, blue eyes staring into some bleak realm open only to him. "I cannot afford to let him escape again."

"You can't afford to go," Sirius argued. "If Hogwarts begins to crumble it'll need the headmaster to stabilise it."

"And if I die that role immediately goes to Minerva. She will inherit the spells to maintain the castle," Dumbledore said matter-of-factly, ignoring McGonagall's muffled mew of protest.

Draco sat back, folding his arms, a mutinous gleam in his eyes. Harry caught his eye and shook his head and Draco caught the hint and held his tongue.

"Is this meant to be some sort of cry for help, Dumbledore?" Sirius snapped. "Because it's bloo-"

Dumbledore held us his hand. "Sirius," he said wearily. "Do you think I would leave Hogwarts if there was an option? Voldemort needs to be defeated. I am able to do that, but only if I know exactly where to find him. Tom, slippery fish that he is," (Harry twitched at having Dumbledore echo his earlier thought) "knows this and has done his utmost to elude me since his return to power. Even in the battle the other month he kept his Death Eaters' eyes on me, using them to see where I was so that he could be somewhere else. This is a sterling chance, the break we have hoped for, and one that is unlikely to come again. Enough arguing, please – everyone. This is the best option and I am sure upon reflection you will come to agree with me. Now. Draco. Was there something else you wished us to know?"

Draco's mouth pursed mulishly for a moment. "There is a potion. But I don't want it traced back to me. Which it would be easy to do if any – and I mean _any_ details about it were known."

"You have my word," said Dumbledore. "And the rest of you?" he said to the room in general. There was a chorus of ayes from Flitwick, Sirius, McGonagall, Luna and Harry.

Draco nodded. "Hmm. The potion is designed to weaken the Dark Lord. I don't know to what extent – it's hardly as if it's ever been tested before, of course."

"There's a certain lack of Dark Lords running around willing to offer themselves as test subjects," said Sirius, returned to trying to lighten the mood, although his face retained a tinge of its angry colour.

Even Draco managed a small smile at that. "That's the trouble with research – finding test subjects."

"Being blown up is somewhat off-putting to the more thoughtful brand of volunteer," said Remus, sticking his little finger in his ear and wriggling it. "I really need to see Poppy to check if this deafness is going to be permanent…" he grumbled. "I hope you're not going to involve Elmsworthy."

"I'd rather not show the potion formula to anyone who isn't directly involved with its brewing or application," said Draco anxiously. For the first time he looked like he could bolt.

Dumbledore nodded. "That is perfectly understandable. I give you my word on that one, Draco. Filius?" he added, as Draco visibly relaxed.

Flitwick's nose twitched. "My goodness. I've never been much of a brewer. Can you still remember the lessons you had from Flamel?"

"Oh, I'm not quite so decrepit I've forgotten everything he taught me… I even filled in for Professor Boggle on a few occasions."

"And you never heard complaints from the students over it, either," said Lupin stoutly. Sirius nodded.

"Thank you, Remus. Some of his ailments were very strange. We never did work out how he came down with galloping tsetse for an entire week in April…"

"Probably safe enough at this date to say we were pretty sure it was Severus who was responsible for that one," said Remus. "The students all decided to voluntarily develop amnesia over the source of Boggle's affliction."

"Really?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at Sirius. "I'm surprised that you never informed anyone, if you knew about it."

Sirius shrugged. "Well, I hated Boggle a little bit more than I hated Snape. Most days, anyway. I was hardly going to stick out my neck for the old bast- er, Boggle. Also he'd just given me a detention which I ended up not serving. I swear Snape went green when he found out he'd done me a favour." He smiled.

"So are you willing to show the recipe to me?" Dumbledore asked Draco.

Draco nodded reluctantly. "Harry and Luna know about it, too. Although they don't know too many details. Oh, and Granger. Weasley lent me his owl, but he doesn't know the…"

There was a cough from McGonagall. "…Sorry," she gasped. "Tea went down the wrong way. I could have sworn you said _Ron Weasley_ lent you his owl…"

"Pigwidgeon. Yes. Granger's cat was useful, too." Draco stared at her a moment longer, perhaps to see if she would have a heart attack over the shock of him and Ron working together. "So Weasley knows I got a message. Elmsworthy's probably guessed, but although it might be useful to get him to help with the brewing," he added with glum resignation, "I really, _really_, do not want him to know where the formula came from. There must be some way of tricking him into thinking the formula and the message are unrelated, although we might be able to do without him. Granger… I don't think she'd blackmail me at a later date. Weasley might," he added thoughtfully, pulling at his lower lip.

"He won't," said Harry.

"Hn."

Which could have meant anything.

ooOOoo

They agreed to meet up later, down in Snape's workroom, going separate ways at separate times so as to minimise suspicion. Dumbledore gave them the passwords – small silver keys which shimmered and then evaporated when they put them on their tongues. Harry accompanied Draco down the stairs towards the Entrance Hall, discussing in low voices the differentials of temperature needed to prime the base for the potion they would be brewing later that evening. After going over the formula with Harry, Draco and Remus, Dumbledore had considered the preliminary base simple enough for two students who'd effectively completed sixth year Potions, although he would be there later for the trickier aspects of the bottling spells. "Need me to bring anything?" Harry asked quietly, so that not even the portraits could hear. He caught a glimpse of yellow and waved to Stephanie, who nodded back from where she was gathering fallen apples with what looked like a satyr. The satyr took advantage of her moment of distraction to try running his hand up her skirt. Stephanie kicked him in the Pippins.

Draco gave him a wry look. "Patience. A sense of humour. Anything to distract me from – oh bugger."

A small, familiar shape dwarfed by a large camera waved up at them hesitantly. Harry waved back, wondering what Colin was up to now. Draco stopped on the landing. "Damn. I just remembered. I'm meant to be taking that Creevey idiot up to take some pictures of Simon."

"You're joking."

"Did you hear any mention of my horse walking into a pub? No, I thought that as we've got good light late in the evening, he wouldn't need that light thing that scared Simon last time."

"All right, all right… I can chop up ingredients as well as the next person – that being you rather than Hermione or Elmsworthy – and I know the difference between simmer and stew, so I can get everything started okay, but this is a bit of an about-face, don't you think?"

Draco shrugged. "Better he be supervised rather than try sneaking into the paddock and scaring the hell out of Simon. I don't want my horse getting in trouble for defending his territory."

Harry ignored the 'my horse'. It wasn't as if anyone including Draco really believed Simon chose to belong to one person more than another. Or to anyone. Harry strongly suspected the truth of the matter was that the horse regarded them as its own personal property. "I don't think Colin would provoke him – not like Myers and those other two."

"Blume and Hitchcock. Mm."

Draco knew their names. That boded badly for the three who had irked Simon. Harry swallowed a smile.

"Maybe not," Draco continued, "but it's better to be sure. He asked me; don't know why he didn't ask you…"

Harry shrugged. "Guess he felt he had to face you over it." Harry didn't quite understand his reasoning, but perhaps it had something to do with confronting demons. If Colin could get to Simon through Draco, well, that was quite a feat, especially given the last time he'd taken photos.

"Huh. Could be something to that Gryffindor bravery rumour. I thought that if I go up with him I could, I dunno, stop him from doing anything stupid." Draco paused. Frowned. "Anything majorly stupid, that is."

Harry gave a lopsided smile. "Good luck."

"Thanks. To tell the truth, it's just nice to get up to Squirrel Hill to spend time with a horse. Much less complicated than anything in the castle. You coming, or are you going to see what sort of story Dumbledore is going to try feeding the masses this time re. your psychopathic godfather? Tempting to stick around just to hear the story – God knows I could use a laugh."

Harry ignored the insult to Sirius – Draco had cause. And he'd trusted Harry with the formula, now folded in Harry's pocket. "Didn't you want me to start that base for the potion?"

Draco leaned against a wall and frowned down at his shoes. "Might be best, yeah. Luna was going to give it a go, but I guess she'll be too busy with detentions to do it. And we really should get things right as soon as possible – we don't have that much time…" He sighed. "I'll try not to be out too long… nice to have a pass allowing us out until midnight. Hope that means we're allowed to skip the odd class here and there. The odd _extra_ class here and there, 'cos I've been missing quite a few over Simon…"

Harry considered that frown. "You okay with Dumbledore being involved?"

"Yes. No. I… Just don't let him find out anything more, okay? It's bad enough he knows I got a message. And I had to tell him who sent it, too… I don't want him finding out anything about, well, me, for instance. You know what I mean. Make sure Black knows he's not to open his blabby big mouth to anyone who doesn't already know about where the letter came from."

Harry nodded. "Is it okay for Hermione to work on the potion?"

"To be frank, I don't think we have any choice. I looked over that formula and it was, well, pretty nasty. It needs someone who can think their way through a corkscrew – some of it I don't understand at all – what sort of a measurement is 100C when it's not a temperature?" He shook his head in disgust, then looked at Harry hopefully. "Don't suppose Snape mentioned anything like that when you were back in time? 'Cos it's something to do with his calculations."

Harry shook his head. "Sorry."

"Too much to hope for. Huh. Best to have Elmsworthy, but I don't want to tell him where the recipe came from. If all else fails, tell him it, um…"

"How about we tell people Dumbledore found the formula in an ancient scroll that fell out of the Sorting Hat?"

Draco sneered. "Who the hell would believe something like that?"

"When the basilisk attacked me, I pulled a sword out of it."

"Oh. Really? That's pretty cool, actually. All right – pulling the answer out of a hat probably isn't as outlandish as some of the things we're expected to swallow around here. Well, I'll see you in an hour."

"When you come into the room, remember not to touch the door or the door frame," Harry warned. Then, when Draco sniggered, added, "What?"

"Nothing."

But Harry thought he heard Draco mutter a faint _Puk-puk-puk-erk_ under his breath as he walked down the stairs and across the Entrance Hall.

Harry sighed. He'd wondered when Draco would start giving him hell over that whole chicken fiasco.

ooOOoo


	71. Chapter 71

Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to JK Rowling and Warner.

ooOOoo

Chapter 71: Keeping Up Appearances

Dumbledore and Sirius and most of the Hogwarts staff had summoned the students into the Great Hall for a meeting to explain why Hogwarts was harbouring a wanted man.

Harry decided to leave them to it in favour of getting on with something for the cause. He was about to go and start work on the anti-Voldie potion when he suddenly changed his mind: he had watched Draco lead Colin out of the castle (Draco kindly condescending to explain to Colin the story behind Sirius' miraculous – or dastardly, depending on standpoint – exposure) and got a bad feeling from the sight. Harry was thinking that Draco probably wouldn't kill Colin, but…

There was always that 'but'.

Best to go up to the paddock with them just to make sure things began smoothly.

He caught up with them before they rounded the corner of the castle. Colin seemed to appreciate having him there, although Draco gave him a raised eyebrow look that asked why Harry wasn't off brewing a certain potion Draco couldn't mention in the presence of Creevey the Uninitiated.

So Harry only stayed for the first few photos, just to make sure Colin didn't do anything daft (and that Draco didn't kill the young Gryffindor). He even grudgingly agreed to pose for a couple of photos, although it went against the grain. Harry had developed a phobia of cameras after Rita Skeeter and Colin's last attempts. Luna showed up briefly, simply standing there for a short while before leaving as silently as she'd arrived; there one minute, gone the next. Harry didn't see her arrive. He didn't see her leave. It was marginally more unnerving than Colin aiming a camera at him.

"Better get on with things," Harry muttered as soon as he felt he could safely leave Colin in Draco's hands.

Draco nodded. "I won't be too long, I hope."

Back in the castle, Harry paused in the Entrance Hall. There seemed to be quite a commotion coming from behind the heavy doors of the Great Hall. He shook his head, deciding he was better off out of whatever was going on in there, and turned and went down the stairs towards the Dungeons. Instead of carrying on down in the direction of the Potions classrooms or the Slytherin dormitory, he turned right through a small door and found himself in a narrow corridor. He walked along it, past chilly walls scantily clad with condensation and portraits of people wearing winter-weight furs, through an area where the standing wave of magic made the hair down his neck prickle, until he found a door where darkness swam through ancient wood, leaving barely a hint of eyes leering at him and the threat of sharp, ripping teeth.

It was pleasant to find something familiar down here. Harry spoke the key ("Hello, my name is Harry Potter"), and felt his name tingle like sherbet on his tongue. Being careful to touch only the handle, not the wood, he pushed the door open and entered Snape's personal laboratory.

"Hello," said Luna, who was already chopping up bracken tips. Had she come down straight after her visit to the paddock? She looked up and gave him a small smile, a vague smile, a brittle smile aimed at his left ear rather than at him personally. "I thought I'd get started on the secondary infusion blend for the barrier potion while everyone else is busy being distracted. This way Bad Luck Nargles will be all in the Great Hall rather than down here. Have you brought a bone-handled knife?"

Harry's heart sank. He'd lost something without knowing he'd ever had it. He'd lost Luna. "Er, no. I didn't." Perhaps Dumbledore had pulled some strings to get Luna off her detention. Unless this was McGonagall's way of punishing her, which Harry doubted.

"Never mind. I'm sure there'll be one around here somewhere…" She opened a drawer and slammed it shut quickly as something inside it snarled. "Oops. I forgot you were there. Sorry, Bertram."

The thing inside the drawer grumbled to itself.

"Here we go," she said, after kneeling and almost crawling into a cupboard. "Professor Snape had to use it as a lure when there was a Greckle in here…"

"Greckles don't exist," Harry said, and could have kicked himself. It wasn't anything like what he'd wanted to say. What, indeed, _did_ he want to say?

Luna held up the knife. There were small toothmarks in it. "That's what my uncle used to say. Then we found some in Bulgaria the other year… or they found us. My uncle gave one of them one of his sandwiches – it turns out Greckles are crazy for peanut butter. And bones, because we had a roast chicken and they de-boned it and refused to touch the meat. I wish Uncle had… well. One must have followed, um, me back to Hogwarts. There wasn't any peanut butter handy, so Professor Snape lured it into the cupboard with the knife."

"What happened to it? I suppose it ended up in a potion," Harry said, half-heartedly trying to make a joke.

Luna went boot-faced. Something gleamed in her eyes – something Harry was more familiar with in Draco's, and that was from the days they'd hated each other. She blinked, and Harry decided he'd imagined it. "No. We sent it back to Bulgaria, of course." She turned back to chopping ingredients. "The cauldrons are over there," she said without actually indicating which _there_ she meant. "Professor Dumbledore asked me to start making the base for Draco's potion. Granger is meant to be coming down soon – we're going to do the third stage of the mistletoe potion tonight. I thought it might be best to do that before Professor Dumbledore arrives, even though Draco probably won't mind too much if he's involved… but you know what he's like. As a matter of fact, I've been making a little potion of my own, because I've been thinking about what Draco said about the spells he put into the shoes and some of them seemed really…"

Harry let her ramble, not really taking anything in rather than the news Hermione would be here soon, a welcome chaperone.

"… Simon?"

Harry realised a response was required. And he'd just missed something important, more important than mere words. "Simon. Er. Sorry?"

Luna's pale eyes stared at him as if he was something new and strange and markedly less cuddly than Bertram-In-The-Drawer. Harry was glad he was on the other side of the bench. "Is Draco still up with Simon?"

"Er, yes." Harry decided not to mention that Colin was up there too. Luna had given him and his camera a very sour look, her lip going very tense.

Much like now, in fact. Harry felt a chill settle in his stomach as Luna nodded. Then she leaned forward to concentrate on shredding some roots, letting her hair fall to curtain her face and cut her off from Harry, and a silence fell between them.

It was the longest twelve minutes and twenty-eight seconds of Harry's life. Every thunk of the knife against the chopping board, every tap of the stirrer against the rim of a cauldron, made him start. Then Hermione arrived to help with the barrier potion and, like a spanner dropped off a harbour bridge, broke a dangerous tension. Harry could have hugged her.

Draco arriving quietly an hour later didn't manage to make things uncomfortable again, even if he was forced to work with a Muggle-born and visibly cross with Luna, who seemed to be just as cross with Draco, if less inclined to show it.

Yup, thought Harry: she didn't approve of the camera.

The tension rose a degree when Dumbledore joined them, just in time to say good night to Luna, who had to finish a Herbology essay and was leaving with a small bottle in one pocket. The headmaster had come to help with the tricky spells needed to stabilise the anti-Voldie potion, as they were calling it (the mistletoe one had already been rebottled and hidden behind some yellowing papers in a special safe by Hermione). The ancient wizard patiently answered several dozen of Hermione's questions and two or three of Harry's (Harry had had some thoughts on phoenix tears, but unfortunately Dumbledore pointed out that the revitalising effects of the phoenix tears would counter the mistletoe in the anti-Voldie potion). Dumbledore had the sense to allow Draco to set the pace, and eventually the Slytherin's discomfort eased enough for Draco to ask a few questions of his own. Harry found it much more comfortable now Luna had gone, and felt guilty for it.

They called it a night at quarter to midnight, everyone pleased with the progress of the anti-Voldie potion, although the reference to 100C, which was the strength the potion was meant to be used at, apparently, remained a nagging mystery. Dumbledore promised to give it as much attention as he could spare (apparently it wasn't much, as things were still tense over Sirius and the failing wards, not to mention the perennial problems of plumbing and leaks in the roof).

On the way back to Gryffindor, Hermione and Harry popped in briefly to Lupin's rooms to check on Sirius. Sirius was asleep, his snores vibrating through the wall of the spare bedroom into the cosy sitting room, but Remus (in his dressing gown with purple rabbits) assured them that everything was fine. Telling the prefects earlier had been a good move – they had calmed the rest of the students by telling them that everything was under control and Sirius hadn't been revealed sooner because he was an integral part of the defences Dumbledore had wanted kept secret, blah blah blah. And some other reasons Harry didn't really take in because he was so tired. The fact that the Slytherin prefects had backed up Dumbledore's story went a long way to muting any student paranoia, although the teachers would need to be extra vigilant for the next wee while.

Harry thanked Remus, found his own dormitory, his own room, his own bed, and tumbled into sleep and his own dreams.

He dreamed of an eclipse which turned into Simon's frightened eye.

ooOOoo

Tuesday morning, Harry woke early, wondering if he'd dreamed the sound of thunder. Deciding it best not to wake anyone (knocking up someone at five in the morning wasn't a good way to keep your mates, no matter how badly he wanted to talk to Ron and Hermione), he dressed quietly and crept out of the castle. Or tried to – Professors Lupin, Sprout and McGonagall were hurrying down towards the Dungeons, where a thin green smoke was curling up from the stairwell.

"Is everyone all right?" Harry called out as Lupin, even the purple bunnies on his dressing gown looking harried and especially rumpled, hurried past. The menace of a stalking werewolf was diminished by purple bunnies.

He shook his head. "Slight accident. Not Elmsworthy this time. Luna, if you can believe it. Turns out she'd found Snape's private laboratory, and –"

"Is she all right?"

Remus rubbed his hand across his face and breathed in loudly. "Ungh. She'll be fine. Pomfrey's trying to restore her to her proper colour now. The rest of us are trying to reassure the Slytherins. _That's_ the difficult part. They're taking umbrage at being woken up so early – someone's trying to organise a committee for proper hours or something. Merlin help us… What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"Fair enough." He gave Harry a lopsided smile and disappeared down the stairs. Harry stared after him a moment, then shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and slouched off outside.

The sky was light but the dew was heavy. Harry waded through the long grass. The cold wetness didn't bother him – discomforts were easily dismissed when there was a convenient drying spell to hand.

Simon was already out grazing, but he put his head up and whinnied when he saw Harry and walked, lanky-limbed and carefree, down towards the gate where he waited, ears pricked.

Harry smiled. "And a good morning to you, too," he called back.

Simon followed him up to the little stable, where Harry found brushes and a headcollar. He decided to leave the headcollar off, trusting Simon to stay nearby. Which Simon did, as Harry took off the heavy cover and dropped it onto the bare ground. Simon found a patch of grass in need of attention, and set about cropping it as Harry picked up the brushes and set to work. As he worked, Harry began talking in half-sentences, not sure what he was really trying to say, only that the words fitted into the rhythm of each stroke.

"It's a nice day. Or will be. Maybe." He found a rough patch under the belly and leaned over. "If – Luna – will – ever – talk – to – me – again." He straightened. "For Merlin's sake – she turned herself green? I hope she didn't destroy the lab – lucky Hermione stored the potions in the safe… that should have kept them, um, safe." He ran the brush along Simon's back. "I wish she had more sense. Horse sense." He laughed – easy enough to laugh at your own jokes when you were alone, even if they weren't funny. "But then if she had regular sense. She wouldn't be Luna. She'd be. I don't know. Someone else." He picked up a different brush and started in on Simon's tail, putting a good swing from the shoulder into each long stroke through the long tail. "As for Draco. I wish I knew what he. Wants. After. This. Is. All. Over." He paused, realising something. "Why am I telling all this to a horse's bum?"

Maybe the tail didn't need any more work. He moved around to Simon's other side. The horse couldn't understand, of course – it was probably all just noise to him – but Harry liked to think someone was listening to him. It wasn't as if Simon was a captive audience, either. There was no rope on him, and he –

He was moving away.

"Hey, hold on. Whoa."

Harry stepped in front of the horse and put his hand under the chin. Simon stopped and allowed Harry to brush his forelock, blinking drowsily as the brush skimmed above his eyes. The dark eyes reminded Harry of his dream of the eclipse – in the dream he'd looked into one of Simon's eyes, which had been rimmed white with fear. Just a dream, Harry told himself firmly. Just a dream. The forelock didn't really need brushing, either. Harry dropped the brush and began to pull at Simon's ears. Simon yawned and closed his eyes. The lower lip drooped. Harry spoke softly.

"I know Dumbledore says you'll take him through the barrier, but, y'know, I think he's being a bit optimistic, don't you? And he says the prophecy is overrated and I don't need to go up against Voldemort. Part of me, a cowardly part, is really glad to hear that. But it's arguing with the rest of me, which knows that if Death Eaters break through into Hogwarts then the best defence this place can have is Dumbledore. Not me. So… what I really want to know is, what do I do?"

Simon yawned again.

"Relax, you say? Yeah, why not."

He finished off with a scratch behind Simon's ears, which the horse leaned into appreciatively, then threw the cover back on and buckled it up. "There you go."

Simon followed him down to the gate. Harry considered going back to the castle, but it was too early for breakfast. He might be able to get in another hour of sleep. But he wasn't tired. Groggy, yes, with an underlying nervousness, but not sleepy.

Harry sat on the gatepost, with his feet on the top rail of the fence and his arms around his knees. The sun rising behind him was warm on his back. He watched Simon as the horse moved off and began to graze his way along the slope, and let his mind drift.

It drifted to Luna.

Luna: Luna and this almost symbiotic relationship she'd formed with a horse.

Luna must miss her dad, but it was her uncle-who-owned-a-horse she talked about, worried about. She'd latched on to Simon because of that. And Draco – how conflicted must you be when your father kills your favourite teacher? Simon had saved him (Harry did a quick mental tally) three times now, not counting the Dementors beyond the barrier, and Malfoy seemed to have grabbed hold of this unaccountable loyalty from a Muggle beast like a lifeline. As for Harry – what was his excuse? Was Simon some sort of reassurance? A way to ignore other, larger threats in favour of checking hooves for stones and a glossy black coat for scratches? Or was Harry, like Luna and Draco, trying to make Simon out to be something he wasn't?

Wasn't that what Dumbledore had tried to warn Harry about?

He'd been convinced the horse was Snape! It was embarrassing to think back on. How much of that had been some weird hope that it wouldn't be Snape Simon turned back into but Severus, and Severus would help them stop the Blockade? Harry opened his eyes just in time to see Simon (the horse not pausing in grazing) lift his tail and go to the toilet.

Well, Harry decided with a chuckle, that was pretty good as reality checks went.

He sat there and let his thoughts dissolve into nothingness, let the sunrise warm him and the birds sing to him and the presence of a horse keep him company, until the sun was well up and he turned as movement out the corner of his eye caught his attention. It was Ron and Hermione coming up the hill.

"Thought you might be here," said Ron.

Harry nodded. "Predictable Potter."

"Mad as a hatter Potter," said Ron, smiling serenely.

"Thanks. Friend."

Ron's grin widened, stretching freckles.

Hermione eyed Simon. "Do you think he'd come down?"

Harry smiled. Hermione's bravery expressed itself in strange ways.

"Have you forgiven him, then?"

"For what? Oh." She blushed. "Um. Well, it was hardly his fault he's got a bony, er, back."

Ron was carefully pretending he was grimacing because the sun was in his eyes, not because he was trying not to grin.

Harry clucked to Simon, trying to coax the horse back. Unfortunately the horse had lost interest in company in favour of breakfast.

Simon had a point. Harry stretched as best as he was able on the fence-post, then jumped down, stumbling only slightly.

"Getting old there, Harry."

"Still four months younger and less decrepit than you," Harry told Ron. "So what are you two doing up at such an early hour?"

Hermione shrugged. "Just… I don't know."

"Picking up on the general feeling of restlessness permeating the castle, resulting in lack of sleep and too much time brooding over the stalemate matters of politics and war, culminating in yet another night of broken sleep at the end of which you wake, go forth to the common room, and meet up with a fellow-traveller in this odyssey of patience and fortitude and sapping tension, and she in her wisdom suggests walking in the still hour of dawn to soak up enough of its peaceful state in an effort to counterbalance the upcoming day of tension to follow. As luck would have it, we noticed a familiar silhouette perched upon a fence. And here we are."

Harry and Hermione stared at Ron.

He glared. "What? I'm allowed to have feelings and intuitions too, you know. Girls don't have the monopoly on those. And Harry isn't the only one who's concerned about the fate of Wizarding society."

Hermione grinned and squeezed his hand. "Yeah, but… Never mind. I don't think that horse wants to come down, which is a shame. I wanted to have a look at his feet."

"His… feet." Harry rubbed his scar.

"Yeah. His feet. Come on, let's go harass the house elves for something to eat," she said.

Harry had had too little sleep and this was far too surreal.

He yawned, raised his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He was probably still dreaming.

ooOOoo

At breakfast, Colin, singed eyebrows a new look for him, was in a chipper mood. He'd finally managed to make his own potion to develop photos. Harry overheard him telling Luna about how he'd approached Draco yesterday to ask for help with taking photos of Simon again, then after snapping a few shots he'd gone and tried out a theory he'd been working on for developing the film.

Luna shot Harry an indecipherable look, made especially alien by the green tinge to her skin. Harry's hindbrain must have picked up on something, because it sent a shiver down his spine. Luna finished her breakfast, threw down her napkin, and left the Hall. By her clothing and the apples she stuffed in her pockets on the way out, she was going up to the paddock.

Harry hadn't been planning on going up to the paddock again, but the staff had cancelled morning classes while they sorted out a few lingering questions over Sirius, Seamus and Dean were glaring at each other and Neville was wearing a bewildered expression, Draco wasn't in sight and Ron and Hermione were off in their own little world, leaving Harry adrift. It had been a while since he'd felt quite so alone while surrounded by friends. He bit back on a twinge of jealousy at the sight of Ron feeding Hermione toast, Hermione laughing around crumbs and strawberry jam, and, deciding to risk saying something dumb to Luna, so long as he said _something_, he took some bread to coax Simon back for a chat and set off outside. Ron was right about the tension under the roofs of the castle – Harry was better off outside.

Luna had certainly had a funny look on her face after talking to Colin. Not funny-ha-ha, either, nor amusing thanks to her green skin. Maybe Colin should have gone through Luna instead, Harry thought as he trudged up to the paddock, hands in his pockets. A breeze had moved in from the north, turning the day chilly even though it was, theoretically, high summer.

Draco and Luna had arrived before him. As Harry drew closer, wondering if he was up to Luna treating him like a stranger again, he could hear the argument. For her part, Luna seemed to be trying to argue. The forced calm tone required around the horse combined with Draco's apparent indifference made it appear on the surface that she was passing comment on the weather. Until you heard the words, that was…

"…And letting a complete plonker like Colin near Simon with a camera again… after the last time. Simon could have been killed…"

The weather? _And on the other side of the world, typhoons wreak havoc in South East Asia.  
_  
"I remember quite well." Draco bent down to pick up a forefoot, and cleaned it out with the hoofpick. He moved quickly around the other three hooves one after the other, as he continued with, "You seem to have forgotten who was on Simon's back at the time as he went charging through the castle, up the stairs and into a Charms class full of shrieking idiots. I'm quite aware of who was in danger, thank you. Especially now I know about the jumping from staircase to staircase bit."

Draco was listening after all.

"You're a wizard. You'd bounce. He's a horse. He'd splatter."

"I was blind," Draco reminded her with a touch of acid. "Don't count on the bouncing. I don't think the auto-protective response magic would have kicked in until after the fact. Then magic would have been a tad beyond my abilities. By that time my magic would have been a bit late. Literally and figuratively."

Simon shifted. Draco moderated his tone back up the pH range to neutral.

"I made sure he used the camera without the flasher," he said. Harry presumed he meant 'flash'. He certainly hoped so. "I saw to that personally. I don't quite understand why he didn't keep using that one after he took the first few photos when I was blind…"

"Trying for different light exposure effects perhaps," Luna said. "Different camera, different usage… But that still doesn't –"

"Anything the matter?" Harry asked. He received twin glares from Draco and Luna – Draco, well, Draco was indiscriminate in his glares when he was feeling cornered, but when had Luna started giving glares like that? – and a small, welcoming whinny from Simon, whose threatened sulk when peppermints didn't materialise eased when Harry gave him the bread and scratched behind his ears.

"Is this about Colin last evening? Colin did behave himself, didn't he?"

"Oh, that's right, you knew about it too." Luna threw the brush back into the bag. Shadows around her eyes deepened. She was still faintly green and looked like someone who hadn't had much sleep in the last few days. "Fine. Take Malfoy's side. Don't take Simon's safety seriously."

Two students and one horse, all wearing puzzled expressions, watched her stomp off down the hill. Then Simon shoved his head against Harry's shoulder, scrubbing up and down to deal with the latest itch.

"Ouch," said Harry, trying to sound happier than he felt at having Luna blow up at him. He was used to good concrete reasons for her being annoyed. Photos didn't really rate as reasons to be hacked off. "Stop mistaking me for a post."

Draco smirked, reining in the obvious comment with, Harry could tell by the look of near constipation, a gargantuan effort, picking up a brush and turning to Simon instead.

"Don't rupture yourself keeping your mouth shut," Harry said, annoyed.

"Pomfrey knows the symptoms, especially when I've been around you. So. Trouble in Paradise?"

Harry would have preferred a snide comparison between himself and a wooden post. "Er. Dunno."

"Lovegood's been a bit weird…er lately. Since those clowns tried taking Simon out of the paddock. Really moody, which is totally unlike her. I overheard her talking to Dumbledore…"

"After breakfast yesterday? I already know ab-"

"No, before breakfast this morning. I was in early – early enough to interrupt her as she was following Dumbledore around and hissing at him. She was even greener an hour ago… I hear she was involved with that explosion this morning. Know anything about that?"

"Not much. I'm a bit worried about our, er, projects."

"Me too. So who blew up the workroom?"

"Well, I bumped into Lupin – he said it was Luna. She was arguing with Dumbledore, though?" That made at least two conversations with Dumbledore she'd had in the last day or so. Harry's forehead wrinkled. "Really? What was it about?" Although he could guess.

"What, you think I was eavesdropping? Okay, maybe I was, but it was almost totally accidental. Let's say thirty percent accidental. Apparently she feels she's not doing enough for Simon. I wonder if she was cooking up something to make him smarter? I saw red ergot and tarantula root out on the bench last night."

"Those are for…?"

"For smart-potions. Banned in tests, before you ask. And quite illegal. But since when would that stop Luna?"

Harry shrugged, not wanting to agree out loud, even though he did privately.

Draco continued, "And Dumbledore isn't doing anything to help, either, according to her. She's pretty upset about him wanting to ride Simon through the barrier."

"Fair enough. I'm not exactly sanguine about it myself. What do you think? About Dumbledore and Simon?"

Draco straightened, resting the brush on Simon's shining back. "Not that I like to say anything positive about the man, but he's done all right by Simon. It's not as if he can house him in the castle. It wasn't his fault the wards around the paddock failed – apparently someone was fiddling with them, putting extra monitoring spells on top of the pre-existing ones…" His gaze bored into Harry.

Harry's eyes found a really, really interesting clump of grass.

"But," Draco continued more severely, "I don't want him taking Simon through the barrier."

"Don't tell me you want to go again."

"Of course I don't. Do you think I'm insane? No – don't answer that. Neither of us will profit from what you're trying not to say. But the thing is – stand still, Simon – the thing is that it's not going to work. Simon simply isn't going to accept him as a rider. Not without some heavy-duty mind-control spells, which will slow Simon's reflexes." He rubbed his hand over the black coat and checked his palm for dirt. There was none. "To tell the truth, the best rider would be Luna. But that wouldn't work for the simple reason that she would be too worried about Simon to tackle the Dark Lord. That's if she's not too busy looking for three-toed hornswogglers, of course." He looked down, then up again, meeting Harry's eyes, and said exactly what Harry was thinking: "Simon needs a rider he trusts and likes – a rider he understands and will look after. That's one of us."

"I know. And I agree completely. So what now – rock, paper, scissors – the winner gets to _not_ go through the barrier?"

Draco lifted a corner of his mouth in half a smile. "It's not like we're going to have much choice in the matter – you don't seriously think they'll let one of us go, do you?"

"I don't think they will. I think we'd have to, let's just say, arrange something ourselves. And to be honest, I think we both need to go," Harry said quietly, butterflies in his stomach as he put into words something he'd only subconsciously entertained. "There's the prophecy –"

"What prophecy?"

"You know, _the_ prophe-" Harry blinked. "I… thought you knew it. Sorry." But then, how could Draco have known it? He quickly explained.

There were a few minutes silence as Draco ruminated on it, looking progressively more and more unhappy. Finally:

"You didn't think of telling me this sooner?"

Harry shrugged. "Like I said, I sort of assumed you knew it. The child born at the end of July who defeats him – the child he marks – that's assumed to be me, although you get some credit for vomiting on him. Neville's the only other one who might possibly fit into the prophecy."

"But you're the one with the scar."

"Yes. Although I think you've got an outside chance of being the one from the prophecy."

Draco paused, seemingly turning the idea over in his mind, weighing up the pros and cons. The cons won. "No, thanks. I think it's you. So… what now?"

Harry sighed and rubbed his scar with the heel of his hand. The plan fell into place almost fully formed, word following word. "We need to leave a lot earlier than we expect the Death Eaters to arrive at Hogsmeade. First, we warn the people in Hogsmeade, just in case we – in case something happens to us. Then we go for the trees. We put the potion on the trees – we need someone on this side of the barrier, ready to put it on the tree here at the same time, compensating for the time difference…"

"Granger, Weasley and Longbottom, though I hate to say it…"

"…Yes, them. If it's too dangerous or there's a chance it won't work, we go straight back through the barrier to Hogwarts and alert Dumbledore. But if it _does_ work – er, how will we be able to know if the mistletoe potion's working or not?"

Draco sighed. "We'd better get Elmsworthy on board."

"Yes. Dammit. So, if it's working we go after You-Know-Who. Do you think one of us could distract him while the other puts the anti-Voldie potion on him? If he saw me, he'd never suspect you. And vice versa. No-one outside Hogwarts would ever think we were working together. Well, except for those in the Order and your mum, and I can't see any of those people snitching on us. We're light. Simon will accept either of us as the rider."

Draco shook his head. "We can't double all the way around the countryside on the one horse, hoping to…" He paused and the morning sun sparked in his grey eyes. "We take a broom," he breathed.

"Yes. It's inert magic – it could go through the barrier. Simon –"

"– Can take us and the broom, then one of us can ride the broom, the other Simon –"

"–We need at least two people to apply the mistletoe potion to the anchor trees. And if we have the route planned out –"

"– We can plot the tree sites before we leave with the location spells I learned from the Mendeleev gloves –"

"– Then we meet up using a locator spell with really high privacy rating – Hermione taught me one –" They'd used it on the coins last year.

"– And while we're still on that side of the barrier –"

"– Because now we know where Voldie is going to be –"

"– We can ambush him with the potion. Potter…" Draco looked suddenly frightened. "You – we can't be serious. Ambush the Dark Lord?"

Harry held his gaze. "Yes. If you can deal with the barrier, I'll take on Voldem-ie."

"You're really serious." Draco leaned against Simon, glaring over his back at Harry. "You're a fool. If he doesn't kill you, the Death Eaters will."

"Remember how I said once that I couldn't really see my future beyond Voldemort? I meant it. If I can stop him I will – I'd rather live, but the thing is that if he's alive and beats me then I probably won't live. Or want to. Not for long. Not once the barrier comes down, which it will when he's strong enough to decide to break it. Me and Simon, Draco. We're in the same boat. When the barrier comes down, we're both targets. And so are pretty much all my friends."

Draco's eyes flickered with suppressed argument. Then he nodded. "But you can still run once we're through the barrier and past all the traps of the Barricade. And hide. I could go back and get Dumbledore…" He grimaced, possibly at the thought of any extra trips through the barrier, possibly at the thought of providing a taxi service for a Gryffindor.

"You know I can't." Harry shrugged. "And if I could, how long would I last? And to what point? As the man said, I'd rather die on my feet than live on my knees."

"He had it backwards. Live on your feet and die on your knees." Draco snorted and shook his head. "My, aren't we cheerful this morning? Right, he's not going to get any cleaner and I wanted to ask Granger about some details involving the potion. Providing Luna didn't cremate it."

"Hermione put it in the safe. D'you think it'll be okay in there?"

"It looked like a top-of-the-line temporally buffered safe. Not much can happen inside it once the lock is activated."

"Good. Did you find out about the 100C thing?"

"Nope. Dammit. Granger's at a loss, too. Got to be a first for the bookworm." It didn't sound like an insult.

"What about some of those weird ingredients?" Harry asked. "I mean, Sasquatch Poppy resin? What the hell is that?"

"It's a class-A restricted substance. I'm keeping it in my trunk until this evening, when we finish the potion. Remember that little bag that came with the scroll? Almost everything we need is in there. Mother even included some mistletoe, but I'd rather use the stuff we harvested. It's fresher."

"Hmm. Good idea. Hang on – are we using mistletoe in both potions?"

"Yup. Versatile stuff for stabilising the sort of temporal magic we're dealing with."

"Okay. Anything we need to find?"

"Mayfly antennae and tortoise tears. I don't have either in my potions kit, although Elmsworthy might."

"Let's ask Dumbledore to have a look in Snape's stores."

Draco nodded. "Okay."

"You don't have to come. I could take Flitwick…"

Draco was already shaking his head. He patted Simon's back. "It needs two of us. And the horse. Simon – Simon considers us his property. There's no-one else suitable."

Harry nodded, massively relieved. "If you're sure."

Draco gave him a wry semi-smile. "No. But sometimes you have to take risks. If the Dark Lord finds out my mother sent that letter, he'll…" He swallowed, and his expression was fierce. "He needs to be stopped."

"Yes."

"Yes. And Harry…"

"Yeah. How do we make sure it's us who take Simon rather than him and Flitwick."

Draco pulled at his lower lip. "Say nothing. Don't argue. Suggest ways he can control Simon without mind-altering spells. Give him all the information he'll need to run the Blockade – getting through the barrier and avoiding the traps on the other side."

"Appear to comply, you mean? Appear to agree with his plans? Appear to be happy I'm not going?"

Draco smirked. "Appear. It's a very Slytherin word."

Harry snorted. "So it would appear."

ooOOoo


	72. Chapter 72

Disclaimer: Characters and settings property of JK Rowling and Warner.  
The end… I keep thinking it's in sight. But it's very elusive, The End.

ooOOoo

Chapter 72: Airs Above the Ground

Harry and Draco spent the rest of the morning sitting in the paddock, watching teams of students spend the morning outside by the lake or over by the Quidditch Pitch where someone (it looked like Seamus) seemed to be teaching them how to play football, and discussing the road in and out of Hogsmeade. Neither of them had a great working knowledge of the area, although Draco knew a few local landmarks, like a couple of Wizarding farms and some bridges which might be useful as rendezvous points for if they were split up. They mapped out possible routes, drawing lines in the dirt with sticks. Hermione and Ron joined them at one point – in time to bring them in for lunch – and Hermione pointed out that _if_ Harry and Draco went (and it was a big if, because she thought they were both insane for even considering going against Professor Dumbledore in such a way) maybe it was best to work out where the trees were before they made any concrete plans.

Harry and Draco couldn't argue with that.

At lunch in the Hall (at the end of the Slytherin table in a tight little knot of Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco – Gryffindors weren't going to bother them when they were at the Slytherin table, and Harry was too tired to put up with the last of the idiots who hadn't taken exploding chess sets and milk jugs as subtle hints to stop harassing him over not killing Voldemort when he was back in time), Ron asked if they were dead set on going through the gates again. "Whoever takes Simon through the barrier might be better off taking a more direct route towards one or the other of the trees. Why risk a frontal assault when you can sneak in from the side?"

Draco grudgingly accepted that Weasley _might_ have a point, not wanting to admit that sneaking in from the side rather than charging into the valley of death was so Slytherin it was embarrassing a Gryffindor had thought of it first.

Ron didn't smirk, but Harry knew him well enough to see when he was trying not to smile.

Hermione had a question about the shoes and wanted to go up to the paddock before afternoon classes to have a better look at Simon's hooves, but as they stood up to leave she and Ron were waylaid by a small group of fourth year Gryffindors who had been too leery of the Slytherins to approach while they were eating but who wanted to know if the Prefects had any thought on how to approach the professors in order to extend this wonderful new thing of cancelling morning classes.

Remus was watching Harry from the High Table in that careful way which meant the werewolf had questions and was waiting for an opportunity to ask them. Millicent was approaching, a gleam in her eye that meant she had ideas.

Draco and Harry decided they hadn't checked the cover was on Simon properly and it would take both of them to investigate. Most unfortunate, but they had to go and make sure the horse was safe and sound _right now._

As they didn't have anything better to do after presenting this excuse and hurriedly exiting the castle (Millicent wasn't an outdoors person and Remus avoided Simon wherever possible), they went and saw Simon anyway.

Simon was pleased to be given another slice of bread and company. Harry and Draco were pleased to be able to work on the plan some more. Harry had thought about asking Hagrid about trails through the Forest – would any be useful?

Draco pulled a face. He didn't like travelling through the Forest. It wouldn't be useful to anyone if they were eaten by giant spiders, as he said.

Harry thought they could avoid the spiders quite well, but there was the risk of getting lost… He didn't want to get through the barrier and then thrash around the Forest for two days while Voldemort slaughtered everyone in Hogsmeade.

It was nearly time for class – just enough time to get back to their respective dormitories and pick up their books. They were walking back to the castle in silence, each busy with his own thoughts, when Draco said, "How do we know this isn't a colossal mistake?"

"What? Us choosing to sneak off on Simon instead of Dumbledore and Flitwick, thinking we can do better than two highly experienced and powerful wizards, one of whom is the only one You-Know-Who is afraid of, the other a duelling champion? Not to mention the fact that once we take Simon through the barrier it might be the last chance anyone has of ever being able to get out to fight the forces of the Dark Lord before Hogwarts falls down?"

"Er… yeah. I guess that sums it up."

"Um, I guess we don't know."

"So by sneaking around behind Dumbledore's back we could be dooming not only ourselves but Hogsmeade and Hogwarts?"

"Um."

Draco stopped. "D'you really think we would be?"

Harry frowned, not just because the sun was rising behind Draco. "The prophecy…"

"Could be wrong. And we could be being arrogant."

Coming from a Malfoy, that was a shocking admission. Harry blinked. "You think?" he said, which sounded stupid, but he was tired and more than a little overwhelmed by the plan he and Draco had just hatched.

"I have been known to do so on occasion," Draco said with a hint of a smile. The hint faded. "You know, if Dumbledore tried to use the Imperius on Simon there's a very real danger of them getting stuck in the barrier."

"How do you mean?"

"Those shoes I made – they feed the natural thought-flow of the wearer – Simon, in this case. They allow him to bypass certain obstacles in magical reality."

"What – like Luna's potion?"

"Er… not exactly. The barrier, y'see, is an anomaly in time and space. Horses are edge-creatures, so they are aware of things like that which are, I guess in their way of thinking, an affront to the natural order of thing. You wouldn't have noticed it, but Granger's cat seemed to take the barrier personally…"

"Cats take everything personally."

"Makes them almost human, then. The point is that Simon was able to focus hard on getting through the barrier because the shoes enhanced his belief that the barrier wasn't a natural fence. It allowed him to slide through the edge, if you like, of the, uh, the you-know… the theorum… sorry, I'm not very good at explaining these things…"

"No, I think I've got it. Simon can get through the barrier because the shoes make him believe he can." _ I wonder if Malfoy ever read_ The Wizard of Oz? Harry had a brief but bizarre mental picture of Simon in a blue gingham dress, clicking his hooves together. "So what's the difference between your shoes and the Imperius?"

"It's the difference between you knowing you can do something and someone else hoping you can do something. Even with the shoes, Simon wouldn't have gone through the barrier just on my say-so. He had to think he could do it just like he could wade through a stream. And once we were inside, I was essentially helpless. Simon took me through – I really can't stress that fact enough. The shoes just gave him a push in the right direction. The Imperius is a very nasty curse – it works on some extremely deep and dark levels of the psyche and it is known to fluctuate according to the strength of the caster. My father's extremely good at it – and don't you dare use this against me at a later date –"

"–I won't –"

"– and he probably knows more about it than anyone else you or I could name. And he says that it's not very effective on edge-creatures. Best kept to humans, according to him."

"Nice."

Draco shrugged. "Dumbledore probably reasons that as he's the most powerful wizard walking he can maintain the spell long enough…"

"Why the hell does he have to start telling me I'm too damned young to go out after Vold- You-Know-Who?" Harry exploded, the mixture of a succession of bottled rages suddenly popping its cork in a froth of bright anger. "I mean, all these years living with the Dursleys and running around after monsters and… and… and shit, all because of the prophecy, and suddenly he's ignoring it!"

"Probably a mixture of guilt over making you live with the, um, the Drubleys, was it? and letting you run around after monsters and what-not because of the prophecy, combined with a good solid chance of finally ambushing the Dark Lord himself, and the threat to Hogwarts. You must have noticed Dumbledore's a bit obsessive when it comes to this school," Draco pointed out. Harry's sudden outburst had made him jump.

"No, I haven't."

"Well, he is. So is the Dark Lord. If you ask me, he's out there gently twanging the strand of the spell anchoring him to the barrier like a spider feels its web, waiting to feel for the hints that the wards are down just enough for him to invade without actually weakening the castle enough for it to tumble down. I expect the attack will come sooner than Lupin says – the Dark Lord doesn't want Hogwarts destroyed…"

"Why didn't you tell them that?"

"What? Tell them I've started forecasting Dark Lord movements? No, thank you. You can tell them that if you want – from you it'll be manna, but from a Malfoy it'll be a new way of undermining the forces of all that is good."

"I hardly think Dumbledore would think that of you…" Harry sighed.

Draco scorned him with barely a sideways glance. "He's a Gryffindor with Gryffindor advisors. I'm a Slytherin. End of story. He's also getting progressively more stressed. The wards crumbling must have really hit him where it hurts. He's overprotective as an overreaction, if you like."

"I don't like. I don't like any of this." Anger bubbled up again. "God – it's ridiculous! What the hell was he grooming me up for if not to take on Vo- oh, all right – You-Know-Who? He's a hundred and, and, and a lot more. Shouldn't he have his own brain straightened out logic-wise by now? Why does he have to keep changing the rules all the time? How the hell am I supposed to deal with him usurping my life to his every whim like this?"

Draco looked amused. "Well, for starters you could stop sulking and start scheming. Like the rest of the school. Or the only part of it that really counts. We Slytherins are used to Dumbledore behaving like he's doing, remember?"

Harry laughed sheepishly. "Sorry. Call me Comrade Harry. Okay, where were we?"

"Well, Comrade Harry – and don't take this as meaning you're suddenly an honorary Slytherin…"

"Wouldn't dare presume so high."

"…we were discussing the Imperius and how it's potentially dangerous if used on a horse. Picture the scene: Dumbledore Imperio's Simon, which gets him and Flitwick into the barrier. At which point Dumbledore isn't able to maintain the Imperius – edge creatures need constant casting, unlike humans, who can have the spell put on them once so long as it's strong enough and reapplied at regular intervals…"

(Harry was a little disturbed at how easily Draco could explain the workings of an Unforgivable)

"…and Simon suddenly comes to his own mind and wonders where the hell he is and why there are two people on his back he isn't familiar with as riders. They're possibly screaming a lot at this point. I don't think I did, otherwise Simon might have panicked when we went through, which he didn't. But who knows what will happen with other people? Simon doesn't seem to find the barrier painful – unlike us, the lucky chap – so he's able to move around in it…"

"The pain was that bad?" asked Harry, the nastiness of what he might be put through suddenly taking a more concrete form in his mind. "What – like the Cruciatus? How did you deal with it?"

"It's a bit different, but still debilitating. It turns you into jelly. And I thought I told you all this already – I hung on to the saddle and prayed Simon would get us through. Everything hinged on Simon, so all I could do was trust in him."

"And it worked."

"It worked. Partly because he trusted me, I think. I suspect Simon might have some sort of conflict going on – he trusts me because he thinks I know what I'm doing – stop sniggering…"

"I wasn't."

"You were."

"Okay, just a little bit… but at the idea of Simon trusting that either of us knows what they're doing…"

"Fair enough." Draco gave Harry an amused smirk. "So… Simon thinks we know what we're doing, but he also thinks he's meant to protect us. So we have this fall-back Dumbledore and Flitwick don't have – as soon as we're unable to give clear commands Simon sort of sighs to himself and rolls his eyes and gets on with business. That's what happened when I was going through the barrier… and when the Dementors attacked."

"Simon bolted, you said. Sounds more like he panicked."

"Yes, but he went back when I told him to."

"Hmm. When I fell into Hufflepuff's Glasshouse while we were out getting the mistletoe Simon didn't expect me to do anything more than climb onto his back. I just hung on and he jumped back through to where you lot were." Harry considered this. "Would he have done that for anyone other than you or me?"

"Luna. But she's… um." There was no tactful way Draco could have finished that sentence, so Harry was grateful he didn't try.

Harry realised he was scratching at his chest, as if he could ease some raw itch inside of him. He took a sharp breath. "We should run some ideas past her. We need to tell her about what we're going to do – but I don't see how she can disagree. You saw how she was with the idea of Dumbledore riding Simon."

"You think she'll want _anyone_ riding her precious Simon through the barrier?" Draco shook his head at the idea.

"No, but she can't argue with the fact that he's in danger now no matter where he is – as soon as the wards break and Hogwarts is vulnerable to attack…"

"Yes. Look, we're getting ahead of ourselves here. We don't have to make a final decision until tomorrow night. Let's… let's just see how things play out. We can have our going through the barrier as Plan A. But Plan B – letting Dumbledore run around getting spells thrown at him if Simon shows he's prepared to accept him as a rider and there are no mind-altering spells used on him other than what's already in those silver shoes – that should be kept firmly in mind as a solid option. I have to admit to being keen on the idea of people other than me being targets."

"Good idea. Let's not rush into things. Rushing into things tends to end up with me injured in some fashion."

"Hm. You know, there's a positive side to –" He stopped mid-insult and dropped the smirk in favour of a frown. "I've got History now, and I thought Luna had a class first thing, too. What's she going up to the paddock for?"

"Huh?" said Harry, still weighing up the ramifications of sneaking around behind Dumbledore's back, not liking any of the probable outcomes. It seemed like he, Draco, Simon and Hogwarts as a whole were in a lose-lose situation. Sinking deeper into depression, he wasn't really listening.

Draco nodded towards the shadows to the side of the castle. "Luna. Sneaking around."

Harry frowned, and frowned harder when he realised Draco was right. It was Luna, and she seemed to be on her way back to the paddock. It was either that or she was simply out for exercise, but Harry wouldn't put Galleons on that.

The two boys sat down on a rock, pretending to look over at the lake. Out of the corners of their eyes, they watched Luna.

Yes, she was definitely heading back towards the paddock. She was trying to be sneaky, which must have been why Malfoy had noticed her. There was nothing more noticeable than anyone trying to sneak around without being noticed.

"Maybe she forgot something."

Draco shook his head. "She didn't take anything up to the paddock. I got the impression she was cross with me for being there before her, rather than simply because I'd let Creevey take some photos."

"Hum."

Harry retied his shoelace.

"Don't you have a class now?" Draco asked.

"Yeah. History, same as you."

"I guess we should be getting up to it. You know how Binns gets when students are late."

"What, remembers their names at them?"

"Mm. Pretty vindictive. I don't want my name remembered at me. I guess we should start going if we don't want to be too much later."

"Yup."

Neither moved.

They waited until Luna was halfway up Squirrel Hill.

"You know," Harry began thoughtfully, "If we go along the edge of the Forest…"

"And then along under the shade of those oak trees, you mean?"

"Yeah. Then we can, I don't know…"

"Sneak up on her to find out why she's being sneaky?"

"Yeah, okay, it's a dumb –"

Draco was already striding towards the Forest. "Stop dawdling, Potter."

ooOOoo

They didn't go too close immediately. While they could have hidden from Luna, horses have excellent hearing and Simon would probably whinny and turn Luna's attention to them. So they waited under the shade of the spreading branches of an oak. At first sight, Luna didn't seem to be doing anything out of the ordinary, just talking to Simon, which wasn't odd as far as standards of Hogwarts behaviour went. Harry had even come across Dumbledore talking to the horse, although he hadn't been close enough to make out what he'd been saying.

She'd taken off the horse's cover, draping it over the fence, and clipped a leadrope under his chin. Again, all perfectly normal. Luna giving Simon food wasn't unusual, either. She held something on her hand and Simon, after giving it a cursory sniff, ate it. Again, perfectly normal. Harry was beginning to feel embarrassed at his suspicions.

"Let's go," he muttered. "We'll only be a ten minutes late for class…"

Draco shook his head. "Something's not right."

"What? Luna patting Simon and giving him a carrot? Yes, highly questionable. Call the authorities. Come on."

"Wait," Draco hissed. "Oh, bloody hell… Look at Simon!"

He began to run up the hill, scrambling up the steeper bits and using his hands to pull him along faster. "Luna…!"

"What's wrong with -? Oh." Harry swore softly under his breath and hurried after the Slytherin. This was beginning to look bad. Very bad.

Simon didn't seem to think anything was amiss. He whinnied to Draco and Harry when he saw them. The fact that he was floating with all four hooves two feet above the ground didn't seem to register in his horse brain.

"Luna!" shouted Harry. "Grab the rope! Don't let him float away!"

God help them all if Simon bobbed off like Aunt Marge. If he went through the barrier it would be a disaster.

Luna had the leadrope in both hands and a guilty look on her face. She bit her lower lip as Draco and Harry slid between the rails of the fence.

"Er…" Luna began, but was interrupted by Draco, who was rapidly going scarlet with fury.

"What the hell did you feed him?"

"I was trying out that potion I've been working on…"

"A POTION?"

"Just one to… uh… make him smarter…"

"He doesn't need to be smarter! He –" Draco ducked as Simon landed gracefully next to them and then, with a merry kick of his legs, the horse arced away again, this time turning a back flip at the end of the leadrope.

By all signs, the horse was enjoying itself mightily.

Draco gaped like a cod. "You didn't give him a smart-potion. You gave him… you gave him something that's probably illegal! Damn you, Luna, you didn't make Simon smart, you just made him high!"

Luna squeaked, tripped over a bush as Simon pulled her sideways, and let go.

Harry grabbed the leadrope as it swished past.

Simon gave an impatient toss of his head. It was clear the horse wasn't in an earthbound frame of mind.

"Oh, bloody hell!"

Whatever the potion had done to Simon, it seemed to be contagious. Harry, yanking at the rope, found himself yanked right back.

And up.

Simon flicked his head and Harry, bobbing like a balloon, swung up and around and over. He grabbed at a handful of mane on the way.

He certainly wasn't planning it, but the next thing he knew, he was astride Simon's back.

Simon tossed his head, snorted, and kicked his back legs.

Luna screamed: "Simon! Come back!" as Draco shouted: "Potter! Get back down here with my horse!"

But it was too late. As Simon soared into the sky, Harry called back: "How? Ideas, please!"

Draco pulled out his wand. "_Accio equus!"_

Simon dodged the spell, shook out his mane, and spun around, Harry clinging to his back. Harry must have accidentally dug in his heels, because Simon snorted as happily as if he'd just been told he was allowed to go full throttle and bounded off up into the sky.

"Harry!"

"Potter, get back here!"

"Simon," Harry coaxed, "please be a good horse and get back onto the ground. Please."

Simon began to fall again, in a great arc down towards the stones where he'd baled up Sirius. Harry groaned – there would be broken legs at the end of this, he just knew it.

"Oh, Merlin, look out, Simon…"

Simon's hooves touched a boulder with a finesse that would have done a sparrow proud and then the horse vaulted back up into the sky. Thirty feet up and with his worst ever case of vertigo, Harry looked down and saw the fence pass underneath them, Draco and Luna scrambling over it as they tried to keep up with Simon. Then he and Simon were falling down, down towards the bottom of the hill.

"Whoa, Simon!"

Simon hit the ground like it was a trampoline. This time up he managed a backflip. Harry wondered about the potion – he should have fallen, but was glued to the horse's back by what could only be the power of Simon's hallucination.

Simon didn't seem to mind. His ears were pricked and his eyes were bright. He was having a marvellous time.

Harry wasn't. He wished he had his broom.

He especially wished his broom now they seemed to be heading towards –

"…No, not the roof!"

– the roof of the castle.

Simon's hooves scrabbled on the slates as the horse landed light as thistledown. Harry gulped. Simon looked around in delight and swished his tail. From a nearby tower surprised faces gaped at the sight. Fingers pointed. Ah – it was the Divinations classroom and class must have just started: Trelawney pushed a student aside and blinked through her thick glasses at the spectacle; Harry wondered if she'd later claim to have predicted this.

_… The Ascendant for Tuesday will be a horse ridden into the First House by Potter in Opposition to the Dark Lord… the Page of Swords will be crossed by the Tower Reversed… Yes, of course I knew it meant that there would be a black horse on the roof after lunch. Pass the sherry, will you?_

Just another day in the life of Harry James Potter.

"Harry! Harry! Harry, look at me! Hold that pose! Brilliant! And if you could just look to your – awk!"

Colin was hanging out the window with his camera. Someone yanked him back inside, much to Harry's relief. The last thing he needed right now was Colin and his camera adding to the surreal horror of the situation.

A breeze lifted the mane and it flopped lightly along Simon's neck. He lowered his head a little, seemingly puzzled as he stared at the roof. Simon looked around, gazing down towards the ground then at the faces staring back at him. He went very, very still, only the faint expansion and contraction of his ribcage as he breathed suggesting he hadn't been turned into a statue.

Then the long neck craned around. The eye turned on Harry widened in disbelief. White showed around the upper rim of the dark, dark iris.

Harry remembered the dream of the eclipse. If Simon panicked now they would die. No matter what Luna might think, he didn't hold out much faith in his ability to bounce. Too many falls off brooms had taught him the truth of that. As for Simon…

Simon was giving Harry a what-the-bloody-fuck-are-you-doing-on-my-back? look. What turn had his hallucination taken now? It was frighteningly like having someone – not a horse someone – looking back at Harry.

Harry stroked his hand along Simon's neck, hoping to soothe the horse. "Good boy, Simon. There's a good horse. There we go. Good horse."

He continued like that a little longer, and something seemed to fade in Simon's eye. The horse blinked.

The threat of eclipse passed.

The muscles which had been tensed up like rock under Harry softened as Simon relaxed again. He even yawned. Harry could barely credit it.

"There's a good boy. Um. Now how do we get down? I suppose you've not bothered to think of that, eh? Want to go in through a tower window?"

Simon may not have wanted to, and it was unlikely he even understood the question, but the horse seemed to have decided it was time to return to the ground. Perhaps he was hungry.

"Oh, now wait just a minute… Simon! Noooo!"

Simon set off along the roof at his rolling canter, his hooves ringing out like crumpled thunder. A few slates were knocked loose to skid down the roof and disappear into the long tumble to the ground… Harry turned his attention back to the business of clinging to Simon. While the canter was more comfortable than a trot, Harry was in no way comforted.

Not when the horse was cantering down the slope of the roof.

_We're going to die we're going to die we're going to die we're going to die we're going to-_

Harry caught his breath, too scared to scream or get out his wand as Simon leaped over the gutter, shying at an equally startled gargoyle, and cantered _down the wall._

Harry didn't feel like he was ninety degrees from gravity. He felt like he was about to die, yes, it was a familiar sensation, albeit unwelcome, but his senses told him he was on the level. Literally, if not figuratively.

They cantered past a window. Heads stuck out of it like a cluster of rabbits checking to see if the coast was clear.

Another window. Simon laid his ears back at one face he saw within, but didn't pause to attack.

"Harry…!"

"I'll explain later, Professor!" Harry called back to the aghast Lupin. "Look out, Simon!"

Simon jumped over a balcony, shying at a screaming knot of Ravenclaw girls, clearing a covered walkway with a magnificent bound, then swooping down across the rose garden, landing lightly in a courtyard just beyond it.

"Whoa, Simon…" Harry, mane clenched in one hand, dared to pull on the leadrope. If Simon stopped, good. If he unseated Harry, that was okay, especially given how bony the horse's back was: it was like a broom without the cushioning charm. Falling five feet was better than fifty any day of the week. But the horse chose to stop by the wall.

A rose climbing over the stone wall was in bud. Simon bit one off, mouthed it then spat it out.

If only the bloody animal had thought to spit out whatever idiocy Luna had fed him.

Harry dismounted, his knees buckling slightly. He grabbed at Simon's mane to steady himself. "Bloody hell," he breathed, leaning his forehead against Simon's shoulder. He wobbled over and sat down on a bench, wincing as his backside touched stone. "Bloody hell." Simon followed and then began nibbling at the blades of grass growing up around the edges of the flagstones. Harry scratched the horse's forehead and looked back up the wall. Far above, the silhouette against the sky which was the gargoyle shook its head at him, but Harry couldn't decipher if it was in disbelief, disgust or sympathy. "Bloody hell."

There was the sound of feet pelting past the wall.

"Potter! Potter!" It was Draco. "Potter – are you still alive?"

Through the overwhelming fugue of delayed shock, Harry found room to be mildly flattered Malfoy wasn't asking about Simon first. "Over here."

Footsteps skidded to a halt somewhere further along the other side of the wall than Harry and Simon were, then came back a little slower. "Where?" called Draco's voice.

"Here."

There was a scrabbling of feet against stone and muffled swearing and then Draco, his hair flopping over his very pink face, was sitting astride the wall, panting. Simon gave him a friendly whinny.

"Oh, thank God he's okay… He is, isn't he?" Malfoy gave Harry a sharp look suggesting that if Simon wasn't okay then it was completely Harry's fault, no two ways about it.

"I think he's fine. Although I'm not sure about getting him out of here. It's a bloody maze – we might have to take him through the castle again."

Draco groaned and then looked behind himself at the sound of another pair of running feet and gasping-for-breath. His eyes hardened into chips of ice. Harry didn't need to guess who it was before he heard Luna's voice, even breathier now, ask, "Draco – are they there?"

"Yes, no thanks to you."

"Help me up."

Draco's lip curled as he bit back what would probably have been harsh words and hauled her up onto the wall next to him, the twist of his mouth suggesting he'd rather shove her headfirst down a well.

Luna was as pink as Draco. They'd both run a long way. "Harry!" she puffed. "Thank goodness you got him down… Oh, Simon…" she shook her head and tsk'd sadly as she looked down at the horse. She lifted her leg over the wall and slid down from it as if she was dismounting from a horse.

Simon lifted his head when she pulled on the leadrope, but, now that his adventure was finished, he seemed more interested in the few blades of grass which had taken seed here. He seemed to resent her pulling his head up so that she could peer deep into his eyes.

"Hello? Hello? Anyone home?" she said. Then she rapped between his eyes with her knuckles. "Hello?"

Simon shook his head, irritated.

"That's enough," said Harry, suddenly very angry. He was shaking, not just from fright. Blood pounded in his ears. If Luna wanted to be crazy she could bloody well do it on her own time. Much as he cared about her (even if she didn't care about him anymore), he wouldn't stand back and let her do her kooky experiments on an innocent horse. "He's not a fucking guinea pig for you to test out your latest insane theory on."

Despite his tone, kept deliberately flat so as not to upset Simon, the harsh words struck home. Luna jerked back like she'd been slapped. "I… I…" She rallied with a deep breath. "I wasn't just testing things out on him. I – Harry." She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. "Did you – when you were up there, did you… did you get… some, um, some sense that he was… I don't know… different? More, um, focussed?"

"Different? Well, I have to say he doesn't usually think he's a balloon, so yes. He was different. And quite focussed on not falling, thank Merlin, because otherwise we'd both be dead."

Luna's expression was so tense she might have had tetanus. "But did he seem different? You'd know if he did."

"No," said Harry, deciding on the spot it was best not to tell her about that terrifying moment when Simon had looked at him like he had the concept of Harry as a person, like _Simon_ was a person – a human person. He might have imagined it, and either way he didn't want to encourage Luna into another stretch of her bizarre imagination. Her latest flight of fancy had literally and life-threateningly become Simon's.

Luna looked like she might cry. Then she nodded. "Well, if you say so."

"He says so," hissed Draco, coming down off the wall. "And I say you're not to be trusted with Simon. Remember what you said about me nicking off with him to go through the barrier? How I should have consulted you and Harry? Well, don't you think Potter and I should be granted the same courtesy?"

Draco like Harry was keeping his voice soft for Simon, but his colour was still high and his eyes glittered.

Luna nodded. "Yes. I'm sorry. But I didn't know he'd react like this."

Draco puffed out his cheeks. "So what were you expecting?"

Luna stared at him with her wide, silvery eyes. "Something more."

ooOOoo


	73. Chapter 73

Disclaimer: Characters (apart from the occasional Comrade) belong to JK Rowling and Warner.

ooOOoo

Chapter 73: Wavy Line, Eye, 100C

The last of the light had gone from Luna. Without protest, she disappeared into the castle, silently sinking into the darkness within, leaving Harry and Draco in the sunbathed courtyard with Simon.

Harry and Draco squeezed Simon through a small door in the wall (barely big enough for the horse to fit through), down a few shallow steps and over a stone bridge (Simon blinked at the bridge sleepily – Harry sensed the horse would have balked at it normally, but on the downside of his psychedelic journey he followed Harry and Draco as meekly as Mary's Little Lamb) and back up to the paddock. Harry shook his head at Remus, who was hovering in the ivy-shadowed doorway at the base of a tower. Luckily Simon didn't notice the werewolf, or there could have been further excitement. The horse was a little dazed and kept yawning and blinking blearily, which could have been why he didn't react to Remus.

As soon as it was back in the paddock, the horse stretched out on the ground with a groan of pleasure and went to sleep.

There was no point in going to class now. Harry and Draco stayed sitting on the grass by Simon a few minutes longer, each worried the horse had been damaged by the gallop through the sky. Harry, still shaken from his ride, decided it was better to talk than think about what had just happened, even if he was talking about something threatening. He took the opportunity to once again ask Draco about the barrier. Draco's earlier description of the barrier turning him into jelly had given Harry the mental picture of a blancmange in Slytherin robes, and Harry had a personal horror of being immobilised. It made him claustrophobic just thinking about it. "You really couldn't move?"

"Well… maybe I was too scared to try. But it was like having everything seize up either way – terror or the spell, it was the same effect. But then it was over," he added, perhaps correctly interpreting Harry's frown. "And when you're through, the worst really is over."

"It wasn't for Simon. He could sense the Dementors…"

"Luckily for me."

Harry didn't really have anything to say to that. He picked a stalk of grass and leaned up against Simon's back next to Draco, wondering what they'd do if the horse had been badly affected by his latest adventure. He was going to ask Draco's opinion on that when Simon began to snore. Draco shook his head and sighed, reaching back and rubbing the horse's round belly. "Just another day at Hogwarts for him."

Harry nodded and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, which felt grainy, for a second. "And for me."

Draco gave him a sideways look. "But the attempt on someone's life wasn't aimed directly at you."

A bit slow from tiredness, Harry realised it was a joke. A Malfoy joke. "That's true. D'you think I should be taking that personally?"

Draco grinned. "I would." He stood and began to walk down the hill. "Come on. There's a werewolf to appease and I have to withdraw my candidacy. And explain why I've missed History."

Harry had missed History, too. He was lucky he hadn't _become_ history. Or hit the ground hard enough to become geology. "What? You don't want to run for Comrade President anymore? What brought this on?" he asked as they closed the gate behind them.

Draco gave a lopsided shrug, left shoulder then right. "Things to do, people to see, Dark Lords to remove from the dimension we call life…"

Harry shrugged to himself. It was likely Draco would have changed his mind again by dinner, but he didn't think it would help if he pointed this out.

They walked on towards the castle, the only sounds the swish of their shoes through the grass and the occasional crackle as Draco used dandelions for target practice. It wasn't hard to surmise he wasn't as blasé about quitting the political race as his words suggested: the magic behind the hexes crisping the dandelions was tight with some bottled-up emotion.

"You know," Harry ventured, after some thought, "if you withdraw now, people might start asking questions."

"People… like headmasters and nosy werewolves, you mean?"

"Those sorts of people, yes."

"Hum. Hadn't thought of that." He seemed to perk up. "Guess I'd better pencil in campaigning around making potions and everything else… Might ask Trudi to dig out that sandwich board she was wearing last week when I was quarantined in the Infirmary and do a little bit of last minute campaigning for me."

"Give her a bell to ring, too." Harry liked the image.

Apparently so did Draco. He laughed. "I can just picture her sneaking up behind people and going crazy with a giant bell. 'Oyez, oyez!' Have you seen those goblins in Diagon Alley advertising Gringotts mortgages? Put a Sonorous charm on the bell – really put the 'pain' in 'campaigning'."

Harry was also chuckling. "She's really getting over that whole shyness issue."

"She is, isn't she. In fact, she's – ah. Our unwelcoming committee."

The unwelcoming committee was Lupin and Flitwick, walking towards them with the sort of neutral expression on their faces which meant something nasty was brewing and if there wasn't a sodding great barrier between Hogwarts and the rest of the world preventing it, expulsion might have been on the cards.

"Is there any possible sane answer you two idi- lads can give us about why Harry was out riding a horse on the roof?" Remus asked mildly. A muscle jumped in the corner of his jaw.

"Luna," Draco and Harry replied as one.

"Honestly, it wasn't his fault," said Draco. "Potter just got… caught up in things..."

"Malfoy tried to stop her…" Harry was saying at the same time.

Remus and Flitwick exchanged glances, probably at the astonishing fact that Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter had just defended each other rather than themselves _from_ each other.

"Luna? Oh dear. I should have guessed given all the trouble she's been in lately," Flitwick sighed. "Well. There's an emergency meeting in Professor Dumbledore's office. You two really need to be there."

"And Luna?" asked Harry.

"I saw her inside and reminded her she had already been given tasks to do in the Library – that's whenever she's not in class," Flitwick returned sternly. "Even if she'd had nothing to do with putting a horse on the roof, she would have had nothing more to do with the, shall we say, current project."

"Oh." Harry wasn't sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, Luna had nearly killed him. But now she was ejected from the secret plans to save Hogwarts there was no hope she'd ever be Harry's girlfriend again. It tweaked that raw place deep in his chest. "So… now?"

"Right now," said Remus. "Best time for it seeing as how you two have such a casual attitude towards attending classes." He and Flitwick looked just as tired as Harry felt – Harry reminded himself that he wasn't the only one who'd been woken up early. At least he hadn't had to clean up after the explosion.

In the Headmaster's Office, Harry was pleased if surprised to see Ron and Hermione there as well as Sirius, Dumbledore and McGonagall.

McGonagall gave him and Draco a nod without any real warmth to it, although that was generally her way. Sirius was studying one of Dumbledore's little metal objects, which was spinning in his hand with an incongruously deep if faint chugging sound, like bubbles coming up through a long pipe full of water. He put it on the shelf by Fawkes and rubbed his hands together with a suggestion of unease, although it could have been to remove dust.

Ron and Hermione put cups to saucers and gave Harry identical worried looks. Harry was tired enough to have the question of their being possessed by Fred and George flit through his brain.

"As Miss Granger and Mr Weasley already know more about your plans than probably any of the adults in this room, including myself," Dumbledore began without preamble, "I thought it best if we include them."

"Er…" said Harry. His stomach had just plummeted into his sneakers and appeared to have taken his power of speech with it.

Hermione shrugged, but whatever she might have said was forestalled by Dumbledore waving his hand towards four chairs, which trotted forward and bumped into the backs of the knees of those standing, giving the strongest hint they were meant to sit down.

Harry, Draco, Lupin and Flitwick sat, the two boys slightly gingerly; Harry suspected Draco had the same _uh-oh_ feeling of trouble boiling over the horizon as he did, although the Slytherin's face held only the politest of innocent interest.

Dumbledore would have learned to see through that one two or three generations of Malfoys ago.

"I was wondering if you two could enlighten me further on a certain potion you were working on? To be specific, one that could break the barrier."

Harry, Draco, Hermione and Ron exchanged a quick set of eye-contact; Hermione and Ron looked just as surprised by this as Harry felt, which suggested they hadn't told Dumbledore, which suggested…

Sirius cleared his throat as Harry turned to him, and raised a finger to forestall anything Harry might have said. "It's necessary to give full information to the headmaster, Harry. I wish there was the time for you to approach him in your own time, but tomorrow night the barrier must come down or not at all. It's time for us to all lay our cards on the table."

The room swayed as Harry took it in. He couldn't believe it. Sirius had betrayed him. And Harry, trusting Sirius, had betrayed his friends. His face burned. He couldn't look at anyone else in the room.

"I trusted the four of you in the orchestration of the plan to neutralise Voldemort," Dumbledore was saying, "because I expected you to involve me at any stage should there be a need for my assistance. I find it a great pity you felt you could not confide in me anything concerning this second potion – a potion for breaking the barrier." Harry wilted under the force of his disappointment. Even Draco, though he affected to be immune, couldn't hide the fact that the words had gone more than skin deep for him, too. "But," continued Dumbledore, "although I would have preferred for you four to come to me in your own manner, as Sirius has pointed out we have not the time to waste with waiting. Nor with mistrust."

Harry looked up and into Dumbledore's blue eyes, which were fixed on his and conveying the almost palpable regret that Harry had been unable to let him in on the full nature of the potions work he and his friends had been up to. Guilt, because he wasn't sure if he deserved to feel guilty, only made Harry all the angrier.

"We don't know if it'll work or not," Draco pointed out after flicking a glance at Harry that might have contained sympathy. Or not.

"Nonetheless, you could have brought in one or two professors for extra help," McGonagall pointed out. "It would certainly have made success more likely."

Remus cleared his throat, distracting Harry from his own rising anger that McGonagall should be a part of this – this attack. "Headmaster, professors…" he began. "I must admit to, er, provoking this secrecy."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, as did Dumbledore. Flitwick blinked rapidly.

"What in the world do you mean, Remus?" asked McGonagall.

Remus sighed softly. "I mean that Miss Granger came to me a while ago and I believe my words to her were, to be precise, to 'leave well enough alone'."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at Hermione, who shrugged minutely. "I see," he said. "Brandy on a shabby phoenix, as they say."

"And then Harry thought Remus was turning into Snape," said Sirius, perhaps trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

He didn't succeed.

"What?" said Lupin, shooting Harry an alarmed look. "What, seriously?"

Harry rubbed at his eyes, which were definitely grainy. There was a headache coming, too. "Well… Not literally. I didn't mean you were possessed or anything. Just filling a certain space at Hogwarts."

"Really." Lupin still looked less than pleased. "Well. Thank you for what could be construed in a dim light as constructive criticism. I'll certainly take that under consideration." Harry took that to mean that Remus was a long way below pleased. Several fathoms, at least, and in range of the sorts of fish which lured prey with lights. "In the meantime, if you would permit me to step outside that certain space for a few moments," he said acidly, which only made him seem more Snape-like, "I'd like to defend you lot to the headmaster by saying that myself and other staff members were approached and rebuffed – unwisely, as it turned out – the offers of help from certain student groups, and it was my mistake not to give you the attention you deserved."

"Did you get those fourth year Ravenclaw girls coming to you to see about putting a spell on Hogwarts that would keep everyone asleep until Merlin's Heir came and kissed the one he would choose as his wife?" asked McGonagall, who seemed to be sympathetic to Lupin.

Remus gave her a wry if tired smile. "No. Thank Circe. I suppose one of them was supposed to be the love interest."

"They didn't say. But I wouldn't put money against it."

"Oh, they came to see me," Flitwick squeaked. "My goodness… we've had fairy tales coming out of the woodwork since the barrier went up. Potter, didn't you ask me about…?" He trailed off. Flitwick wasn't an idiot. "Or should I ask, did you ever find the Golden Sickle?"

"He did," Dumbledore said. "Long story." He spread his hands over his desk. "One that may or may not have bearing on the situation at hand, so I shall tell you about it later, Filius. Oh dear. Well, Remus, thank you for telling us. It certainly makes the secrecy more understandable." For a moment Dumbledore looked almost as tired as Lupin. "Please – will you trust us now?" he said to the students. "Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything you have been holding back? Because the way things stand, the slightest piece of information could be vital."

Harry didn't mean to glance at Draco, but Dumbledore caught the look.

"Harry? Draco?"

Draco's brow creased. "Er… I'm running for President of Slytherin. I'm not sure how that would affect anything to do with the barrier…"

"And I wouldn't dare interfere with Slytherin politics," Dumbledore said. He leaned back a fraction and there was the hint of a smile under the white beard. "I wish you the best of luck with your campaign."

"So you weren't going to tell me to stop running?" Draco tilted his head. "To be honest, I was wondering if I should. Elections are the day after tomorrow and – well – either the barrier will be down and the elections will be moot, or… Um."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Thank you for the concern. But would it not prove disruptive if you suddenly withdrew from the electoral race? I was thinking in terms of everyone at Hogwarts getting suspicious that something strange was up…"

Draco was nodding, too. "Mm. That's what I thought. So Potter and I thought it would be best to see how much time I need to spend on the potions… Granger had already argued convincingly for telling you about the barrier potion as you were going in the direction of the anchoring trees outside the barrier anyway, so Potter and I were going to check with you and Professor Flitwick about what exact input of time was necessary from us… We are capable of thought process rather than the knee-jerk reactions you seem to be accusing us of," he finished with a chilly but dignified glare in McGonagall's direction.

Harry kept his face impassive. Draco had said a mouthful, and if Dumbledore had any mindreading abilities he'd see it as the farrago of lies it was. As farragoes of lies went, this one was a beauty. Harry was particularly impressed by how Draco had woven Hermione into it, and although the way he'd put the professors into the wrong wasn't subtle enough to stop McGonagall from pinching her nostrils, Harry thought it a nice touch.

"I'm glad to hear it," said Dumbledore as Fawkes woke and began to preen. "And I apologise for any slur against your intelligence – collective and individual. If I thought you incapable of wisdom, let alone rationality, I would not be calling you here for your input into a delicate situation, rather I would be taking the information you had already collected and sequestering it for the sole contemplation of myself and select members of staff."

Draco gave a jerky nod in acknowledgement.

"Your help is needed. It is necessary. And, as has been pointed out by Sirius, we need to all be open with each other. I cannot demand such a thing. I can only ask, for the benefit of Hogwarts. Will you four help, each giving the whole of your intellect and heart and spirit?"

Hermione's soft cough broke the silence. "Of course, sir."

Ron and Harry nodded. After a moment that might have been calculated for effect, so did Draco.

Dumbledore lowered his eyes to the desk. "Thank you," he said softly.

Harry felt a stab of guilt. Should he admit what he and Draco were planning?

Sirius' hoarse voice said, "Maybe we can solve that problem with the anti-Voldie potion now all of us are working together," and although it was meant as a peace offering it only irritated Harry, and Harry pushed the impulse to confess away.

"Correct," said Dumbledore. "But first I would like to inform Miss Granger and Mr Weasley about certain aspects of Hogwarts' problem with wards they may not know about, unless…?" He glanced at Harry.

Harry shook his head. No, he hadn't told Hermione and Ron about the wards coming under threat.

"Hmm. Well, as they already know about both potions and Hufflepuff's Sickle, I suppose we should give them the last piece of the puzzle – or what little of the puzzle we have. To summarise: the wards are dissolving and Hogwarts is in danger of collapse."

Hermione gasped and Ron had gone very pale around his freckles.

Dumbledore nodded tiredly. "I wish I had good news for you, children, but perhaps you can make it for yourselves and the rest of us. Remus? You were testing out some of your calibration charms earlier. Do you have anything to add about the wards?"

Remus sighed and stretched out his legs, looking down at the worn leather toes of his shoes, reminding Harry strongly of the time in this office he had told Harry and Draco about the wards crumbling. Harry thought again how much the werewolf had aged in the last few months – surely it hadn't all been from the worry over Wolfsbane potion? "I wish I had better news, Albus," he said softly. "But I found a sub-hex under Falstaff's Unlocking Constant – that's the ward flux destabilising spell I'm now sure You-Know-Who is using. That sub-hex acts to speed up the natural decay of the wards while blocking the stone-bed regeneration set up by the Founders.

"Can't you try inverting it with a Platonic Universal?" asked Hermione, her face pale. "Or one of the Mild Over Matter classes of protection charms?"

Remus smiled sadly. "Unfortunately, no. I would need to cast all of those on the locus of the decay."

"And getting to You-Know-Who is difficult at the best of times without a nasty fat barrier between you and him," sighed Hermione.

Remus nodded. "I'm sorry I didn't involve you earlier, Hermione."

She gave a one-shoulder shrug. "I didn't help."

"Not yet. But give you another thirty seconds and I'm sure you'll come up with some fresh ideas." His eyes crinkled at the corners – this time the smile had reached them. Then the warmth faded. "I'm afraid that after factoring in the sub-hex, my best projections give us about seven more weeks before the damage becomes irreparable."

"Er… only seven weeks?" asked Ron, who was still looking puzzled from the brief exchange between Hermione and Lupin.

"This is the biggest secret Hogwarts currently holds," Dumbledore said gravely. His lined face was sad. "All of you must keep this totally secret."

"Should you really be telling us?" Ron said.

Draco glared. "What – wait until the Slytherin is out of the room?"

"No," said Ron evenly, "I merely wanted to raise the concern that it's a large responsibility. I don't see many teachers in here – I would have expected Professor Sprout at the least."

McGonagall nodded, as if pleased Ron had said this. Harry was busy wondering when Ron had suddenly grown so mature, and did he, Harry, look childish by comparison? He was probably being childish just wondering if he was… and his head really was beginning to ache…

"She already knows," Dumbledore said, ignoring his deputy head. "As do the rest of the staff. Er… barring Professor Trelawney and Mr Filch. Other than them, it is only those in this room who know… or who are to be informed."

"I notice Potter and I are here, so I'm guessing Simon may crop up in conversation – should Luna be included?" Draco asked, although he must know damned well that Luna was currently _persona non grata_. Harry wondered what he was aiming at.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers and said carefully, "Her behaviour has been erratic of late. Much as I would like to involve her, I wouldn't like to incorporate such a random factor, if such she can be termed, into an already delicate situation."

Draco nodded, agreeing.

Harry looked down. He couldn't argue with that. Luna's recent record – turning herself green, sending Simon bobbing up into the air with Harry on his back, Sirius' riding lesson, the explosion in Snape's personal laboratory… not to mention the temper-explosion after Colin had taken photos of Simon again – her record wasn't reassuring.

"Sirius has been helping me monitor the wards," said Remus. "He's also the one who's been lobbying for you four to be included," he added, as if anxious that Harry not be too angry with Sirius.

Fat chance.

"'Four'?" said Draco with leaden scepticism.

"'Four'," said Sirius firmly. "Your involvement in this is vital, Draco." But he didn't look at Harry.

Draco's eyebrow twitched as if he was undecided on whether he should be pleased by the ego-stroking or annoyed by the familiarity. Before he could decide on the latter, Sirius continued: "There is a line of information that the Dark Lord is going to attack Hogsmeade tomorrow night."

"From what source?" asked McGonagall.

"Er…"

If Sirius named names Harry was going to… Harry didn't have the faintest idea what he'd do to Sirius.

Help came from an unlikely source.

"From my mother," Draco said bravely. "And if any of this gets out I'll know to track it back to someone who was in this very room." Nobody told him not to be silly – even Ron must have sensed that this wasn't the usual Malfoy bluster. Blood feuds had been set in motion by calmly-spoken young men often enough in Wizarding history. "She's also the one who sent the notes –" he flicked a hand at the desk, where a sheaf of parchments lay "– for the anti-Voldie potion."

"Did she develop the potion herself?" McGonagall asked, politeness barely masking her doubt. "Only I don't remember her being that interested in Potions. More of an Arithmancy buff, if I remember correctly. Oh, and one of the best Chasers Slytherin ever fielded. Luckily for Gryffindor she only kept it up for a couple of years…"

"Probably broke a nail," Draco said with a wry smile.

McGonagall gave him a look more fond. "Aye, that was it. But would she have been able to come up with a potion of such complexity?"

"Arithmancy would have helped set the parameters… but no, she was working with Professor Snape to develop the potion."

"Ah." McGonagall and Flitwick both looked more confident, as did Lupin and (to what would undoubtedly be his future shame) Sirius.

"When exactly did she do work on this?" Flitwick asked.

"She didn't pinpoint a date. Anywhere from a few days to three years before Harry semi-bumped him off," Draco replied, so smoothly perhaps only Harry (and probably Dumbledore) knew he was lying. "She'd kind of gone off him after, well… meeting him, I should imagine."

As everyone in the room was keen to keep the peace for the time being, no-one asked where Lucius had been during all of this.

"So do you trust the source of the information, Albus?" McGonagall asked. "No offence, Malfoy, but you are risking Filius as well as yourself, and –"

"– And while Narcissa Malfoy would not risk a hair on her son's head, a certain third party antagonistic to ours and with little regard to life, even if it is a Slytherin's life, might have intercepted this message and twisted it to make a trap," Dumbledore finished for her before Draco could take offence, even if such was not meant. "Hogwarts is under threat and I am the headmaster: that is why the risk must be taken by myself."

"And I choose to go," Flitwick put in. "Dangerous as it looks, sooner or later it is a threat I must face. If I stay I may die – is it not better to fight to stop the threat now?"

"Not necessarily, Filius. And, Albus, your argument doesn't follow logical premises, Albus," McGonagall countered crossly. "If Aurors can't stop them, what makes you two idiots think you have a chance?"

"Because we are the best warriors Hogwarts has to send," Dumbledore said, his voice firm. He lifted a hand to stop her arguing further. "And if we fail, then I can be satisfied that I leave behind me a capable headmistress in your person."

She sighed. "Albus…"

"Please. I have a few surprises up my sleeves."

"And they are?"

"If I told you they wouldn't be surprises." For the first time that morning, his blue eyes twinkled.

ooOOoo

Rather than provoke McGonagall into an argument, it was decided to examine the notes on the potions. Hermione had the barrier-breaking potion recipe handy (it was in the potions book from the library which she'd taken to carrying around with her) and McGonagall and Lupin as well as Dumbledore were interested in Snape's solution to overcoming a temporal barrier.

"Severus Snape _wrote_ in a _library book?"_ was, predictably, McGonagall's first reaction – she'd said it as Lupin was opening his mouth, so he must have been about to say the exact same thing, Harry guessed.

Dumbledore was thumbing through the pages. "It makes sense," he said eventually. "Rather an unconventional use of spring snow mistletoe, but when you take into account the triumvirate of oaks… Yes."

After a short discussion on the possible limits of the barrier-breaking potion, they spread the notes for the anti-Voldie potion out on the desk and Hermione began to explain what they had done and how they'd reasoned their way through some of the more obscure parts of the original notes Narcissa had sent them. Harry liked the way she said 'we' – it made it sound like a group effort rather than the true story of Hermione leaping up and shouting the Potions equivalent of "Eureka!" periodically.

But they were still stumped on the wavy line, eye, 100C.

Hermione went into a lengthy discussion with Dumbledore and Lupin (everyone else threw up their metaphorical hands in surrender) over the possibilities. Harry began to wonder if anyone had really given proper weight to the potential for –

"Harry?"

"Hm? Oh. Sorry. Just thinking about, um, the potion. It just keeps getting more and more complicated. And you had a point about not keeping secrets, sir," he said to Dumbledore, ignoring the fact that Sirius was the one who'd initially outed them. "We need to get in someone who _really_ knows about potions. This is too important not to fully exploit all Hogwarts' resources."

"Do you mean another student, Harry?" Flitwick said, a brief spasm of worry flickering over his face.

"Yes, sir. There's a Slytherin student who –"

"Hmm. I think I know who you mean. Well, at least he wasn't the one who woke everyone up this morning…"

"No, just nearly brought down the castle the other day," Remus said dryly. McGonagall sighed, and Sirius looked queasy. Remus rubbed the side of his nose in a pained way, and added, "Shall I fetch Elmsworthy, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore nodded. "We live in dire times, Remus. Yes, fetch Elmsworthy."

ooOOoo

"_Similia similibus curentur. _Like cures like." Elmsworthy was perched on a chair next to Dumbledore's desk, peering over Harry's shoulder at the notes lying on the desk, his expression finally thawing as he realised something interesting had come his way.

They'd had to drag him out of a Potions class. Not a seventh-year class – he had been roped in to teach the first-years and had complained bitterly to Harry, who'd been sent with Draco to get him. The first-years were unappreciative also – they had been having a great time making a potion that allowed them to throw their voices. "I finally get the chance to show the little buggers the real side of Potions – how fun they can be – and you two morons come along!" he snarled.

"Since when was Potions fun?" Harry countered. "I mean, first year Potions? That was the pits. Almost as bad a second year Potions…"

"Oh, I don't know," said Draco. "I was hooked right from the whole 'bottle glory and put a stopper in death' thing."

"Huh," said Harry, who had a very different perspective on his first Potions class.

"I say, was Snape still using that speech on your year?" Elmsworthy said. "Yeah, I know it sounded impressive, but if he'd just pointed out how jolly interesting Potions as a subject is, he'd have made more converts. I tried telling him once –"

"'Converts'?" Harry and Draco had exclaimed. They had looked at each other. "You know… I don't think Snape was the sort of teacher to, er, push the frivolous side of anything," Harry said cautiously, wondering if there really was inter-dimensional travel and Elmsworthy had come from the parallel universe where Professor Snape was a happy-go-lucky educator who gave out lollipops to all students, Gryffindors included.

Elmsworthy had shrugged, his mournful face still glum at being torn away from his class. "Brewing is the most fun anyone can have. I don't know how I'd cheer myself up without it. I finally get the chance to teach a bunch of students the joy of it when you two show up…" he moaned.

Now, back in Dumbledore's office on the other side of Harry, Draco with his arms folded in silent protest looked very disapproving. He was still twitchy about the notes, but, Harry considered, he couldn't really be blamed for such an attitude given it was his mother's neck on the line. Draco's neck, too, if someone worked out it was his handwriting and hinted as much in the Dark Lord's ear; Draco was also the only one able to decipher the Briar code used on the scroll sent by his mother. "There." Elmsworthy poked a stained finger at the page. "See? It's using the vitalist argument. Professor Snape'd been working on it off and on for years, trying to see if a Muggle hypothesis from a Nineteenth Century physician was a legitimate extension of Paracelsus' theories of vitalism. Paracelsus, being a wizard with strong Muggle leanings, is quite fascinating and his Wizarding works had a lot to say on the subject of the 'elan vital' – what some call the soul while others maintain it to refers to chi or prana – and how it interacts with the physical form. The trouble is that the Wizard model of medicine – you know, Developed Galenism…"

No, Harry didn't know. Neither did anyone else other than Dumbledore and Hermione, judging by the blank expressions. But Harry's heart was already beginning to beat stronger with hope, and for the first time in a long time there seemed to be a light at the end of the tunnel – a light that wasn't the oncoming Hogwarts Express.

"…Er, it's the four humours?"

More blank looks. Although Dumbledore and Hermione were nodding slowly, as if anticipating what the Slytherin was about to say next.

"Is that like something Fred and George would use in their tricks?" Ron ventured. He'd scowled at the addition of Comrade Tyrol and moved his chair a tad closer to Hermione's.

Everyone ignored him, for which he appeared grateful. Ron slouched back in his chair and picked up his cup of tea.

"Pretend for one second none of us have the faintest idea of medieval medicine, other than a strong desire to avoid healers prescribing leeches," drawled Draco, who was, like Harry, fed-up with all the jargon thrown around the room in the last twenty minutes. "Well, apart from Granger who's probably researched it all in first year and the headmaster, who probably lived through it."

Remus shot him a stern look for his cheek, but Dumbledore's beard twitched, suggesting a smile that didn't quite break free, and Hermione seemed to have taken it as a compliment.

"Your loss," said Elmsworthy. "Never mind the long explanation, then. It's interesting you have a potion for this, because it seems to be counterbalancing the Galenic use of…" He looked up. "You know, if I was dumb enough to want to live forever, I'd use underlying Galenic principles for longevity (minus the bloodletting, of course because we're way past the take-two-leeches-and-see-me-in-the-morning school of medicine, what?), and combine it with – has anyone ever heard of the Vivicus Charm…? Never mind – it's not exactly on the curriculum. Besides, who in their right mind would want to live forever?"

"Me," Draco said instantly, although his expression was particularly brittle and his eyes snapped at the mention of the Vivicus Charm.

"Then you're a fool. The brightest part of life is its impermanence and the implication that there are other realms to explore beyond it."

"Lucky me," drawled Harry. "I'll be fortunate to make twenty-one."

He'd meant to lighten the atmosphere, but it came out gloomier than he'd intended. Ron looked down and kicked at the edge of the rug. Dumbledore's expression suggested someone had just kicked his favourite puppy.

"Only a maniac would want to be immortal," insisted Elmsworthy, studying the formula with a frown and ignoring the by-play.

No-one seemed to want to question him at the moment; Draco was staring up at the ceiling and Harry was just hoping Elmsworthy wouldn't figure out why they wanted to make the potion.

Hope failed him. The bitch.

Elmsworthy ran his fingers through his mop of spiky brown hair. "I can think of only one person who wants to be immortal and shows the signs of having gone about it in this fashion. I'm sure you know You-Know-Whom I'm talking about. So you're cooking up something to give our friendly neighbourhood megalomaniac a kick in his wanna-be-immortal goolies?" A line drew between his eyes. He looked up. "You're joking. Right?" He put his head to the side. "How in Merlin's name do you expect to get close enough to apply it? A potion like _this_" (he jabbed at the parchment) "needs an aqueous interface with the subject for activation."

"What?"

"You need to make him drink it. Or suck it up his nose – there's enough water in the sinus cavity to work, same with the lungs. But it wouldn't work with skin contact, not unless he was a frog. Even a suppository would –"

"All right, all right, all right," Harry said quickly, horrified at the mental images Elmsworthy was conjuring without a wand.

Sirius was frowning fit to crack a mirror. "Never you mind what the potion is for. Can you answer the question about the 100C?"

Elmsworthy gave him a look Harry couldn't even guess at. Sirius shifted slightly under it. "You're a Pureblood, aren't you?" said Elmsworthy.

Sirius took on a dangerous look. "I don't follow that Pureblood mania rubbish. What do you think I am – a Malfoy?"

Draco didn't react other than a slight twitch to the corner of his eye, although even Ron gave Sirius a stern look.

"I think you're a Black, Black. Y'know – cousin to noted psychopath Bellatrix Lestrange. And that wasn't my point." Elmsworthy smiled coldly, and Harry suddenly realised that Comrade Tyrol had something against Sirius. What, though? "My father went to school with you," Elmsworthy said.

Oh. Harry hadn't remembered any Elmsworthys back then.

Sirius grimaced briefly. He did, it would seem.

Elmsworthy tilted his head. "Ah. So you remember. He described you as being a typically narrow-minded twit, like most wizard-borns, and an object lesson to Slytherins." (Draco smiled, although he'd frowned at the crack at wizard-borns.) "Well, before you go on about Slytherin Purebloods, please keep in mind he married a Muggle, and that is possibly the only reason I'm able to tell you why Professor Snape wrote 100C in those notes. And because I actually went and asked Snape about stuff, I can tell you why there's a little wavy line and an eye."

He paused, the room silent, seemingly enjoying the attention.

"Pray enlighten us, Mr Elmsworthy," McGonagall sighed.

"It's based on the Muggle system of homoeopathy, where it is considered that a solution or substance containing the vital essence of the original disease-causing agent can cure the effects of the agent itself."

"That doesn't make sense," Draco argued. "Vitalism was discounted in the eighteenth century – Adelis the Ungainly did a series of experiments on Crups to work out their relative levels of phlogiston and calx, hoping to see if there was a magical quotient, and, well, let's just say the results were conclusive. Phlogiston was discredited. There's not an iota of magic involved, and according to Vector that's the only way the theory of vitalism could have worked."

Elmsworthy sneered. "Adelis was a moron. For starters he forgot to run proper controls in his experiments – all he used was a dozen Crups – not even a Jack Russell to see if there was a non-magical morphic factor." (Hermione mouthed _later_ as Ron asked in a whisper who that Russell bloke was.) "And not only that, but he didn't use appropriate dampers to stop outside magical fluctuations influencing the magical vacuum he was trying to set up. He never proved anything. The theory of phlogiston and calx may exist on a level we haven't yet tapped into – I'm not saying it does, mind you, because I personally think it's a load of bollocks and vitalism, if it exists, exists without phlogiston or calx. But, like my hero Socrates, I'm open to the fact that no-one really knows anything. Except their own personal existence, of course. But I'm straying from the fact, the _fact_, Malfoy, that that sham of an experiment did not disprove vitalism."

"The point of it, please?" said Remus, the dip of his head making his words more polite than they might have otherwise been.

Elmsworthy scrubbed at his spiky brown hair. "I guess I'm just saying that Muggles and a few German fringe-wizards kept going with the theory, and developed it into a system of like curing like… providing you dilute the 'like' so massively it's usually not part of the cure any more."

"But does it work?" asked Hermione, who was still holding hands with Ron.

Harry wondered if she knew it made them look like guilty conspirators, and realised with that small pain in that locked-away part of him which still bled that it was lucky Luna wasn't sitting next to him with her hand in his, because otherwise he might have looked just as guilty.

It was unlikely Luna would ever hold hands with him again.

Harry shook his head at himself, angry at being distracted by… by… by things that were not meant to be his.

Elmsworthy launched into another lengthy explanation, ticking off items on his long stained fingers, his earnestness leaving him perched so close to the edge of his seat he was virtually squatting instead of sitting. Hermione like Dumbledore looked like she was running over old concepts, nodding at the points Elmsworthy made. His current expression not unlike McGonagall's, Draco looked a bit puzzled, but more annoyed than anything else at having his theories shot down by a fellow Slytherin. Elmsworthy mightn't make it in the diplomatic corps if he kept rubbing people's noses in their mistakes like that, Harry decided. Sirius was slowly drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair as if he knew there was a flaw in the argument somewhere but just couldn't put his finger on it. Remus was leaning back in his chair and his eyes were half closed, but Harry had no doubt he was listening intently.

Ron was blinking owlishly. Harry suspected he had a similar stunned expression. Apart from the way it looked like he was cracking the code, it had been a mistake to bring in Elmsworthy – it always ended up with Harry feeling like an idiot.

"I like your argument of Galenic overflow countering the egoistic repression of theories," Dumbledore said slowly, "although it has little practical bearing on the matter at hand, and also how like could possibly cure like, which seems highly pertinent and may even be the key, but how can we really be sure it will work?"

Elmsworthy shrugged. "Dunno. Mum uses some homoeopathics to supplement the usual doctor medicines and potions we get from Wizard healers. I was asking Snape about them at one point – he's got some remedies down in his lab. He wanted to test them out but didn't have time, and he was curious about Muggles using this brand of ur-magic. Said it was sort of a long-term backburner thing." He looked down at the notes again. "That's a hell of a backburner he had."

Dumbledore nodded. "I suspect he was too busy with everything else, such as teaching and countering Voldemort, to really give it the attention it deserved. Or we suspect, in retrospect, it deserved. Although to be fair stopping evil and educating the young is vital to our society."

"Eh." Comrade Tyrol shrugged away Snape's years of spying and teaching Potions as unimportant in the grand Potions-centric scheme of thing, and Harry realised that while Severus had been keen on Potions, he was now in the presence of a true fanatic. The fanatic was now saying, as if to set this impression in stone: "People really need to set their priorities carefully. Shame Snape spent more time on teaching and mucking about with politics instead of research. I always wondered why he stuck around Hogwarts, frankly."

"The smiling, happy faces of his students were his reward," Dumbledore said.

By the time the room stopped laughing (Sirius had to slap Remus on the back before he choked, Elmsworthy cracked a smile and even Draco and McGonagall were wiping away tears of mirth), Dobby had shown up with more tea and scones. That helped break the last of the tension.

ooOOoo


	74. Chapter 74

Disclaimer: Characters and settings (other than the occasional Potions swot) belong to JK Rowling and Warner.

17/12/07 A/N: Long chapter, full of unnecessary detail and a smattering of angst. What the hey. The next chapter will have much more equine content, promise. Happy holidays, people!

ooOOoo

Chapter 74: Elmsworthy Tries to Explain Using Small Words

They finally managed to pin Elmsworthy down to a sentence approaching general understanding. Almost.

"The 'C' refers to the dilution factor in the potentization."

"Potentization?" asked Remus before anyone else could, which was kind of him (everyone else except Dumbledore and Hermione was looking annoyed at the number of times they'd been forced to ask Elmsworthy to, in Comrade Tyrol's ever-so-flattering words, 'dumb it down'.). "Is that something like acidity levels?"

Elmsworthy gave him one of those grudging looks of respect he usually reserved for Hermione. "No, that's _potentia hydrogenii_, orpotential for hydrogen – pH. Potentization is making something stronger by dilution. Serial dilution, as a matter of fact, because the relative difference between the amounts of substance and diluent is so vast."

"That makes no sense," argued Sirius.

"Not intuitively, no. But when you're working within the framework of a homoeopathic –"

"Okay, okay…" Sirius lifted his hands in surrender. The rest of the room began to breathe easier as another Elmsworthy Torrent of Jargon was averted.

"There are ways of testing the potion once it is completed," Dumbledore said.

"Arithmancy charms?" asked Hermione, who'd been almost silent over the last five minutes, her only movement that of her thumb stroking the back of Ron's hand. (Not that Harry had been noticing, he told himself jealously.)

"Yes. Professor Vector can help us with this. And I think you, Mr Elmsworthy, have cracked the code." He smiled at the Slytherin. "It – the potion formula as you have put it – seems plausible if you accept the theory underpinning it, although to be honest I always felt vitalism was overrated. I may have been premature in my assessment."

"Don't tell me you believed Adelis the Ungainly's arguments?"

"No, Elmsworthy. You're right in saying he was a moron. Even his own mother described him as a scatter-pate of troll magnitude, and she was his biggest supporter. But other researchers – witches and wizards with certificates to prove their sanity – have given convincing arguments against vitalism."

"So you're going to make the potion? Oh." His sharp eyes had seen the glances exchanged around the room. "Ah. You've already made it. Except for the potentization. Which is what you needed me for."

Remus was nodding. "Correct. On both accounts," he said. "How does it work?"

"Well, a mechanism for succussion needs to be set up. I need to look over my notes for that. I'm not sure if it needs a certain frequency and angle or if the materials for dilution should be specially prepared, or if we can just grab a bucket of water from the lake and bang away with a bottle of potion. Probably not, though."

"You have notes on succussion?" The shocking thing about the question was that it was _Hermione_ who asked it.

Elmsworthy raised an eyebrow and one corner of his sombre mouth as if to say: _I have notes on_ everything_._

No wonder even other Slytherins didn't get on with him. Harry, however, couldn't help feeling a certain warmth for someone who was so obstinate in the face of conformity. It reminded him of –

He shut down that thought. _Everything_ reminded him of Luna.

"What more can you tell us about the potentization process?" Remus added hurriedly: "…In brief. As if we were first-years."

Elmsworthy, who had opened his mouth, closed it again, looking sour. "Huh." He paused and Harry later told Ron he could hear the gears changing in Elmsworthy's brain. It looked painful, because Elmsworthy frowned slightly. "Hmm. Well, it's a serial dilution. You take one part of your potion and add it to ninety-nine parts of your diluent… given the polar nature of your potion, I would recommend using as a diluent double-distilled water you've passed through a Buch-charm funnel and charged with a… er… didn't you already know this by first year?"

Even Hermione shook her head. She'd probably not learned all that until second year, Harry thought as he and Ron exchanged raised eyebrows over Hermione's head.

Dumbledore seemed to be trying not to smile. It could have been the beard, though.

Elmsworthy frowned again.

"Take one millilitre of potion. You know millilitre, or do I have to teach you tha- oh, good. Look, if you didn't know about Buch-charm funnels, how could I be sure you'd know about millilitres? Right. Put the millilitre of potion in a bottle about yay big." He held up his hands to demonstrate. "It needs to be a strong bottle. A strong glass bottle. Add ninety-nine millilitres of really, really, really good water. I will give you the water. Make sure the lid is on nice and tight. Bang the bottle against, um, against the arm of this chair, which is probably leather over horsehair stuffing. Bang the bottle, um, let's say fifty times… I'll need to check the notes Snape gave me for that. And to make sure there's nothing specified in particular for the percussion stand. When you finish, open the bottle. Take out one millilitre. Put it in a second bottle of the same size. Add ninety-nine millilitres of that really, really, really good water I just told you about. Make sure you put the lid on nice and tight. Bang the bottle agains-"

"I think I see where this is heading," McGonagall said, and several people blinked glazing eyes. "And how many times is this to be repeated?"

"Well, it said 'wavy line eye 100C', so while you have to keep your eye on it to see when it activates – it'll probably turn a silvery colour as spring snow mistletoe is involved – it's going to be somewhere in the vicinity of one hundred times…"

"I thought the one hundred was the one hundred dilution factor," said Sirius in disgust. He'd been shuffling his feet through the last part of the explanation.

"No," Elmsworthy said slowly, sounding annoyed. "The C refers to the dilution factor. This may not be common knowledge to Purebloods…" he grimaced apologetically at Draco's pointed throat-clearing "… Gryffindor Purebloods, that is…"

("That's better," said Draco, _sotto voce_.)

"… but C represents one hundred. So if Professor Snape wrote 100C means he wanted a one-in-a-hundred dilution done one hundred times."

"There's nothing wrong with Gryffindor Purebloods," McGonagall said crossly.

"Well, to be fair, I didn't know about the C thing," Ron said, grinning. "And every one of my millilitres of blood is Pure."

McGonagall gave him a quashing glare, although Hermione was biting her lip to repress a smile and Draco was carefully gazing out the window.

"…So any questions about the potentization?" Elmsworthy asked.

"Not just yet," Remus said. "But we probably will as soon as we try setting it up. Can you make sure you're around for that?"

"Not a problem. It's a very interesting potion. If I may ask one thing…?"

Dumbledore inclined his head in assent.

"… What did you use to bind the potion?"

Silence.

Only the sound of Fawkes preening could be heard for a full four seconds before Harry said: "What?"

ooOOoo

It turned out there was a big, big hole in the formula, possibly the one that had stumped Snape and Narcissa and stopped them making the potion so Narcissa could take revenge on Voldemort. To wit:

"It's a vitality charm you're countering, one used by a certain very powerful Dark wizard I'm not supposed to have guessed the identity of, so you'll need something – a living component – something very solid to bind the potion. That's where the notes are coming up short – no binder. I mean, if you're using bog-standard mistletoe to break a Vivicus on, well, this potion is ingenious, yes, but it would only have worked to break a Vivicus if it was placed on a Squib or a baby wizard. You're using spring snow, and by Merlin you'll _need_ spring snow mistletoe to break the Vivicus on a fully-fledged bastard of a Dark wizard. But spring snow is on a different plane to the usual stuff, I mean, to think otherwise is to go up against Blewitt's Paradox of Herbology…"

Remus nodded tiredly. "Yes, so you pointed out earl-"

"… Because the difference between the Benvolio thresholds for a Vivicus on a baby or a Squib and an adult wizard must be of the order of, oh, somewhere about two point one on the natural log scale, which takes it beyond the range of ordinary mistletoe, which could only counter something point four above Squib level," Elmsworthy was saying, tapping volume 2 of _Applied Arithmancy For Brewers._

"Between Voldemort and a Squib I calculated the difference in thresholds to be two point seven eight four," Dumbledore said.

"Gosh, that much?" Elmsworthy looked rattled, as did Hermione and Draco, who were both taking Arithmancy. Harry and Ron exchanged bemused shrugs. "Hm. That's interesting to know. It's also a little scary to have someone that powerful on the same planet as you."

Dumbledore managed a thin smile. "Isn't it, though?"

Hermione was nodding thoughtfully. She should be looking as astonished and worried as the rest of the room. Harry wondered if she knew that sometimes she was a very annoying person. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, but that didn't do much to stop his headache.

"So you can see that no amount of spring snow mistletoe in the world is going to be of use if you can't activate it on the plane of magical human biology, not when it's going up against a charm of the magnitude of the Vivicus. It's like… like..."

"Like mixing oil and water?" suggested Hermione.

"Exactly! Immiscible at any proportion until you tilt the thaumo-enthalpic balance!"

"Don't you mean 'thaumo-entropic'?"

"No, I mean 'thaumo-enthalpic'. It's a case of –"

"Yes, yes," said Remus, who looked as fed up as Harry. He squeezed his eyes shut a moment. "Let's argue entropy versus enthalpy in magical systems another day."

Elmsworthy had just spent a busy fifteen minutes explaining (with the help of a blackboard, a range of coloured chalk, three of Dumbledore's little silver machines, a ruler, a fourth-dimensional slide-rule, some pins, all three volumes of _Applied Arithmancy For Brewers_, two marbles, a glass of water and some blue string) the fact that a spring snow mistletoe potion to be applied to a non-plant organism sustained by the Vivicus charm (which, as Elmsworthy pointed out, was tightly self-sustaining and a real bitch to infiltrate) needed something to bridge the gulf between charm and potion.

Harry hadn't followed much of it, although Hermione, Lupin, Flitwick and Dumbledore had. Even Draco and Sirius had asked a few salient questions, and McGonagall had nodded occasionally in the manner of one who'd just had something made understandable they'd never previously been able to grasp. He'd have liked to blame it on the headache, but knew it was purely because he'd spent more time over the Quidditch pitch happy in the knowledge Hermione would predigest his homework assignments for him. Ron, his befuddled expression reflecting Harry's, had even less excuse.

Draco had gone pale at the point where he realised that if his parents and Snape had used spring snow instead of standard mistletoe in the potion used to break the milder Vivicus variant which must have been cast upon himself as an unborn infant, the potion wouldn't have been bound properly and he wouldn't have been born. Harry didn't say anything – he was the only other person in the room to know about Draco being one of Voldemort's test subjects.

"So how powerful a living component is required?" asked Dumbledore, the hand which had been stroking his beard stilling.

Elmsworthy shrugged. "I hate to say it, but the lower limit might be human-sacrifice-powerful." He threw a sharp look at Dumbledore. "I'd like to go on record as saying I totally disagree with such a practice."

Hermione made a small noise. So did Sirius, although his was more of disapproval than distress.

Dumbledore's eyes flashed, and any comment any of the other members of staff might have made never made it off their tongues. "Noted. And for the record, I am of the same accord. It's also embedded into the Hogwarts Charter. The last time anyone tried to remove it, only their boots were found, still smoking. I hope that puts your mind at ease."

Elmsworthy flushed slightly but, ambassador's son finally showing through, did not fidget. "I would be regretful if my words might have given you the slightest cause to interpret them as implying someone with your reputation had such a lack of moral fibre that you would even remotely entertain the thought of human sacrifice to further even the noblest cause," he said, smoothly as Harry had ever heard even someone like Lucius Malfoy roll words. What with the intonation and slight rise of the eyebrow, did that mean Elmsworthy thought human sacrifice was potentially feasible so long as it was used to stop Voldemort, or that Dumbledore was a staggering hypocrite? Harry was lost.

Draco's fingers twitched – Harry suspected he was thinking of writing that one down. He strongly suspected Malfoy had started a journal for these things, and was a little worried at the prospect.

"Well, I'm pretty sure I speak for all of us when I say that human sacrifice can be ruled out," said Remus heavily, although he wasn't the only one who glanced at Draco as if there was some question about his attitude towards murder for the greater good.

Draco's expression darkened.

"Any ideas?" Hermione asked before blood could be shed and the question of human sacrifice be answered with a resounding if incidental yes.

Elmsworthy lifted a thin shoulder. "Well, we'd need something with a high vitality index and catalytic –"

"The fig," said Harry, his eyes widening. It seemed so obvious now.

"What?"

"The fig. That – that's the binding magic we need."

"What fig?"

Harry ran his fingers through his hair. "When – um, something happened when I was back in time –" he flicked a glance at Sirius that nearly hit the mark "– and a catalyst was needed to bind and activate a certain charm, a fig from Hufflepuff's fig tree did the trick."

"What fig?"

"What tree?"

"What charm?"

"Hufflepuff's what?"

Harry looked around, realising belatedly there were quite a few people here who didn't know the whole story of him and the Severus-badger. All of them barring himself, in fact, because he'd promised Sn- Severus to keep a lot of that secret. Sirius had guessed about the identity of the badger but Harry hadn't told him exactly how the badger had come about.

Did Harry know the whole story? He wouldn't put Galleons on his knowing the totality of what had gone on when he'd gone back in time. "Er… long story."

"Is this the, er, the odd dimension the horse brought you out of, Harry?" Sirius was asking, his tone carefully polite, his stance suggestive of Padfoot with his ears tucked back in canine apology.

Harry still refused to look at him. He couldn't ignore the question, however, and addressed the rest of the room with his answer: "Yes. It's Hufflepuff's Secret Glasshouse. Inside is a whopping great fig tree with figs that are a concentrated form of magic – but it's gone crazy – the dimensions in the Glasshouse, that is. Up is down and left is right and I'm not going back in there until I can be sure my insides won't suddenly become my outsides." He shivered at the thought. "Not that I need to. Last time I went inside – when we were collecting mistletoe," he added, "I came out with a fig in my pocket."

"How did you get a fig in your pocket?" asked Lupin, his brow furrowing.

But Dumbledore was nodding. "I expect it was meant to be in his pocket."

Lupin shot him a look. "What? Sentient figs?"

Dumbledore smiled and resumed stroking his beard. "Have you ever tried talking to one?" Then, when even McGonagall looked alarmed, he sighed and added, "The interesting thing about Helga Hufflepuff, which most Gryffindors and Slytherins and even the wise Ravenclaws forget, is that while she left herself in the background, when you are in the background it is easy to manipulate behind the scenes."

Draco's fingers twitched again.

"This wouldn't be an ambrosial fig, perchance?" Elmsworthy asked, his sombre face barely concealing the fact he was almost falling out of his chair with delight.

"Er… I'll get it, shall I?" asked Harry. At Dumbledore's nod, he shot off towards Gryffindor before Elmsworthy could ask him to explain the unexplainable.

On his way along the corridor along from the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office, he heard his name called.

He turned. "Oh, hi Stephanie. Can't stop, I'm afraid."

The portrait tilted her head. "Even if it means stopping the castle crashing down around our ears?"

"You what?"

She leaned on the lower bar of the frame of the painting she was in – it was otherwise uninhabited and showed a rather boring strip of moorland. Her yellow robes and the yellow ribbon she'd tied in a bow in her hair were astonishingly bright against it, and Harry wondered if that was partly why she'd chosen it. "Castle. Falling down." She lowered her voice as he came closer. "What Remus was just telling you about certain weak spots. And you should know that spring snow mistletoe is a remarkably volatile substance…"

"I'd noticed," Harry said sourly, remembering how it had triggered his fall into Hufflepuff's Glasshouse.

"Y'know that fig…?"

Harry frowned. How did she know about what Lupin had been saying? And the fig?

"I can sense it a mile away," she said in a tired voice, accurately predicting his second question before he opened his mouth. "It resonates in counterpoint with the Sickle."

Harry felt his eyebrows climb to his hairline – not such a feat these days because it had been a while since his last haircut and he was almost as shaggy as Siri- as that person who masqueraded as his godfather and friend. "I beg your pardon?"

"They compliment each other, the fig and the Sickle. Mistletoe can counterbalance either of them when used wrongly – that's why the Sickle sparked when you touched a fresh-cut sprig to it."

"Oh. Of course. Permit me to ask, if I may, but how the bloody hell do you know so much about it?" Harry hissed, glancing up and down the corridor to make sure they weren't being eavesdropped upon.

They weren't.

She shrugged. A crow flapped its way across the grey sky behind her, cawing, but she ignored it. "I've been around a while. Look, Elmsworthy was correct – it's an ambrosial fig. Better warn everyone about it. Because if you just chuck a whole ambrosial fig into any potion containing spring snow, you'll not be able to tell anyone what happens by virtue of the fact that you will be atomised."

"Hmm. That has possibilities. Maybe I could lob some at Voldemort…"

"While I like your thinking, it might do weird things around him, what with the Vivicus Charm he's using…"

"He's really using the Vivicus, then?"

"In my opinion, yes. He asked me about it when he was a student – not that I told him anything about how it _really_ works. Sometimes it pays to play the 'duh, me-just-a-slow-Huffie' card." Had little flecks of diamond been painted into her eyes? Because they twinkled like Dumbledore's when she was amused. "Tom really is a prime twat, you know. And you're definitely on the right track with the potion you're making – _both_ the potions."

"Would you tell me if I wasn't?"

Her mouth curved. She was probably hundreds of years old and only a painting, so Harry shouldn't be thinking it was a very sexy sort of smile. "Yes," she said. "I have an interest in Hogwarts' welfare and I certainly don't like it being undermined like this. Literally undermined," she added. "Because the tree roots are what are sustaining the barrier and sucking out the wards. Earthen magic. Hufflepuff magic. My mother would be spinning in her grave to think of her dear oaks being used like this…"

"Oh my god. You're Hufflepuff's daughter?"

"Yes. I don't believe we've been properly introduced. Stephanie Moira Hortinghouse-Black-Terwillager-Spense-LeStrade-N'dongo-Chong-Goyle-Blair-Dafoe-Crofts-Schmitt. Nee Hufflepuff." She bent her head in a faux-curtsey.

"Er… Harry James Potter. Pleased to meet you." He wondered if he was meant to shake hands, but then realised that of course he couldn't, not with a portrait, and bowed awkwardly instead.

"Yes – I believe we're related through the Goyle family." She smiled again when he groaned. "But I think I can trust you not to spread that around."

"Sure. Er – you meant about you being Hufflepuff's daughter or the bit where we're both related to the Goyles?"

Her teeth gleamed. "How about both?"

Harry decided it wasn't a good time to ask how she kept her surname straight. He was pretty sure he'd heard the Black name in there. "So… how should I use the Armageddon fig?"

"Ambrosial, not Armageddon. Not unless you add it wholescale to mistletoe, and then it's 'Arma-geddin' outta here'. Get the Sickle and use it to slice the fig into strips from the stem down. Take about a gram of the wet seeds and grind them into a paste. Use a white ceramic mortar and pestle – one that's not been used before. Severus has some in the general potions stores – he orders them in in bulk every few years since they get broken so easily and as he only ordered a new set this school year there must be screeds still in brown paper – those will be unused."

"Oh, that's handy."

"Mm. As for the rest of the fig, you may want to dry it."

"Really? What can I use it for?"

"Midnight snack? I always did like dried figs," she said wistfully.

"It won't… do anything funny?" Harry said, remembering Severus turning into a badger.

She shrugged. "Leave a fresh will if you want."

Harry laughed against his better judgement. "Story of my life… Anything else?"

"Just remember to add the potion to the ground fig, not the other way around."

"Like in some potions, adding weaker to stronger – like water to the infernobud infusion rather than the other way around?" Like Neville had tried to do that time. The explosion had only been delayed until Snape regained his equilibrium. Harry had afterwards entertained the suspicion that the reason Snape had kept his hands tucked around the ends of his sleeves half the time was to stop them shaking after near-misses in Potions. Hermione, who had been sitting next to Neville, had been as pale as Neville and she hadn't been the one given a week's detention with Filch.

"Exactly. For exactly the same reason."

"Okay. We really don't need to give the castle any more reason to fall down. And…?"

She shrugged. "Follow the notes Draco was given. I'm afraid I can't help you as I don't know much about the potion itself. Herbology was my strong suit, not Potions. However, I suggest you then add the potion you've already made to the ground fig in a ratio of one part fig to twenty-six parts potion – you need to make it up to twenty-seven parts total, fig and potion – three to the power of three, you see…"

No, Harry didn't see and his headache was really bothering him now, but he nodded anyway.

"… but make sure you add the potion slowly – say about half a mil – mix – one mil – mix – then three mils then five before you add the balance – slowly, as I said, or it can, err… have an unwelcome reaction. Now tell me what you're meant to do."

Harry recited the method back to her and she nodded. "Good memory."

"Thanks. Umm… just in case, do you, um… know anything about… y'know…"

"The potion to break the barrier? You should be fine with that one. You're using it on oaks, so the potion doesn't need any further triggering other than the charms Hermione used."

Harry wasn't sure if he liked this. Stephanie knew far too much. But in her way she was comforting, because if someone like her – a daughter of a Founder, who had been a friend at very different times, someone who knew where and when Harry had been and still approved – if someone like her was on his side then maybe he'd been going down the right road all along, Sirius be damned. "If… if you think of anything I should know, you'll tell me, won't you?"

Her face for a moment looked as grim as Remus' right before the full moon.

"Trust the unicorns."

"Huh?"

"You heard." The shadow of worry on her face passed and her usual good-natured smile was like the sun coming out from behind clouds. She made little shooing motions. "Off you go, or they'll be sending a search party."

Harry nodded, thanked her quietly but from the bottom of his heart, and went to dig out the fig.

Halfway down the corridor, he heard a "Psst!"

It was Stephanie again.

"I just thought," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Save some of the seeds. Have Neville plant them."

"Seriously?"

She nodded and wriggled her shoulders in a rather distracting way, seeming very young and kittenish for someone who must have been painted nearly a millennium ago. "Seriously. Just to see what will happen. Come on… say you will…"

Harry chuckled. "Okay. If we come out of this alive and the castle is still standing, I think Hogwarts will have proven itself able to stand up even to an ambrosial fig tree standing it on its turrets."

"That's the spirit."

Harry laughed. It was nice to know you had a friend in the right place, even if that place was halfway up the wall and – he looked back and saw a flicker of yellow disappear into a side corridor – yup. Currently round the bend, too.

"I still say it'll turn out to be an Armageddon fig," he muttered for his own benefit.

ooOOoo

Back in Dumbledore's office (with Elmsworthy almost breaking into a smile from sheer ecstasy at the chance to work with a real ambrosial fig), he told them about processing the fig. He didn't say how he knew about using seeds and the… er… special knife he knew Snape had down in his workroom which would do the trick for cutting up the fig. Elmsworthy still didn't know about the Sickle.

Harry gave Dumbledore a look which, he hoped, conveyed his intent to explain the matter of Harry's sudden enlightenment into the secrets of the fig when they were alone. He suspected Stephanie mightn't want extra questions, not if she'd kept quiet about who she was for nearly a thousand years. (Hang on, he thought: She'd said something about marrying one of her husbands for a Monet… Harry wasn't an expert, not even a novice, on Muggle art, but he was sure Monet hadn't been painting that far back. Hogwarts just kept coming with its secrets…)

Dumbledore waved away McGonagall's query of how Harry should suddenly become a Potions expert in one short walk to Gryffindor Tower. Even Elmsworthy looked worryingly pensive as he watched Harry from the corner of his eye, and Harry suspected if he wanted to protect his painted friend he'd have to watch his step.

Damn those curious Slytherins. But then Elmsworthy didn't tend to stick his nose in uninvited, so Harry supposed he and Stephanie were safe for the meantime.

Harry laid the fig down on the desk.

They stared at it for a while. It sat there innocently, the plump picture of fig-ness.

"Fell into your pocket, you say?" Ron said. He was sitting back in his chair, arms crossed.

Harry nodded. Of everyone in the room, he seemed to be the most comfortable with it. Elmsworthy and Lupin kept alternating their gazes between the fig and the door. "I would have remembered picking it, especially given how busy I was hanging on to a tree at the time."

"And… you've had it in our dorm all this time?"

"Er… yeah. I didn't really think…"

Ron's expression was a mix of horror and amusement. Draco turned what might have been a snigger into a cough, although he was sitting as far away from the fig as he could without falling off his chair.

Dumbledore took the fig carefully, much as a Muggle charged with defusing a bomb might do. He turned it over in his hand. "Now," Dumbledore said, "I think I can set up a mechanism for succussion if Mr Elmsworthy helps me with the details. There is a small room near the North Tower which should do the trick – it's easier to keep an eye on things in it and it's not near any of the supporting buttresses. I confess I'm concerned with the state of Severus' workroom after Luna's last experiment. It's all rather shaky and I don't think Hogwarts can absorb another explosion in the Dungeons, especially one triggered by spring snow mistletoe and an ambrosial fig."

"I need to collect some things from there," Harry said. "I think the potions were left in a special safe…?" He raised an eyebrow at Hermione.

She nodded. "I'll go down with you. That safe is pretty – well, safe. It should protect against anything short of a nuclear weapon. Even then, it might be useful – it's got reinforced lead shielding."

"Sounds like a Doomsday Safe," said Lupin.

"It certainly looks like one," said Hermione.

"Where was it?" Elmsworthy asked with an edge of excitement in his voice. What with potions and figs and the prospect of exploring a Doomsday Safe on the horizon, he had forgiven Harry and Draco for dragging him away from teaching students how to make a ventriloquism potion.

"In the cupboard under the ventilation hood," said Hermione. "Next to the filter system he must have used for evaporating volatiles and preventing poisonous fumes from being vented into the environment."

"Oh, he never let me poke around that much," Elmsworthy said with a sigh. He sounded jealous.

"Well, it's doubtful he'd ever have let me in the door, but Dumbledore showed me where some of the more interesting things were. I'll show you when we go down and get the potion," Hermione offered, gaining an almost-smile from Elmsworthy and a sullen scowl from Ron.

Elmsworthy ignored Ron. "Lovely. We'll need to drag the filters upstairs, too – can't have mistletoe potion that's been charged misting around all over the place, and we certainly can't dump the waste from the serial dilutions in the lake."

"Hang on a tick. What the hell was Snape needing a Doomsday Safe for?" Sirius asked.

Elmsworthy sniffed. "You mean you _wouldn't _like a Doomsday Safe?" he said in a tone that implied Sirius was mentally challenged if he turned down such a wonder-device. "They can hold plutonium, you know," he said to Hermione. "How cool is that?"

Sirius shut up, probably realising some arguments couldn't be won when you were arguing against a fanatic. Remus covered a smile with his hand.

Hermione's face suddenly went ashen. "Professor Snape didn't have plutonium in there, did he?" she said in a small voice.

"Nah. Shouldn't have thought so. Plutonium's pretty expensive and you can use Erumpet horn extract as a cheaper substitute."

"Both of which are proscribed substances, so will not be present at Hogwarts, not even in the safe," Dumbledore pointed out, and Hermione nodded in relief.

Harry tried not to look to closely at Elmsworthy; hadn't Draco mentioned that Elmsworthy, now staring at the fig and ferociously avoiding the eye of anyone else in the room, had occasionally helped Snape 'locate' interesting ingredients for potions?

He'd warn Hermione later, in private.

It only took another minute to decide that Dumbledore would go to organise the room while Harry (with the fig back in his pocket) took Elmsworthy and Hermione down to the little workroom to fetch the two potions. Elmsworthy hadn't been let into the secret of the barrier-breaking potion. Hermione had tucked the potions book Snape had written in into her robes before he saw it. But Harry decided he would talk to Dumbledore later about that – the more brains involved the better. He took Dumbledore aside for a moment as everyone else worked out their plans, and quickly ran through how Stephanie had told him about the fig. Dumbledore nodded in relief, and asked Harry if he minded skipping the last class of the day to give him and Flitwick a riding lesson.

Harry said that would be okay, and Draco, when they asked him, also agreed, although McGonagall rolled her eyes and muttered something about how it was _her_ class that was dispensable.

Draco wanted to attend the next class, however, which would be starting in a few minutes (he and Hermione had Arithmancy, although Hermione was given permission to miss it and Harry and Ron, who both had Divinations, tried not to smile too obviously as Dumbledore gave them permission slips, too). Ostensibly, Draco would show up for class to stop anyone getting suspicious about what he was getting up to, but in reality Harry reckoned it was because there was going to be a great deal of heavy lifting in the next hour (magical levitation wasn't advised when setting up for mistletoe based potions).

McGonagall and Flitwick had to prepare their classes, but Minerva promised to go to the new workroom to transfigure some glassware into tubes and flasks for the double-distillation of all the water they'd need; Remus went to the Potions stores to find a new mortar and pestle and boxes of bottle of the size Elmsworthy had described; and Ron – Ron was going to accompany Hermione, Harry and the Slytherin Potions swot.

Sirius changed into Padfoot and went with Harry's group, not that he had been invited. Perhaps he thought it safer than being alone when Draco was unsupervised (because at Sirius' betrayal the blond Slytherin's mouth had thinned in a way most Gryffindors had learned to be wary of). He merely ignored Harry's attempt to shut the door on his nose, the Animagus pretending it had been an accident, flicking it back open with a paw, and slunk after them, his claws clicking on the floor.

Harry whispered a request in Hermione's ear, and she and Ron and (after Harry scowled at him in a particularly poisonous way) Padfoot took Elmsworthy on an impromptu detour to the Potions store to supervise Remus' selection of bottles and mortar and pestle (and give Harry some privacy).

Robes whipping around his ankles, Harry strode alone down the cold corridor in the Dungeons, to a certain dark door where he pulled the handle (taking care not to touch the wood), spoke his name and entered Snape's workroom. He paused there, looking around in the light of the globes the teachers who'd cleaned up this morning must have left behind, to see what damage had been done.

The sinks in their granite benches seemed okay, but that was about it. The windows seemed initially to be undamaged until he noticed that they all reflected the room and had begun to bob where they had once hovered without moving, and while the set of alchemical glassware appeared to be intact, he had a sneaking suspicion an extra set of dimensions was flowing through one of the alembics. The fume cupboard with its specially designed ventilation hood over its metal bench that kept poisonous fumes from killing the brewer was a mess, the glass hood completely shattered with only the frame remaining, the bench warped, and the fan had been driven into the wall. Underneath it, Harry made out a dark cube – the Doomsday Safe, which absorbed light and made his eye twitch when he looked at it too hard. The cupboards had all had their doors blown in and the scarred bench had a starburst pattern of soot radiating out towards the fume cupboard from a small pale circle, and although most of the equipment had been retrieved from where it had been blasted, there were still twinkles of glass in the flagstones and some unidentified pieces of metal and wood sticking out of the stone walls. How Luna had survived was a mystery.

There was a crack running up one of the fat stones that Harry knew for a fact was part of the supporting structure. Faint blue light glittered inside it – the wards of Hogwarts which held the castle together were straining to repair the wound, and they were failing.

Harry paused to check in one of the drawers, and ducked as a quill shot out at him, followed by a frightened growl from the thing cowering at the back of it.

"Hey, Bertram," he said softly. "If you need anything, you can… er…" He looked over his shoulder to see that the quill had embedded itself in one of the windows. "Um, how about you go and find Lupin or Hagrid, okay? I'm sure they'd love to meet you."

The growl didn't stop, and Harry closed the drawer.

The door down the far end of the room was only slightly smoke-darkened.

"Kinkajou."

The password hadn't been warped, which was a good sign: the door swung open at the touch of a finger.

He stepped softly into the smaller corridor, glancing at the painting on the wall. A breeze ruffled the waterlilies, but that was the only movement; the picture, so superbly executed in every other respect it argued even Harry the art-pleb into being a connoisseur, was sadly devoid of yellow-robed witches. He ignored the pang of disappointment and went to the second to last cupboard, the one with the tall door, and paused with his wand hovering over the plain lock.

"_Alohomora. _Masquerade."

The tarnished brass lock gave an obliging click and the door swung open. Harry leaned forward to peer inside, ignoring best as he could the not-so-empty threat of the blindly-staring Death Eater mask and robes. He crouched down and reached under the whispering black fabric to the box built into the base at the back, which opened to reveal the gleaming crescent of the Sickle. It seemed to hum as the light hit it and when he picked it up the handle was warm to his hand, warm and reassuring, like the time his mother had brushed his hair back from his forehead and smiled at him when he talked with her all those days and years ago in the Infirmary. Even his headache seemed to ebb.

Harry sighed to himself, took it out and went back to the workroom. Mindful of the meagre amount of time he had, he forced himself not to rush as he found a pair of scales and some round glass dishes with short vertical sides and overlapping lids which had miraculously survived Luna. He sliced up the fig into strips and weighed out two separate grams of the seed pulp – hopefully he'd only need the one but there was no reason he shouldn't have a spare portion ready – and put them into three dishes: one tiny dish for each preweighed gram and one larger dish for the slices.

Against his better judgement, he put one of the strips in a separate lidded dish for Elmsworthy.

He'd just cleaned the Sickle and put it back in the cupboard, wincing at the feel of the cool black cloth of the Death Eater robes which started up his headache again, when the others arrived.

Ron whistled at the havoc, his eyes wide as he stared around. "Remind me not to ask Luna around next time Mum wants to redecorate the Burrow."

Elmsworthy ran a professional eye over the burn on the bench. He traced above it with his finger. "Look – the blast was reflected away from here. She must have been standing behind one of her force wall things."

They cleared out the workroom quickly. Harry had the sensation they were being watched by the shifting darkness in the wood of the door, but put it down to the long day and the headache that had set in. Hermione tried to argue Elmsworthy out of lugging the safe up the stairs, but it was only after he found out that it was set into the floor with Goblin-forged bolts that he gave up. He was mollified by the slice of fig Harry gave him, although his uneasiness at being given such a gift without being told the price of it was apparent. Harry mentally shook his head – even giving a Slytherin a gift was a trial.

"Hang on – what about the notes?" Harry asked, pointing down at the elderly potions text Hermione had left on the scarred table. Ron, Hermione and he had shut the door on Padfoot and had a quick whispered discussion, and come to an on-the-spot decision to tell Elmsworthy about the barrier-breaking potion.

Elmsworthy had sighed, run his hands through his hair, and agreed without being asked to say nothing to anyone else about being shown the book ("My word. Snape actually wrote in a library book? And I thought all the interesting times were happening now."). He'd scanned the pertinent notes (Harry could tell it was almost painful for him to have to pass over the notes for the time-travel potion) and given them his opinion that the potion seemed sound, although he'd mull it over some more and get back to them if he thought of something which wasn't apparent right now.

At Elmsworthy's conditional approval, Harry felt a relief he hadn't felt even from Stephanie's nod.

"Good," he had said, and smiled, and had been busy following Hermione and Elmsworthy's orders for the dismantling of anything and everything they might possibly need for the binding and succussion of the potion. But then they turned to leave, and Harry noticed the book on the table.

Elmsworthy shrugged. "We don't need them now, although I'd like to take a butchers at that time travel potion you had some time. The barrier-breaking potion's complete, far as I can see, although if you want I can check the resonance against the barrier itself. Mind you, I'd be cautious of letting the potion too near it in case You-Know-Who has sensory feedback via his link with it." (He'd guessed at the link halfway through Hermione's explanation of the barrier potion, feeding Ron's blossoming disgust.) "Anyway. Dumbledore should have the equipment set up in that room, I've got some twenty litres of water to process into ten of a class II standard, and there's a dog waiting for us outside who's probably getting suspicious. Come on."

Harry paused, staring down at the book.

"Harry…" said Hermione.

"Hm?"

"I'll take it back to my room," she said softly. "Just in case we need it again."

"Okay." But they wouldn't need it again. Nor would they need the notes Narcissa and Snape had generated and Draco had transcribed. From now on in, Severus' part in this was over. Harry wished he could send a note back in time just to thank him and tell him that, well, he'd been a good friend.

He heard a small cough from just outside the door Ron, Hermione and Elmsworthy were carefully walking through.

It was Sirius, back in human form and waiting at the door, keeping an eye on him as if he expected Harry to run off and do something stupid – hah! Sirius had a nerve.

Harry turned his back on the scarred table and the crazy glassware which had miraculously withstood Luna's final experiment, the floating windows and Bertram-in-the-Drawer and walked out, barely restraining the vicious impulse which wanted to shoulder Sirius into the door and leave him thinking he was a chicken for a week.

The door closed quietly behind them with a last swirl of darkness.

ooOOoo

They carted everything up to the room Dumbledore had set aside. McGonagall had been and gone and left behind her a sparkling new distillation apparatus that Hermione and Elmsworthy eyed greedily as soon as they came through the door. Luckily it was a quarter of an hour until the next class, and the corridors they'd walked in silence were deserted apart from Nearly Headless Nick, who only nodded in a friendly way, then had to readjust his head when it slipped sideways. Harry's own head was throbbing in a steady, unyielding rhythm by now, and he wanted nothing more than to go and take a –

"I hate to sound like bossy big sister," Hermione said, dropping a cauldron of knives, stirrers and part of the filter system at her feet with a clang that made sparks shoot out from the pain behind Harry's eyes; she was puffing from the climb up the stairs and wiping her forehead with the back of her hand which left a black smear of soot, "but you look like you could use a nap. Or maybe a bath," she added, which was rich given the way she had accidentally painted her face to resemble that of a Panamanian Witchdoctor ready to create a zombie.

Harry nearly rubbed at his sweaty face with his hands, then thought better of it and used his sleeve instead. "Yeah. I didn't get much sleep last night. But I have to give a riding lesson soon…"

She took him by the shoulders, turned him one hundred and eighty degrees so he was facing the door, and gave him a gentle shove. "Go," she said softly but firmly.

"Yeah," said Ron, who was helping Elmsworthy unpack the filters from a box. "We'll look after things for the next little while. You need a break."

Harry tilted his head. "You sure?"

"Sure," they both said. Even Elmsworthy looked up with a sympathetic eye, so Harry must have looked rough.

"We can look after the potion from here on in," she said.

He nodded, feeling a little offended to be suddenly not at the centre of things at the same time he was glad that he could step back and not shoulder all the responsibility for once. "Okay. If you're sure…?"

"We're sure, and you're exhausted," Ron said. "Have a rest, mate. Go back to the dormitory and get some sleep. You've earned it."

Harry wasn't sure he had, but he couldn't argue, not when the headache was coming up to full steam, so he simply nodded and left. He was just outside the door, wondering if he really wanted to go back to the dormitory, when Hermione called his name.

He turned.

"Here," she said, handing him a yellow envelope. "Sorry. I nearly forgot what with everything else. Colin – I saw him earlier – he asked me to give these to you."

"Oh. Okay. Thanks."

"Take this, too." She pressed something into his palm. It was one of the coins they'd used for Dumbledore's Army. "I can call you if anything comes up. And vice versa."

"Okay." It made him feel better – he wasn't completely out of the loop.

He walked away and around the corner and stopped, curious about what was in the envelope.

Photos.

Black and white photos slid out and into his hand.

They were lovely, even through the blur of a headache Harry recognised Colin's talent. There were several taken in the Gryffindor common-room; what could be bland, everyday life given a new and special freshness thanks to the lens of a camera – a Muggle camera, which caught the moments and pinned them down like butterflies under glass. Here was one of himself sitting at chess with Ron, their expressions caught just at the moment where Harry realised he'd lost – Harry's showed dawning exasperation while Ron's was trying and failing badly not to show smug triumph. Harry smiled despite himself.

Harry turned the next photo over. It wasn't one of Colin's triumphs, although in its own way it was interesting. It was one from the other day, himself sitting bareback on Simon, Draco holding the leadrope (Draco wisely refusing to sit on the horse's back without a saddle or – at minimum – a cushion). This one was overexposed: Harry looked sickly under the shock of black, black hair (it could have been from the potentially very painful position he was in), and Draco's pale eyes were unholy.

Simon didn't look too bad overall, but the shine on his coat seemed to divide him into blocks and columns with an odd, twisted triangle over his chest. He seemed to be picking up on Malfoy's unease at being confronted with an outlandish Muggle device (or possibly Harry's continual shifting in a futile effort to find a comfortable place to sit). Draco had, in the photograph at least, reverted to Malfoy with a strong and disturbing resemblance to his father in the set of his shoulders and tilt of his nose.

While Harry…

…Harry shot a quick glance down at Sirius, who'd reverted to Padfoot and followed him around the corner as quietly as possible…

…Harry on the brink of seventeen looked even more like his father than Draco looked like the younger Lucius. Perhaps it was the way the exposure lightened Harry's own eyes, because for the first time – the very first time – Harry fully appreciated that he had his mother's eyes. Almost. Trying for objectivity, even though he almost had to step outside himself and into a cold place, Harry saw that there was something prematurely aged about the boy sitting astride the tall black horse. Too uncomfortable looking at himself, he took a better look at the horse. True to form, Simon's ears were tilted back with suspicion as he eyed the photographer. Perhaps it was seeing the ghosts of James and Lucius, but Harry was reminded of how he'd seen suspicion like that before – seen it for years before recognising it for what it was.

Harry suddenly felt very depressed indeed.

Ghosts. And not the regular comforting Hogwarts brand (well, as far as Peeves or the Bloody Baron could be regarded as being comforting). Lucius of the past, haunting his son while still alive; James, setting Harry on a path mined with expectations; and Severus, standing back even when he was in the foreground of some social mire, braced between fight and flight for the inevitable moment when someone did something bloody stupid and he had to cope with the fallout.

Harry slipped the photo along with the others and those as yet unseen back into the envelope, which he tucked into a pocket inside his robes.

God, he was tired… the hallway wallowed, but it wasn't magic or any real threat, unless tiredness was a threat…

Tiredness was a very real threat, he realised: he couldn't think straight. He needed to think to get through the next few days. He needed…

… what did he need?

He needed Simon to come and carry him out of this mess; because Harry was just as helpless as when he'd fallen into the Glasshouse. He wanted that moment when he'd been surrounded by the buffer of his friends and the memory of his parents and the birthday cake, and Sirius and Remus had been there sheltering him. He wanted that moment when he'd looked deep into the eye of the unicorn stallion and felt the Forest thrum through his body and known himself to be a part of it and accepted and whole and loved.

Simon was only a horse. His friends were only human. Remus was so distracted by the threat to Hogwarts he had no time to listen to Harry. Sirius was a liar. Unicorns didn't fight Death Eaters. And his parents were as dead and gone as that blown-out candle. Harry was up against Voldemort… and himself, because he could barely put one thought after the other, and his judgement was totally off – look at how he'd trusted Sirius!

It was time to open that door again.

"Stay," he said to Padfoot. Padfoot growled, but it was more like a canine sigh of resignation. He didn't follow.

ooOOoo

The little room was colder this afternoon. There were the same old blankets folded up and left on the floor, somewhat the worse for dust and mice and years. Harry toed at them and frowned when he noticed something more solid.

It was the little box Snape had used to store the things he didn't think were safe in Slytherin. There was the sketchpad right where Harry had left it after bringing Sirius (Merlin, but Harry could kick himself some days!) in to prove that Simon was Snape. Which he hadn't been, so Harry had betrayed Severus yet again, he decided sadly. Did that make him the same as Sirius? His mood darkened further. He was cheered slightly by the box, which was pleased to see him and opened without any growling after Harry remembered the counter-charm. It wriggled happily as he patted it, and he lay back and flicked his wand, casting the soundproofing charm. The hairs on his bare forearms prickled: he must be channelling a lot of magic – Harry hadn't realised he'd been upset.

Oh well – there were remedies for that. Severus was dead; it wasn't like he'd complain about Harry going through the box now…

The bottle of Ribena. Harry didn't think the level was lower than when they'd opened it. He decided against opening it to check if it was still drinkable – it probably wasn't, and he didn't want the bad odour to further remind him of what he'd done and not done.

A couple of Muggle records.

One was _Wish You Were Here_, the first Pink Floyd album Severus had bought. Apparently he'd liked the cover: on it were two men shaking hands – one man was on fire. Well, that said more about Severus' sense of humour than his taste in music. Harry had listened to it once and thought it okay.

Ah – this was what he'd been looking for. He picked out _Animals_ and turned it over in his hands.

Dogs. Padfoot. Death Eaters. Pigs… Lucius Malfoy, who needed a ring in his nose to stop him digging up dirt. Would Draco save him from being turned into bacon like he deserved? Yet again, another son who deserved a better father. Sheep. The people who had died. Been slaughtered. Gone trustingly into doom. Had put their lives in the hands of a friend who'd sold them to the enemy.

At the bottom of the box was a thin book. It was broken so that half the pages jutted past the others, which was why Harry had thought there were two books when he first looked into the box.

Harry picked it up. The cover was loose from the spine – Madam Pince would tut about the quality of the glue so Harry balanced it in his hand and turned the yellowing pages carefully. George Orwell. _Animal Farm_. Further damaged when Severus threw it at Harry because Harry wouldn't shut up and let him get to sleep.

He'd sat here with Snape and talked about this book; Severus refusing to tell him how it ended because Harry should read the book and find out for himself. He'd said there was a horse named Boxer in it and that Boxer epitomised horses.

Professor Snape had died, and Harry had nodded and gone on because Professor Snape was more an angry force of nature. But once upon a time Professor Snape had been Severus, and Severus had been a grudging friend to one Harry Lovegood, lost and alone and in search of something to save his world, and Harry had lied like Sirius.

Harry cradled the book to his chest and sat hunched down on the blanket, not caring about the dust.

Harry had asked Severus to write down the potions necessary for breaking the barrier. An older version of Severus (had there still been a bit of Severus in him or had he been fully Snape by then?) had helped Narcissa Malfoy restart the growth of her baby after one of the most awful experiments by Voldemort Harry had ever heard about. And now the notes were finished. In a few hours – by tomorrow morning at the latest, he was sure – the second potion would finish its odd method of brewing. And then Snape's part in this – Severus' part in this – would be over.

It was finally real. His friend was dead. And Harry was probably going to die soon, too.

He realised he was shaking. Harry didn't want to die. And he didn't want any more of his friends to die.

He curled up around the book and tears ran down his face. There was a muffling spell, but he refused to cry aloud. He told himself that it was bad enough that he was coward enough to weep.

After a bit – only a minute or two – Harry wiped his eyes and blew his nose on one of the handkerchiefs Malfoy had given him. He was exhausted and although he didn't feel good, he didn't feel… he didn't really feel anything anymore, only empty. He was hollow.

Time for some mood music, he decided.

_"Discus leviosa. Fusus canto."_

He didn't have all afternoon, so he chose a track – 'Dogs' – and turned up the volume loud. Really loud despite the headache. Then he lay back against the pile of dusty old blankets with his hands folded behind his head.

He played 'Dogs' twice, even though it would make him late for the riding lesson.

It wasn't happy skippy music; it shouldn't have made him feel better. But it did. After setting 'Dogs' to play for the second time, Harry dozed off. He couldn't have been asleep for more than five minutes, and the dream was an almost incoherent snatched series of images of Draco brushing Simon and Ron&Hermione and Luna helping him blow out the candle on his first birthday cake and Severus drawing pictures of unicorns, but when he woke again his headache was gone and he felt refreshed in ways that were more than physical.

ooOOoo


	75. Chapter 75

Disclaimer: characters and settings still belong to JKR.

ooOOoo

Chapter 75: The Duel  
  
He re-emerged a little late for the promised lesson with Dumbledore and Flitwick. He went straight to Dumbledore's office. Flitwick was already there talking to Dumbledore. A large, juicy-looking green apple was centred on Dumbledore's desk, acting as a paperweight. Harry had the feeling he'd interrupted a rather intense discussion – several books were being levitated back onto the shelves as he came in – and expected it had something to do with their planned attack on Voldemort.

"Do you know anything about the bell by the gates?" Flitwick said without preamble.

"Er… you mean the one Tonks was going to set up?" Harry asked. "Draco said you only need to touch the clapper to alert an Auror."

"Yes. Which side of the gates was she going to put it on?"

"I don't know. What's the difference?"

"The difference is that when one is travelling at speed on an animal not completely under one's control, it is tiresome to have to go back and look for a bell when you have Death Eaters watching out for you," Dumbledore explained.

"Oh. Best ask Draco, I guess. But it's not a certainty that the bell is going to be there." Although he and Draco were hoping it would be – if they could 'ring' the silent bell on their way through they would have the extra help they so sorely needed. Of course, it was more likely Dumbledore and Flitwick would be going, Harry reminded himself. Simon would be co-operative: he liked those two. It wasn't like Remus was going to ride him or anything. "By the way, how is the potion going?"

"Ah, well, the good Mr Elmsworthy has set up a mechanism for succussion, which is proceeding with satisfying rapidity," Dumbledore said, clearly pleased with at least one aspect of the project. "Miss Granger is keeping an eye on things at the moment, and we will set up a rotation to watch for the change. It should be finished later this evening."

"That soon?" Harry could hardly believe it. "I guess I'm so used to things being last minute," he explained when they asked why he was so surprised.

"No, that would be your homework," Flitwick remarked, smiling.

"Only when Hermione's too busy to tell me all the answers you want," Harry said candidly, making the professors laugh. Ron would have said it was funny because it was true. "Do you want me to take a turn?"

"Frankly, Harry, I want you to concentrate on helping myself and Filius with our riding," Dumbledore told him. "Simon is the key to all of this. Even if we cannot kill Voldemort tomorrow night it is vital we alert Hogsmeade to its danger."

Harry nodded, sensing Dumbledore's underlying message: _don't try anything foolish, Harry. Lives depend on this._

Harry would not risk them. But he wouldn't let Dumbledore risk them, either – and Harry realised with an odd lightening of the invisible burden which seemed more and more intrinsic to his life that the final decision would be Simon's. Only the horse could determine who would ride it through the barrier tomorrow night.

How odd that this should come as a relief, he reflected.

"Are we waiting for Draco?"

"As a matter of fact we were waiting for you." Dumbledore smiled. "Young Mr Malfoy is already up at the paddock – there." He gestured out the window and Harry could see the small figure with unmistakable blond hair walking up the hill towards the little stable at the top. "He agreed to go ahead and, as he put it, 'tack up Simon'. We trust no actual nails will be involved in the process."

Harry made a mental note to check Simon's shoes today. Silver wasn't as hard-wearing as iron. "No, he just means he's going to put the saddle and bridle on him. On Simon, that is."

"Excellent. Although I hardly think telling his father Draco is coming along nicely as an ostler would help our cause."

"Oh, I don't know…" It would be worth it, thought Harry, just to see the look on Lucius' face. "Maybe we could have Dobby tell him."

ooOOoo

Draco met them up at the paddock with a shrug and a frown.

"I can't catch him," he complained.

Harry had a momentary frisson of horror, picturing Simon floating away over the mountains, through the barrier, ending up in Scandinavia or Canada, depending on the wind.

But no – there was Simon, in the shadow of the little barn on top of Squirrel Hill, solid and earthbound.

"Why not?" Harry asked.

Draco gave him a dirty look. "You try," he said, folding his arms.

Harry sighed, shook his head, and trudged up the hill. He whistled for the horse.

There was no encouraging whinny, although Simon did lift his head for a moment to establish that it was Harry and not some other person. Unfortunately, even this fact didn't appear to put him in a friendlier mood.

"Simon? Hey, boy. What's wrong?"

Simon, of course, did not answer. Not in English. But the shift of the hindquarters in Harry's direction followed by a stamp of a back foot was a clear message in Equine: Come any closer and I'll kick you.

Harry paused.

He hadn't seen this side of Simon in a long time (well, figuratively speaking, because he'd just brushed the horse's backside this morning). "Simon?"

"What's wrong, Harry?" Dumbledore called out. He and Flitwick had come from the castle with Harry but decided to wait at the bottom of the hill. Flitwick had said something about how if he'd meant to be a mountain climber he'd have asked McGonagall to transfigure him longer legs.

"I don't know, sir," Harry called back. "He's – I don't know. He's in some sort of bad mood."

Draco was walking up the hill, making his way zig-zag fashion up to Harry and Simon. He appeared to have his attention on Harry. "You see what I mean, Harry?" he was saying as soon as he came level with them. "He was like that for me, too. Keep trying to get his attention, will you?"

"Huh? Er… Simon? Hello, Simon… Oh, come on, don't look at me like that. Come on Simon, there's a good horse… look, I've got a carrot for you…"

"That's the one, Potter. Just keep talking to him and – there we go."

Slytherins really were quite sneaky, probably even more so by horse standards. It must have been a surprise to Simon as well as Harry when the horse was caught by Draco, who had appeared to be walking towards Harry. But despite (or most likely because of) his apparent indifference to Simon, Draco managed to get close enough to clip the leadrope under Simon's chin as he walked past the horse's shoulder.

Simon put his ears back and Draco caught the leadrope under the horse's chin just in time to stop the horse biting him.

Draco pretended not to have noticed that, either.

"Did you read that one in the book?" Harry asked, mightily impressed and not bothering to hide it.

"No," Draco replied loftily, leading the surly Simon down the hill towards Dumbledore and Flitwick. "From Hagrid."

"Oh. Right." Harry remembered now – that day they'd caught Simon, Hagrid had pretended to ignore the horse as he went about his business checking the unicorns. Good trick, and one Harry should have remembered.

They made it down to the flat, although the horse made an awkward job of it and kept walking crab-wise. That was when Simon made some sort of decision and reared up to his full height.

Harry and Draco scampered back, and Dumbledore and Flitwick, who'd been following at a small distance, made it a larger distance. "Simon!" Harry said, jerking the leadrope. "Down!"

Simon came down, shaking his head unhappily.

Harry and Draco exchanged a glance.

"What's wrong with him?" Draco muttered.

Harry shrugged. He was keeping a tight grip on the leadrope, but the sight of Simon looming over him had been an unnerving one.

"Steady, boy," he said, holding out a hand, ready to jerk it back if Simon snapped.

Simon reared again, trying to turn around, and only Harry's tight hold stopped him from breaking free and galloping off back to his paddock. Harry was jerked forward and pushed himself off Simon's shoulder, using his own momentum to yank on the leadrope and pull Simon's head around, putting the horse off balance and letting Harry regain control.

All that in less than three seconds.

Harry grabbed the leadrope under Simon's chin as the horse tried to bite him. It wasn't one of Simon's nips for being cheeky – this was a serious snap of the teeth.

Harry was breathing hard, and not from only exertion. "Has that potion Luna gave him turned him mental?"

Draco shook his head, but he didn't look convinced.

Dumbledore flicked his wand and, before Simon could react, the horse was blindfolded.

"He was worse when the sun was in his eyes," Dumbledore explained softly. "Please keep your voices down." He flicked his wand again and a silver phoenix shot off towards Hogwarts. "I think we need Madam Pomfrey."

ooOOoo

Poppy Pomfrey arrived swiftly and ran her wand over the still-blindfolded Simon. She sighed and pulled out a dropper bottle. "Let's find out if this works on horses," she said. She held it next to Simon's head and murmured in what sounded like a chant, phrases repeated, although she spoke so softly it was hard to make out exactly what she was saying.

The dark glass bottle glowed blue.

"Ah," she said with satisfaction. "That's a good sign." She squeezed the bulb in the lid then untwisted it, revealing a glass dropper half-full of a thick brown potion."

"Er, what is it?" asked Harry, unwilling to let anyone experiment on Simon again today.

"A simple anti-migraine potion," she said, but her attention was fixed on the horse. "If I put it in his mouth, will he bite the glass? I've never treated a horse before. It's not like that many are enrolled as students…"

"He has a migraine?" Harry asked. "Oh – of course he does."

Draco gave him a look, and Harry explained: "I had a headache earlier. Not a scar-induced one – they've stopped since the barrier went up. But I think it might have been Luna's potion. Simon got the full wallop so he's the one who'd have been the strongest hit by any headaches going around."

"Well, if you had half the headache this horse has right now, I wish you'd come to see me," Pomfrey said sternly. "The poor beast is in agony. That was well thought of, Headmaster, the blindfold. His eyes must be very sensitive to light."

Dumbledore said, "Well, soonest cured, then. I don't think he'll deliberately bite at the dropper. Do you need to insert it between his teeth?"

"The potion requires sub-lingual application. It is absorbed best under the tongue, although if a little gets down his throat it will still help. Cheek membranes will also work, but more slowly."

"How many drops?" Harry asked. Draco was stroking Simon's neck.

"Just shoot all of what's in the dropper into his mouth. The dose doesn't require the greatest accuracy."

"May I?" Harry took the dropper from Pomfrey. Simon twitched his head when Harry tried to put the end of it into the corner of his mouth, but Draco, guessing what Harry was up to, held tight to the cheek pieces of the headcollar and Harry was able to insert the dropper into the corner of the horse's mouth, where there was a gap between incisors and molars – the gap the bit fitted into when Simon was wearing a bridle. Once he guessed he'd poked it far enough he squeezed the rubber bulb, squirting the potion under (Harry hoped) Simon's tongue.

Simon shook his head more strongly, and Draco let go. Still blindfolded, the horse chewed at the air then marked his protest at the strange taste by curling back his upper lip and breathing in strongly. The first time he'd seen it, Harry had thought it was a sign of disgust, but Mr Python's book said it was the way horses pay strong attention to important smells. Harry patted Simon on the neck. "Good boy, Simon. You'll feel better soon."

Madam Pomfrey took out her wand again (what with the blindfold they hadn't bothered telling her Simon was allergic to the sight of them and tended to come out in a violent case of violence). She ran it over his head and down his spine, paying close attention to the muscles holding skull to spine. Blue light spilled down the black hide. "Getting better already," she said with satisfaction, putting her wand back in her apron. She stepped closer to the horse. Harry had never thought her a coward, but he was impressed now when she wrapped her arms around Simon's head in a way only Luna had ever tried, and began massaging around his eyes, working up towards his ears and then down his forehead and around again, not letting the blindfold get in her way. "Sometimes the best remedies are the old ones," she told them. "Look – he's happier already."

Pomfrey wasn't a healer for nothing. Simon's ears, formerly at a very tense angle, a tension Harry identified with from his own dealings with the Dursleys (although Harry didn't have the whole 'mobile ears' thing), twitched as Pomfrey's fingers massaged away some of the knots around them, then the whole horse sagged, leaning into Pomfrey's hold.

Harry and Draco glanced at each other in astonishment. In less than one minute Simon had gone from powder-keg to putty.

He yawned.

"Er," Draco began "I think he's going to –"

"Whoopsy-daisy!" Madam Pomfrey made the mistake of holding onto Simon's head as the horse's knees and hocks trembled, bent and buckled; and as the horse hit the ground, so did she, skirts and layers of starched petticoats billowing up to show a surprisingly pretty pair of white stockings rising out of her sensible shoes. They seemed a world away from her grey hair and wrinkles. As did her current patient from those she usually tended.

Simon's head was lying in her lap. He lifted it for a second, but the blindfold was still firmly in place. Perhaps the horse decided it was night, because down went the head again with a hollow sigh and as far as the onlooker could tell, Simon went to sleep.

The mediwitch looked up helplessly at Dumbledore, even as her fingers continued rubbing around the horse's ears and eyes. "My goodness – now what do I do?"

"He seems to be enjoying that."

"Well, yes," she said softly but acerbically, "but he's rather heavy and I do have other patients, Headmaster. Surely you aren't considering that I stay here for the rest of the afternoon?"

Dumbledore seemed to be considering it, yes. A cloud gathered on Pomfrey's brow, and he said hurriedly, "Of course not, Poppy. How about ten more minutes – how long does it take for the potion to take effect?"

She looked down and made a moue. "It seems to have done so already. Sleep is the best medicine. Is he –? My word – I didn't know horses snore! I suppose with noses like that they don't have a lot of choice in the matter." She patted the nose fondly. Harry was starting to suspect she was rather taken with her latest and most unusual patient.

ooOOoo

They woke Simon. It wasn't really practical to let him sleep with his head in Pomfrey's lap for the afternoon. As she pointed out, there were others back in the Infirmary who were counting on her being back before they suppurated, splinted, screamed or sprouted. He submitted to waking with a heavy sigh of resignation that was almost human. Harry and Draco both pulled on the leadrope and the headcollar to convince him that yes, now really was a good time to be standing up. And when Dumbledore whisked away the blindfold with a wave of his wand (quickly stuffed up his sleeve before Simon could catch sight of it), Simon blinked his dark eyes and yawned again, then dropped his nose to scratch it against a foreleg. The nose stayed down at knee height and there was a soft snore. Simon had gone to sleep standing up.

"I wish I could do that." Pomfrey patted him on the shoulder. "Wakey, wakey, Mr Simon. There we are. All better. But in need of a good rest. Do you have a blanket to put on him?" she said to Harry and Draco. "It's going to get cooler and he wants to go back to sleep – after such a beastly headache his nervous system will be a little bit slow to react to stress, and we don't want him lying down on the cold ground and getting a chill."

"Potter and I'll fix that," Draco assured her. "When will he be all right again?"

"Hmm, he'll probably be fine later this evening after he's had a sleep. Tomorrow morning is the earliest you'll get any work from him though, I expect."

"I'll check on him later this evening."

"After dinner?" Harry asked. "I'll come up, too."

Draco nodded.

"Best see him home now," Dumbledore said heavily. "The riding lesson is postponed until tomorrow morning." For a moment he looked worried.

Harry nodded, not liking seeing Dumbledore upset, especially when Harry and Draco were planning on taking matters into their own hands the minute it looked like Simon wasn't going to let anyone else ride him. "Any time you want, sir," he said. "Well, let's get you back to the paddock," he added to Simon.

Simon yawned. Pomfrey was bold enough to give him a pat on the backside as he went past.

"What a sweet animal," Harry heard her saying to Dumbledore as they parted.

"I guess that means she hasn't seen that he's dribbled half that potion over her skirt," Draco whispered to Harry out of the side of his mouth as they led the sluggish horse home.

ooOOoo

They went up to check on Simon after dinner. Simon was awake and, if not alert and friendly, he was approachable and so wrapped up in himself he didn't bite anyone when Harry and Draco began to disagree over what was, in their opinion, a vital point regarding the fight against Volde- He Who Must Not Be Named.

They carried on the argument all the way back down the hill to the castle, where they shut up about it by mutual consensus.

The argument had become serious. So serious, in fact, that the only thing they could agree on was that they would meet later this evening, up at the paddock, to fight it out. Now that Simon was feeling better, Harry and Draco had something to settle. It was more than the fight against Voldemort now – it was about pride.

ooOOoo

Two hours after dinner, as the clouds faded from red and orange to more tranquil shades of dove grey and lavender and the rest of the castle settled down to finish the last of their assignments in dormitories or the Library, Harry and Draco had returned to Squirrel Hill to battle it out fair and square. There was only one way to settle this: a duel.

In the paddock they stood twenty paces apart facing each other, wands in pockets but fingers flexing as if ready to snatch them out and start flinging curses.

"Scared, Potter?" Draco sneered.

"You wish." Harry considered a moment. "Oh, and I'm a Parselmouth. So if you throw another snake at me I'll tell it to bite you."

Draco snorted. "On the count of three… One – two – _three."_

"Here, Simon!"

"Simon! Come here, Simon! Good horse, Simon!"

Two hours after dinner, this time with the two boys on their way back to Squirrel Hill, the argument from earlier had restarted almost exactly where it had left off, with Draco saying just as soon as they had walked far enough away from the castle to be out of earshot:

"He likes me best."

"No," Harry snapped back, his blood already beginning to pound in his ears. "He likes Luna best. After that, he prefers me to you. So I'll ride him and you can take the broom."

"Rubbish. He's my horse – he likes me best. So _I'll_ ride him and _you_ can take the broom." But Draco wasn't stupid enough to argue about Luna.

"He came and got me from the Glasshouse."

"Luna sent him. I don't see Luna around right now. And when we were in the Forest when the spider bit me, he came for _me._"

"He came for _us_. And maybe because he really hates spiders. So I should be the one who –"

"– Who he _doesn't_ accept as his rider. Right. I can't argue with that," Draco said in the lofty manner which reminded Harry why he'd hated him all these years. "He's already taken me through and he knows I know where I'm going."

"Hah. You took him into a swarm of Dementors. Reckon he'll have forgotten _that?"_

They had continued bickering all the way up to Squirrel Hill, albeit with superficial good-nature. But Harry didn't fool himself that Malfoy wasn't serious about winning this argument. Just the same as how Harry refused to lose. And now with his opponent facing him down only a score or so metres away Harry was beginning to wonder if maybe he'd underestimated Simon's affection. Because the horse hadn't immediately come trotting towards Harry, as Harry had hoped.

Simon's expression was, if anything, a little puzzled. He could go to Harry. He could very well go to Malfoy. Or he could bugger off and see if Hagrid had left him any hay recently.

Draco was going pink with the intensity of willing an animal's actions without magic. "Good boy, Simon – come here! You're a Slytherin horse – come to me!"

"He's not a bloody – Simon! Come here!" Harry forced himself to sound calm (although if he got angry maybe Simon would come just to give him a nip for bad behaviour – but as strategies went that one needed fine tuning to minimise bruises). "Good horse, come on…"

"Simon – come along, my horse."

"You're not his horse, Simon. Come on, don't give in… yes, that's it, look at me… come on, Simon, best, smartest, handsomest of horses!" Harry exhorted. "If anything you're a Gryffindor horse – if you go to him he'll only continue to slander you. And he'll put Hello Kitty bobbles in your mane."

"Bloody well will not. Go to Potter and he'll ride you over the roof of the castle again. Come on, Simon… Yes, that's it… very good horse!"

Simon had pricked his ears in Draco's direction. Draco beamed.

"Simon… he's evil. He likes Dementors."

"Well, Potter likes werewolves. You remember how he's friends with a werewolf, don't you, Simon? Of course you do – you're an absolutely brilliant horse…"

"Stop talking bollocks, Malfoy. Come on, Simon. Simon! Don't even look at him… Come to me – I'm a much nicer person. And a Gryffindor."

"Good boy, Simon. You know you love me best. Plonker Potter's barely an afterthought in your vastly clever equine brain. You know you're a Slytherin at heart."

Simon's attention was definitely on Draco.

"See – what did I tell you? More slander. Simon! No, don't go to him, he'll just chop you up and serve you as horse dervies. Whore derves. Whatever you eat at parties."

"Hors d'oeuvre, you pleb. You've got excellent breeding, Simon – you know you're my horse, you don't belong to someone three social rungs below you."

Simon swished his tail and began to saunter towards the Slytherin.

"Simon, come on… oh, no, stay away from him… Simon! No! Come back! Si- MALFOY, YOU FUCKING GREAT CHEAT!" howled Harry as he realised that Simon was going towards Draco because Draco had a paper bag in his pocket and was rustling it.

Draco looked defiant. "It's not cheating when you were the one who bought the peppermints in the first place," he said.

Harry stomped over and grabbed Simon's halter before the horse could reach Draco.

"It's cheating, you arsehole!" he shouted. "Ow!"

Then Draco got a nip when he laughed at Harry getting bitten. It was lucky Simon was the arbiter of justice, otherwise the Slytherin might have been wearing his nose on the other side of his head.

As it was, Draco got a far nastier bite when an outraged Simon discovered the bag was empty.

ooOOoo


	76. Chapter 76

Disclaimer: Characters and settings (other than the Potions swot) are property of JK Rowling et alia. I make no money out of this. Dammit.

ooOOoo

Chapter 76  
  
In the end, it came down to rock, paper, scissors. Harry won. Or lost, depending on perspective. "I'm the rider, then," he said, still with his hand in a fist for rock.

"So we'll be taking my broom," Draco said, apparently trying to make the most of not being the rider, using two fingers in what had been "scissors" to scratch his chin and, incidentally, make a rude sign at Harry. Harry didn't take offence – he was the winner and could take the moral high ground. His broad grin only made Draco scowl all the more. Simon had gone off to sulk on the far side of the paddock after making his feelings clear on dunderhead colts who tried to trick him with empty paper bags. Draco sighed and went back to rubbing his upper arm, which must be quite sore. "Good," he added. "Firebolts have untamperable stabilising spells on them I wouldn't trust surviving the barrier."

"Anything tricky about the Nimbus 2001? Just in case there's a change of plan and I have to ride it." It was amazing, Harry thought, the way they were talking like it was already decided it would be them riding Simon instead of Dumbledore and Flitwick. He hoped it wasn't going to be one of those self-fulfilling prophecies, where he and Draco went because they subconsciously placed themselves on that road. If Simon accepted Dumbledore as a rider then Harry would have to accept that too, he reminded himself for the hundredth time.

Draco considered. "It can list a bit to the left. That's partly the reason the permanent stability charms were implemented for the Firebolts. It's faster than the 2000 but I get the feeling they sacrificed manoeuvrability for speed. Climbs like a Bowtruckle, though."

"I'll keep that in mind if I have to choose between turning and altitude," said Harry, comfortable to be back on old territory of talking brooms. It eased the fact that one or both of them could be dead in the next two days. Or (worse thought) wishing they were dead. It was a companionable sort of conversation all the way back to the castle, keeping Harry's thoughts off the morbid and fast approaching future.

They were agreed that Hogsmeade had to be alerted, because even Draco had to admit that wiping out the village wouldn't be helpful long term. Neither said anything explicit about the danger, although Draco had stopped smiling, not even managing a smirk when they bumped into Neville, also on the way to the Infirmary after accidentally swallowed someone's Potions experiment and turning purple with little yellow flowers. Harry's hands had a fine tremor and he felt like he was sometimes floating far above, sometimes diving deep into the minutiae of Hogwarts life now, and he had a terrible craving for chocolate. But Draco had to go to the Infirmary to get a salve for the latest bite and Harry found himself wandering alone around the castle, wishing he was with Ron and Hermione in the dorm, even if it meant doing homework with them, just because it meant he wouldn't be dwelling over impending death, doom, ruin, et cetera. But he wasn't up to facing down the rest of Gryffindor, who were still twitching over his threat to let Voldemort into the common room. The anti-Voldie potion might be something to distract him…

He went up to check in on it and found Comrade Tyrol perched over the shaking contraption. Elmsworthy merely looked up for the brief time it took to inform Harry everything was under control. If Harry was looking for Hermione, she wasn't due here until nine-thirty.

Elmsworthy wasn't really the conversational sort – not when it came to anything Harry could understand, like brooms and horses and impending death. A vast array of tubes and several boiling cauldrons covered with what looked like glass (and were probably impermeable spells) were still busy distilling the special grade of water needed, bubbling away with the low menacing roil Harry associated with Potions class (and Snape breathing down his neck telling him he was an idiot). Moving away from them, he went to take a closer look at the percussion mechanism Hermione and Elmsworthy had constructed. The machine (if such it could be termed) appeared quasi-alive. It crouched on six legs like some sort of metallic insect –as if Hagrid had crossed a gwern mantis with a suit of armour. From what Harry could make out from the blur which was the vibrating bottle, the anti-Voldie potion wasn't yet finished, although the proto-potion was currently a rather pretty golden colour. Elmsworthy was studying it as if it held the secrets of the universe. Perhaps it did when you were a Slytherin potions swot.

"Any thoughts on getting that guy you're not meant to know about to take the potion?" Harry asked.

Elmsworthy had, of course. Harry suspected he could ask him if he'd ever had any thoughts on redesigning socks to help Boggarts with athlete's foot and get a resounding "Funny you should ask." "Well," said Elmsworthy. "I thought about a bow and arrow – if you have a hollow point in the arrow like a Muggle dumdum bullet –"

"A what?"

"Hollow or soft nose bullet – you know, Muggle guns…?" Harry nodded and Elmsworthy continued: "There's this place I went to in India once which is famous because it started making special bullets which spread on impact. Small hole going in, big one coming out. Muggles love putting holes in each other. For some people it's a job, for others it's just a fun hobby…"

"I get the picture. I thought you liked Muggles."

"I like them the same as I like Wizards."

Loathed and despised, in that case, although Harry thought it prudent not to say that. He nodded politely instead.

"So," said Elmsworthy, "I initially thought you could use a Muggle technique to transmit the potion in one easy shot. So to speak."

"Initially?"

"Initially. Because I hear he's got hide like a dragon now, and spells that stop sharp objects coming within three inches of him. Otherwise I'd've suggested tipping a non-magical dart in the potion and biffing it at him. We've got a set of darts down in Slytherin and the irony of using one of those would have been lovely. Wonder how he eats without a knife and fork? Maybe he's switched to chopsticks…"

Harry had to agree. (About the darts – he didn't want to think about Voldemort's table manners.) But it was worrying the details Elmsworthy had about Voldemort. Three inches? How could he possibly know the field? Harry hadn't known, and he'd been there when Voldemort had been resurrected. And then had Voldemort chucking spells at him. He shivered. Cruciatis had not been nice. "D'you think there's anyone around who can play darts?" He'd meant the question only as a sad attempt at humour, but nearly fell over backwards when Elmsworthy replied:

"Well, don't count on Dumbledore or Flitwick. Although they could probably charm one to go where they want. But Malfoy's a dab hand. When he wants to hit the bullseye he does. Little twit's wasted as a Seeker. He should have been slotted in as a Chaser yonks ago."

"Ah. That's nice to know." Harry was tossing up between being worried and being very very worried. "Er… how do you know this?"

"Well, not that I like having Malfoy hurling pointy objects around the common room when I'm there, but I have seen him play on occasion. Parker's not bad either, but I wouldn't recommend having her around when you're trying to rid the world of evil. Unless it's her you're trying to bump off, of course." He almost managed a smile to show he was joking. Possibly joking. Probably, like Ron liked to say, it was one of those funny-because-it's-true jokes.

Harry rubbed at his scar. It didn't hurt, but it gave him something to do with his hand, which was shaking. So was the other one, but he only had the one scar. For a short moment during which he frightened himself with how close he was to laughing aloud he wondered if asking Voldemort to give a matching scar on the other side of his forehead would help. "No, I mean how come you thought it best to mention Malfoy being good at darts?"

Elmsworthy twitched his nose and didn't even deign to look at Harry. "Just thought you might be interested."

"Oh. How much longer d'you think the potion will take?" he made the mistake of asking.

Elmsworthy considered for a brief moment. "Well, given the provisional matrix imposed upon the trifold scheme of the base and the fact that the potentization has probably only reached about seventeen percent of its minimum threshold – give or take a deviation of, shall we say, three percent to compensate for the lack of concrete empirical standards – I'd say that –"

But Harry had backed up to the door by this time, pretended someone was calling his name, and quietly shut it behind him.

Ask a silly question…

He went back to Gryffindor for only the time it took to retrieve some parchment and quills and be ignored by everyone (which suited him fine, the ingrates), then went to the library and pretended to do homework, but found he couldn't concentrate. He spent a fruitless two hours wrestling with the Asping-Tweedle Symposium of 1622 and its implications for standardisation of potions, but kept thinking of the potion rattling away, hopefully turning from gold to silver, and everything else seemed like a symposium on twaddle compared with the fact that he had to somehow get the potion onto Voldemort or, if Elmsworthy was to be believed, under Voldemort's scaly, impenetrable, spell-bolstered skin…

Harry threw down his quill in disgust and went to see if there were any books on making crossbows.

ooOOoo

"Harry! All right there, Harry?"

"Hey, Colin." Harry'd been wallowing in his inability to find anything to get the potion under Voldemort's skin. Right now his best hope was sending Voldemort a box of potion-centred chocolates. Shame Valentine's Day was over half a year away. It was close to the late curfew granted the students as a sop for having to stay at Hogwarts over the summer rather than go home, and Harry was weighing up returning to Gryffindor and scowls over risking Filch catching him out after hours. Filch was looking good at the moment. He hadn't found anything promising for delivering potions through spell-toughened hide. Because he didn't know the specific spells Voldemort was using, anything he could try would have a ninety-nine percent chance of failure. He wished he could have talked to Charlie, who must have _some_ ideas, what with working with dragons. His tiredness and the last lingering trails of today's headache made it far too easy for him to fall into a low mood. He was strangely reluctant to go to bed; the thought that it could be the last night's sleep he'd ever have made him want to keep walking the corridors, as if by ignoring the need to sleep he could push time back as far as it could go. He had the terrible sensation of slowly, inexorably falling; sliding down the slate roof, this time without Simon to stop him plummeting to his death, and the image of him holding himself in place with his fingernails kept creeping up on him, leaving him short of breath. 

So anything was a welcome distraction right now, even the overly-enthusiastic face of Colin Creevey beaming at him.

Colin was better than examining the contents of his own head.

Colin waved a brown paper envelope. "Fresh from the drying line," he said proudly. "The roll of film from – well, thought you'd like to have your own copies." He beamed up at Harry as he handed over the envelope.

"Thanks, Colin. I appreciate it." Which was true. Even despite the hero worship Colin was a generous soul. Harry sometimes felt bad he didn't like him more.

Colin grinned sheepishly. "I appreciate the fact you stopped Malfoy from murdering me."

Oh, thought Harry. _Those_ photos. "Any time." He turned to go but Colin stepped in front of him.

"Hey, Harry! Watch this!" Colin took a photo and tapped his wand to it. _"Iconoholo!"_ The image of Colin's little brother Dennis reading a book rose from the paper. "I wanted to show Mum and Dad that Dennis actually does some work here. Cool, right, Harry?"

Harry tried to sound enthusiastic. "It's a great spell, Colin. Nice shot of Dennis, too. First time I can remember seeing him reading a book, though…"

"Uh, I had to ask him to sit for it. It's actually one of my books – he'd lost his that day. But don't tell Mum and Dad, right, Harry?"

"Right, Colin. Don't worry." It wasn't as if Harry would ever meet Colin's parents, he thought morbidly. "I'm sure they'll love the picture."

"Ta." Colin grinned proudly.

Harry took the photos and slipped out of the castle. Filch hadn't closed the doors yet. If they closed while he was out, well and good. He could spend the night up with Simon. The bloody great cupboard-lover. He couldn't repress a snigger at the memory of Draco being bitten. It was a bright spot in an otherwise gloomy day. Simon had been livid and Draco lucky to get off with only the one set of bruises. Poetic justice didn't often take equine form.

He decided not to go up to the paddock just yet. Simon might still be in a foul temper and Harry arriving without peppermints or apples or even a slice of bread might set him off again. Harry wondered some days if the horse realised it was meant to be a lower life form. Well, he wasn't going to be the one who tried to convince Simon of that. Simon might attempt to demonstrate the reality of what it meant to be "lower" by means of a trampling. 

Feeling nostalgic for flying, he wandered another direction, avoiding the garden on the way where the last of Hogwarts' couples were taking advantage of the darkness to twine themselves around each other with whispers and kisses. Harry took a jealous pleasure in the knowledge that Hogwarts' chastity wards would stop them having too much fun – Luna wouldn't even let him hold her hand, so he didn't see why anyone else should be happy. He walked on faster, not wanting anyone to see him, and certainly not see him when he was alone and they were not. He had the nastiest urge to call Filch out this way, just to get the couples in trouble, and had to work hard to squelch it. He set off at a brisk walk.

The stars were out and the moon should be rising soon. There was enough light for him to find his way to the Quidditch pitch and climb up to the top of the stands. Harry sat hunched down on one of the benches. A thin night breeze curled the Gryffindor flag above him and the flagpole pinged and rang softly as the rope of the flag struck it. As soon as he sat down Harry had cast a spell for a floating ball of light, which shone with a cool luminance, no stronger in its own way than the breeze, giving out a small personal light that was ample for his eyes without alerting the rest of Hogwarts to his whereabouts. In his hands was one of the photos Colin had taken before Harry's trip back in time. 

It was, Harry thought as he studied it, quite pleasing in a stark fashion. There were no colours to the photo, and the black and white drew out lines and made the most of the few highlights; it had been an overcast day, he remembered. This was while Draco was still blind. In the photo Draco sat on an upturned bucket, his eyes not quite focussed on his hands. Even though his face was tilted down a little, Colin had caught that unconsciously arrogant set to his chin and upper lip. 

Harry looked at the still picture of himself. 

Colin's photos had given him the only opportunity he'd had to see himself in Muggle photos – all the ones the Dursleys took were of Dudley (Harry being pushed well out of the frame). It was strange to see himself caught like this. Here, he was squatting down in an old pair of Dudley's jeans. He'd finally found an excellent use for them: rubbish clothes that could cope with getting filthy dirty with oil, saddle-soap, sweat and a dozen types of dirt. He looked older in this picture than he looked in wizard photos – maybe because this one didn't move. Maybe because his face was finally reflecting his world view, on the verge of a conscious recognition that he wasn't meant to be living in it for very long. In one hand was a length of rope; in the other was the bridle he'd been cleaning. The metal buckles shone like silver.

Standing over Harry and Draco like a better class of monolith – one that taught apes to use tools – was the horse. The sun was just behind Simon's head, making it appear as if it were rising from behind the horse and accentuating the whole 2001 effect. The rope between Simon's headcollar and Harry's hand was slack as the horse loomed over the boys. While Draco's eyes were focussed on something he was listening to and Harry's were focussed on some inner thought that was troubling him, Simon's dark, shining eyes were firmly focussed on the here and now of the picture. Harry smiled. The photo quality was so good that even in the wandlight he could see the few stray hairs blowing up from the mane and the softer fur inside the horse's ears. The ears themselves were crisp against the pewter sky, and the coat looked like Harry could touch the picture and feel each gleaming hair. No wonder Colin had been so happy with his work. After blurred kneazles and the occasional blob that was meant to be Peeves, it must have been rewarding to get something like this. Draco was only slightly blurred around the edges, as was Harry; apparently this was the effect of magic on Muggle photo film. But Simon looked even more real than the fence behind them.

Weird. Harry flicked forward to another photo of himself and Draco with Simon looming over them again. As in the other picture, Draco was sitting on an upturned bucket. This time a small breeze had drawn out a strand of pale hair and his equally pale eyes were fixed unerringly on the camera with suspicion to rival Simon's. But Colin had taken this one recently – it was one of the series Luna had taken exception to, right before she sent Harry and Simon floating over the castle.

Simon looked just as super-real in this one. Almost three-dimensional, in fact. It was even better than the photos he'd seen in the library books on horses. Simon – 

That was weird. For a moment he'd thought he'd caught a glimpse of someone else in the picture. Just his imagination.

No – there it was.

In a second bucket, this one drying upside-down on a fence post, was the blurred reflection of what looked like a human. It was a little disconcerting in such an otherwise honest picture. Maybe it was Colin. Come to think of it, Colin had taught him that nifty little spell… Harry hadn't thought he'd need to use it, but…

He tapped on the photo with his wand. "_Iconoholo_."

Out of the flat black and white photo rose, ghostlike, a three-dimensional picture. There was Harry and Draco in miniature, with a little Simon standing over them. It was all frozen. Even Simon's tail, which had been swishing at a fly, was transfixed in a rippling wave of tarnished silver. Now Simon looked like a Patronus rather than a monolith.

Harry focussed on that bucket on the fence. "_Project."_

A ripple of silver off to the side took shape. It wasn't blurred enough to hide the identity of this third person.

Luna. That's right; she'd been absolutely furious and had had to conceal it from Simon. Luna hated upsetting the horse… He enlarged her image and looked at it fondly. She was staring at the three in the photo intently, some odd, unreadable emotion written in capital letters on her face. Seriousness thinned her lips, giving her that "familiar stranger" look he'd seen on rare occasion. Harry felt his heart flutter just a little when he followed her gaze to himself. Then his heart sank and soured as he realised she wasn't looking at him. Was she looking at Malfoy? If Draco had been carrying on with Luna after all his "we're just friends" blather Harry would kill him.

She wasn't looking at Draco.

That odd, intense look was solely for Simon.

Luna was too weird for words some days, Harry thought with a sigh that caught in small hooks inside his chest. It wasn't fair that it still hurt him that they weren't friends anymore. He missed her. He missed her smile – the real one that took him in and allowed him into her world of odd angles and horses which could fly. He missed the smell of her hair and the feel of her lips. He missed the way she listened to him like he was a real person instead of an anomaly. He missed – he even missed her Space Bunny theories. It was almost as if she'd died ahead of schedule; nobody had told her that she was supposed to leave Harry alone yet, that she was supposed to wait until everyone else died so it'd be his fault… 

Harry realised he'd stopped breathing and the breeze felt extra cool on his eyes, which were too wet. He forced himself to breathe normally, which was hard due to the constriction that went all the way down his throat and into his chest.

He tapped the photo with his wand and released the spell, _nox_'d his own light and lay back on the bench with one foot dangling, staring up at the flag, willing himself to think of nothing. Above it were the stars coming out in little pinpricks. Eventually he heard footsteps and closed his eyes, hoping they'd go away.

They didn't. Of course.

"_Lumos._ Harry?"

Remus. Harry didn't want to talk to him.

The bench creaked as it took the werewolf's weight. "That's a good photo. One of Colin's?"

Harry nodded. "I'm surprised you're not going to go on about how dangerous it is for me to have a psychopathic Muggle animal looming over me."

"Simon's not a psychopath. I've met enough to know the difference. I should never have called him that. He's merely an animal that's easily provoked into fight or flight. Great shot of him. May I?" Harry didn't resist as Lupin took the photos and flicked through them. He paused at the one Harry had been looking at earlier, the one with the sun just peeping over Simon's head, and smiled, the lines of tiredness crinkling briefly around his eyes in the light of the floating spell-ball. "Hmm. Ever seen that movie _Space Odyssey_? He reminds me of one of the monoliths."

Harry didn't feel much like smiling, but one crept up on him anyway.

"I… have been thinking about the Sickle you found."

A vicious impulse took Harry. "Oh. Bring back any happy memories for you?"

Remus winced, which was fine by Harry. Harry wanted to be left alone. "Not exactly. Harry…"

"If you've come to say sorry you're a bit too late. Snape's dead already. I must say, you and Sirius have been pretty restrained in your partying. Must be the whole Voldemort and inevitable death by starvation for the rest of us thing."

"I was never happy he died, Harry."

"No? There's a switch." Harry wished Remus would go away. How nasty did he have to be to make him leave him alone?

But Remus, like Simon in the glasshouse, stayed, although he had the sense not to dig around in the past.

When Remus went to sit down next to Harry, Harry swung away and tried to stand up, hiding his face, not daring to make eye contact. It wasn't just that he didn't want Remus to know he'd been crying earlier, he didn't want to be provoked into it again – something very easy at the moment when he was so tired and the worst thoughts crowded out anything positive. He certainly didn't want to look at Lupin and be reminded of why he'd been upset. And he didn't want to like Lupin again because that meant that when Remus died (because he'd die soon just like everyone else was going to) Harry would have someone else to mourn. Sometimes Harry thought maybe it was best if he died, because then he wouldn't have to be left behind…

A gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him and froze the terrible thoughts churning around in his mind, and for a moment there was only him and Remus who was like family and the faint breeze and this moment was enough and Harry tried as hard as he could to will it into infinity and never leave, wrapping his arms around himself in the effort…

"Harry. _Harry."_ The hand gripped tighter as Harry's shoulder shook under it. "Harry…"

"Stop saying my name! I know it! I know it just fine!" And then he stopped being able to speak as his throat closed over. He didn't resist as arms wrapped around him and hugged him tight, but leaned into the hold instead, welcoming it even as he knew Remus couldn't stop time and shut out the horrors of the real world. Not even the barrier could do that. 

Remus pulled his close, rocking him slightly. "Shh. It's going to be all right."

"No, it won't." He was going to die. His friends were going to die. If they died together and met in whatever afterlife existed, shouldn't he have been cheered up at the thought? But he wanted to live. He didn't want to die. And even more than he wanted to live, Harry wanted his friends to live, too. All of them. The ones who were pleased when he came into the room. The ones who planned out lives for themselves and saw him in them, not minding that Harry couldn't imagine himself in the future. Even the ones who didn't want to hold his hand now, and the ones who'd been subsumed by darkness before he'd been born or lied and said they betrayed him for his own good or sat beside him now and loved him but couldn't be told the truth of what was going on inside the mind of Harry James Potter because they thought they knew what was best for him and were wrong wrong wrong.

"Yes, it will. I've had friends die. Everyone has. Or if not, they will. You go on. Life goes on. Your friends wouldn't want it any other way for you. Even the ones you've lost. Especially, I expect, the ones you _have_ lost."

"He wasn't my friend." Harry's voice was muffled against Remus' shoulder.

Remus' hand gripping his shoulder tightened briefly. "I think he was. Not Professor Snape, no; but Severus – he was your friend. I remember that. Harry Lovegood."

"Dumbledore wiped his memory. He wouldn't have remembered me other than as a shadow."

"You were still a friend to him. Even if for only a short time. And he was yours. It's the truest, saddest part of what was hidden by the Sickle. You're allowed to grieve for your friend, Harry."

Harry leaned against Remus' side and Remus tightened his arm around his shoulders.

They sat on the bench until it grew too cold and Remus suggested they go inside. Despite the cold and the fact he was shivering, Harry was ready to stay outside, perhaps even go up and sleep in the stable, but Remus gently reasoned that it was safer inside the castle for a human who didn't have the senses of an animal like a horse. He must have sensed Harry's reluctance to return to Gryffindor before everyone else was asleep, because he suggested Harry come back to his own rooms for cocoa first.

Harry only realised it was a mistake when they got back and found Sirius was already there. He'd had been too groggy to consider this possibility, although in retrospect it was obvious. Remus playing peace-maker again. What made it even worse was Lupin being called away by Filch, who was having trouble with a group of Ravenclaws. Filch gave Harry a look of deepest, darkest suspicion that was only equalled by the one he threw at Sirius as he complained bitterly to Remus about the students and how irritating it was when Flitwick was closeted with Dumbledore and not taking care of his House. Remus sighed and said yes, of course he would help. He grimaced apologetically at Harry as he left, and suggested asking the house elf who was going to bring the cocoa if it wouldn't mind going back for some food as well… and would Harry mind waiting for Remus to come back? Hopefully he wouldn't be long… and if Harry could ask the house elf to add macaroons to the order he'd be grateful.

Harry supposed he could wait and remember about the macaroons. It wasn't like he had anywhere to go and he was feeling peckish (although the thought of sleeping in the little room and listening to some more Pink Floyd had its appeal). 

After Remus left, Harry examined the bookshelves. He was so tired the floor was wallowing slightly, as if Hogwarts was a giant ship at sea but he needed a distraction. There were some interesting books on the Dark Arts, copies of which hadn't made it to the Library. Harry flicked through one and was immediately depressed. How could anyone be interested in the Dark Arts? He didn't want power. He just wanted to be left alone.

He thought of Severus, who'd wanted to be left alone and had turned to the Dark Arts in a futile effort to achieve this.

This was even more depressing than the book.

To cap it off, Sirius sat down on the sofa and tried to talk to him. This was a decided downside of waiting.

"Harry…"

A house elf appeared with a tray and Sirius startled. Harry asked if there were any macaroons Professor Lupin could have. The house elf looked so pleased to be given such a task it might have been told it had just been awarded the Order of Merlin, first class, as it disappeared with a soft pop. Lupin must be popular with the house elves, Harry thought.

"Harry…"

Sirius jumped again and swore softly as the house elf popped back with macaroons and scones so fresh the butter was melting into them. The sweet-sharp smell of strawberry jam rose. Harry's mouth watered and he hoped Remus wouldn't mind him starting without him.

"Harry, I wish it hadn't been necessary to tell Dumbledore, but the safety of everyone here was under threat."

The Dark Arts book still open in one hand, a fast-disappearing scone in the other, Harry kept his eyes scanning the bookshelf. That was much better than actually reading the book or talking to Sirius. Amazing. Remus had (Harry did a quick count) all the Narnia books, and by the slightly foxed look to them (possibly slightly werewolved) they were well-loved. He'd never thought Remus the type to go for Muggle fantasy. "So instead of coming and talking to me you went and told on me instead."

"It wasn't like that." Sirius sounded like his patience (never a virtue with him) was particularly threadbare tonight. "I knew he could be trusted."

Harry snapped the book closed and turned to face him. "So I couldn't be?"

There were shadows around and in Sirius' eyes. "Harry… I'm not saying this right…"

"So why didn't you wait and get Remus to say it instead?" Harry sneered. He was too tired for this. But maybe a fight was what he needed. He was tired of having to be the reasonable one all the time. "Like in the Infirmary when he apologised for you trying to use him as a murder weapon."

Sirius went pale then pink, reminding Harry of Draco caught on the hop, and took a sharp breath. He ran a restless hand through his hair. "He told me to do my own dirty-work for a change." His voice was very soft. He grinned ruefully. "But Harry… I finally twigged over something James left me in his will… been carrying it around all this time… or since I had Crookshanks fetch it from my vault in Gringotts along with some money back in your third year… Merlin knows how the Aurors put it into my vault. James – James always reckoned it was the most important lesson he learned at Hogwarts, but he never found out how he learned it."

He pulled out a yellowing piece of paper that looked like it had been torn from a notebook.

Harry opened it. His jaw dropped as he read:

_I, James Potter, will cease and desist being an arrogant, big-headed bully. And grow up._

"I thought you could shed some light on it," Sirius said softly.

Harry started laughing and found he couldn't stop.

Luckily Remus came back at that point. The Ravenclaws couldn't have been too far out of control. He looked alarmed at finding Harry losing the last of his own control, however, and shot an angry look at Sirius, who stood and backed away, hands raised.

"I only said –"

"Oh, bugger off, Sirius," growled Remus.

Harry found that funny, too.

"Harry, sit down. Sirius, go and make yourself useful… the kitchen needs cleaning…"

Sirius disappeared, face stricken.

"Drink this, Harry."

"What is it?"

"A calming potion. Here. Look. Three drops in my cocoa. I'm drinking it. God knows I need it…" he grumbled.

Harry felt bad and stopped laughing. Remus really did look like he needed something for stress. Like a long holiday with no full moon. He accepted his cocoa with its three drops of the potion and drank.

He felt better almost immediately. But tired. Incredibly tired.

"When did you last get a decent night's sleep, Harry?"

"Can't remember."

"Hm. You were up early this morning."

"So were you."

"True. Do you want to go back to your dormitory or stay in the spare bedroom?"

"What about Sirius?"

"He's slept on the floor before."

Harry's eyelids were drooping. The question was taken out of his hands before he could really think too hard about it, because the next thing he was aware of was the dim sense of being wrapped in a blanket and Remus carrying him into a dark room (werewolves were really strong, he thought muzzily) and there was a bed and…

He slept.

ooOOoo


	77. Chapter 77

Disclaimer: Characters and settings (apart from Elmsworthy, who takes offence at being lumped in with scenery) belong to JK Rowling and the Warner people. Yay them.

ooOOoo

Chapter 77

The next morning, Harry woke in mild bewilderment and a bedroom that wasn't his. It took him a moment to orient himself in time as well as space – he'd just woken from a dream where he'd gone back in time to the age of the Vikings where Simon had eight legs and Dumbledore (in a broad-brimmed hat and an eye patch) was explaining that it was only because Simon was in fact the mythical Norse horse Sleipnir and had to go back to his owner Thor because lightning deliveries were running late, and Harry had been horrified to meet Thor and find Thor looked a lot like Lucius Malfoy should a Malfoy ever appear in overalls with a clipboard and a quill behind his ear as he said, "Rum old weather we're having, innit?" Lucius rode away on Simon as Dumbledore tried to explain to a distraught Harry the significance of signing your name in Ogham runes.

Harry woke up almost weeping in frustration because Simon hadn't even said goodbye and now he was stuck in the wrong time and people were expecting him to throw axes at Luna to cut off her braids and Luna didn't even wear her hair in braids and Harry was more likely to chop off her head than her braids, as Hermione kept telling him in her irritated haven't-you-ever-read-_Asgard-A-Saga_? way as she fried bacon down in the Potions classroom. Harry tried to tell her all copies had been checked out of the library, and the Severus-badger sneered and took a gazillion points off Gryffindor for not being prepared for the lesson.

It was almost a relief to find he was in Lupin's spare bedroom, with Sirius curled up on the rug next to the bed in his Animagus form. When he looked around he couldn't see any axes, which was reassuring. And possibly lucky for Sirius. He was pretty sure he hadn't just lost a gazillion points, too, but couldn't shake the nagging feeling he needed to check the giant points hourglasses in the Entrance Hall to make certain.

Then Harry remembered the barrier and the potions and the riding lesson he was meant to be giving this morning, and relief congealed back into that frustration from the dream, given an added swig of bitter as he glanced again at the black dog sound asleep on the floor.

Odd…

He sniffed experimentally. Yes – the smell of bacon seemed to have followed him out of the dream.

He got up as silently as he could. He didn't want to deal with Sirius this morning. There was an old dressing gown hanging behind the door. Rather than risk the susurration of getting dressed waking Sirius, he put on the dressing gown, picked up his clothes, and left, closing the door behind him noiselessly.

Remus was already in the parlour. "Good morning," he said softly. "Thought you might be hungry."

There was bacon and eggs and toast on the table, along with pots of jam and honey and a pot of tea steaming away cheerfully. Remus was sipping coffee, but Harry had long ago learned that: a. staff had some sort of unspoken rule which prohibited students drinking coffee, and (after the few times he'd tried it) b. coffee smelt a lot better than it tasted, and Harry preferred a nice cup of standard Muggle Yorkshire tea instead.

His stomach growled like a wild animal.

Remus smiled, his gently-creased face creasing in a gentle smile. "As we don't currently have a full moon shining on me I'll take that as a yes from you."

Harry found himself smiling back. "Looks great," he said. "Oh, and good morning." He realised he was still not dressed. "Er, can I borrow your bathroom?"

Remus nodded towards a door.

Harry dressed in the small bathroom as quickly as possible, splashed water over his face and the back of his neck in an effort to wake up, and re-emerged to find the werewolf spreading honey over toast that smelt wonderfully buttery.

"Sleep well?"

"Mm. Weird dreams…" Harry yawned widely and scratched his hair. He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror and jumped.

"Anything prophetic?" The werewolf's eyes crinkled at the corners. He leaned back in his chair and took a big bite of toast, using his thumb to wipe honey-sticky crumbs from the corner of his mouth.

"Not unless we're expecting Simon to turn into Sleipnir and have Thor come back to reclaim him."

"As a matter of fact, Sleipnir was Odin's horse."

"Oh. Maybe it's a good sign for Dumbledore. He was Odin in the dream. But it was Thor who took Simon – and he looked like Lucius Malfoy."

"Really?" Remus frowned.

"Well, if Mr Malfoy ever wore overalls and carried a clipboard like a Muggle deliveryman and went on about the weather."

Remus chuckled. "I think we're safe from that one."

"Pretty safe, yeah." Harry combed his fingers through his hair then gave it up as futile.

"Is Sirius awake?" asked Lupin. He shook his head before Harry could answer. "As neither of you have stormed out the door yet I'll take _that_ one as a no."

Harry sighed and slumped down on the sofa. He picked up a plate and began shovelling food onto it, suddenly realising he was ravenous. "I suppose it's no use telling you you've got better scrying abilities than Trelawney."

"It's called observation," Remus told him, his eyes twinkling as he filled Harry's cup. "One lump or two?"

"I hope that was about sugar," Harry said. "I've got to give a riding lesson today – Simon doesn't tend to ask how many lumps you want – he just dishes them out. Er," he added, worried Remus might take against Simon (or take against the horse even more), "that was a joke. Sort of. Simon might give out a nip when he thinks we're misbehaving but he's pretty gentle considering the damage he can do."

Remus nodded. "It would be against the interests of his herd for him to damage his babies."

Harry snorted tea through his nose and had to mop it off his chest. He grimaced and blew his nose. "Yuck. Tea's not meant to go through the sinuses…"

Lupin gave him his best professorial nod. "I've been told that."

Harry shook his head, still amused and horrified at the mental image of a prim Simon in a poke-bonnet like some Victorian nanny pulling around a giant pram with Harry, Draco and Luna inside. "His _babies_? Pro_fe_ssor…"

Remus seemed to be trying hard not to laugh. "Well, maybe babies was a bit much, because he can take orders from you and Malfoy. But from what I've read horses can be quite rough with each other."

"Only when they're really upset about something. Or trying to change the pecking order. Otherwise they're generally quite gentle," Harry countered.

"I suppose it's easier for you to see that. The only horse I've encountered remains to this time quite strenuous in his efforts to kick my head in."

"It's, um, the, er…"

"The werewolf thing?"

"Um. Yes."

Remus nodded and turned his mug in his hands. Perhaps it was possible to scry with coffee – Harry had heard that in the old days they used a bowl of water and a few drops of ink, although Trelawney had sneered at it (which might mean there was something in the theory after all). "It's always the werewolf thing. But you keep going… things could be a lot worse."

"Yeah, you could be a werewolf _and_ be stuck behind a barrier with Death Eaters outside waiting to hex you to Kingdom Come," Harry said cheerfully, then hoped he hadn't overdone it with the morbid humour. Not everyone was waiting to die, after all.

Remus slanted a smile at him. The morning light slanted across his eyes, bringing out bubbles of green and amber. Today his eyes looked very human. "True. But if I was…"

"You'd what?" Harry prompted, suddenly very serious about hearing Remus' answer.

"I would… keep going. There are always little things. Like breakfast and conversation with a friend. And the prospect of a fine day in Scotland."

"Bonus," said Harry, nodding. The sky outside was already very blue, unusually so. It would be nice to ride Simon up into the hills, get away and let the breeze blow through his hair, just him and his horse. Maybe he would skip lessons and go later. "I've got to give Professors Dumbledore and Flitwick a riding lesson, but do you think anyone would notice if I stayed out longer and took Simon for a run? It's been a while since he was taken out for some decent exercise and he's getting bored just running around on that long rope in the meadow."

He'd merely been thinking aloud, but Remus said, "I'll write you a note excusing you from classes if you like."

"Thanks." Harry gave him a grateful smile.

"Are you sure you want to miss Potions this morning? It should be something special."

"Er, I think I can live without one Potions class." He wished he could tell Remus the real reason, that it could be his last day in the world and he wanted to spend it relaxing, not having to worry about everyone else. He wanted something selfish, just for a little while, just as payment in advance.

Remus probably thought he was worrying this would be the last time he'd ride Simon.

He was almost right – it would probably be the second-to-last time.

Harry made a conscious effort to wrench himself away from such negative things. It looked like it was going to be a good day. He should make the most of it.

_As the man said, live each day like it's your last. You never know when it will be._

ooOOoo

After breakfast Harry remembered the potions.

Harry nearly had an aneurysm when he got to the small room where the anti-Voldie potion was being made.

_Had_ been being made: Everything was dismantled and, well, gone.

Harry stood in the middle of the room and tried to calm himself down. It wasn't quite panic and it wasn't quite rage. It was an uneasy alliance of the two that sent his heart racing and his ears roaring. The world seemed to be pressing in around the edges and he wanted to hit something and run to Dumbledore's office and demand to know where the bloody potion was.

"Hello. There you are."

Harry spun on his heel to see Hermione, Ron and Elmsworthy. Draco was behind them, trying (without much success) to look over Ron's rangy shoulder into the room.

"It's gone," he said, breathing hard.

"Sorry," said Hermione. "We tried to find you at breakfast…"

"I had breakfast with Professor Lupin and that git who claims to have my best interests at heart."

"Oh. Um. Well, about the potions…"

Harry scrubbed his hands across his face. The tiredness which had almost disappeared after a decent night's sleep was back, weighing him down like a Lethifold. "…Are gone. Yes. So I see. Who took them?"

"Er… Dumbledore did," said Hermione tentatively.

Harry said some words that had Draco raising both pale eyebrows.

Elmsworthy frowned. "Is that actually possible to do? Not really a branch of magic I've had anything to do with, but –"

"Oh, just tell him," snapped Draco, pushing his way into the room. He'd had enough of being away from centre-stage, evidently.

"Tell me what?" Harry sighed.

"Dumbledore got the potions, but we have some more," Ron said.

Harry frowned. "What? But we didn't have any more mistletoe base, and –"

Hermione raised her hands. "You know how it was only one part anti-Voldie potion added into ninety-nine parts of water? Well, that left buckets left over."

Harry did the maths. It was very simple. So simple he couldn't understand how he could have missed it. "I've been very tired…"

"We know," Hermione soothed. "It was like this…"

Elmsworthy, who'd been bored and in need of something to experiment with, was the one who'd siphoned off enough proto-anti-Voldie potion late last night to make a spare bottle for Harry (and probably several gallons for himself – because who knew what the Slytherin got up to in his spare time when he wasn't actively blowing things up?). He'd given it the phial to Hermione, who was supposed to take over the watch at nine thirty in the evening.

When Hermione returned from her little mission of hiding the spare proto-potion, he'd also pointed out that he'd done a few calculations in his free time (he pulled out the paper and showed Harry which didn't help his ego, because he wasn't sure what half the symbols were), proving on paper at least that they only needed three cc's of the barrier-breaking potion per tree, so why not take some from the stone bottles just in case something happened because you never knew, y'know? So Hermione (who had access to the bottles) had done so. 

And maybe, Elmsworthy had pointed out, warming to the subject of working around Dumbledore, maybe they could get through the wards on the trees by chucking a dart at each tree – darts from the Slytherin common room he and Hermione and Ron (because Ron was getting annoyed at all the time Hermione was spending with the Slytherin) had modified last night into something Elmsworthy and Hermione agreed were similar to the tranquillizer darts used by Muggle zoo veterinarians on large animals such as rhinos and lions.

Harry agreed that the darts were a great idea and was grateful if secretly appalled Elmsworthy knew so much about what he, Hermione and Draco were planning.

Hermione had already solved the problem of getting under Voldemort's skin. She'd put a shattering spell on the glass bottle – that way the glass would smash on impact and the shards would drive the potion in. It only needed the barest pinprick, and the thing about glass was that once it was broken it was extremely nasty. And the spell Hermione put on the phial must have been on nodding acquaintance with Dark magic, if it wasn't Dark magic itself. Harry was impressed. Almost as impressed with the way she produced two little brown phials from her pocket – one for him, one for Draco – to pair the ones Dumbledore had taken to break the barrier. "They're colour-coded. Brown for 'barrier', pale violet for 'Voldie'," she told him. "And here are some darts to deliver the potion through the tree wards. Three each, although Tyrol suggested you be the one to use them, Malfoy – he said you're a bit of a wiz at darts. Oh, and I've got the third bottle for the tree on this side of the barrier. Ron and I will apply it at a set time – make sure you get yours onto the two trees at about the same time relative to the difference between the outside and the inside of the barrier, okay? I've worked out the time difference – choose one particular time and I'll make sure Ron and I are at the tree putting potion on it at the correct time for here."

"Er… right. I'd forgotten about the time difference," Harry confessed.

"Granger hadn't. Marvellous work there," Elmsworthy said.

Hermione went pink.

"Get your own bloody girlfriend," said Ron.

"Ron!" exclaimed Hermione.

Elmsworthy gave Ron a rakish grin that amazed Harry, who wouldn't have thought the Slytherin had it in him. "Jealous, are we?"

Ron's scowl melted and he smiled sweetly. Then gave Elmsworthy a big hug. "There we go. Next time you want a cuddle with Hermione, let me know. I'll stand in as her agent."

Elmsworthy shook him off. He had gone as pink as Hermione. Draco had his hand clamped across his mouth to stifle a laugh. "So if I want a kiss…?" said the older Slytherin.

Ron pressed his hands to either side of Elmsworthy's face and leaned forward. Elmsworthy jerked back just in time.

"Have I made my point?" asked Ron.

Elmsworthy glared back in a way that said he had.

Before there could be out and out warfare (or Elmsworthy upped the stakes by finding out just how far Ron would go to prove a point) Harry said, "Do you know where the other barrier trees are?"

"Not yet," said Hermione. 

"But we thought about going looking after the first lesson," said Draco. "You want to come?" he asked Elmsworthy and Harry.

"I think I have to," sighed Harry. "It's going to be a busy day."

"Tell me about it. I have the last of my votes to buy up – or threaten for. Elections tomorrow."

"You're really going ahead with that?" said Elmsworthy, shaking his head.

"Keeping up morale." Draco smirked. "Besides, if people think I'm not plotting over the election they'll start worrying I'm plotting to do something else."

"Ah. Good point. And yes, I'll come. Where are we meeting?"

"Front doors," said Hermione. "Straight after Potions."

"I might have a little cleaning to do, but can you wait five minutes?"

Harry nodded. "Sure." It would be worth it to have Elmsworthy come into the Forest with them. "Bring your bandoleer of potions."

"You got it."

"Thanks for getting the anti-Voldie potion for us, by the way. I really appreciate it."

"So we're square for the fig slice you gave me?" Elmsworthy asked.

"Uh, actually we were square before that," Harry said. "It was a gift."

Elmsworthy scowled. Apparently Harry had missed the point.

"All right," Harry agreed hurriedly. "We're square. Even stevens. All debts paid in full."

Elmsworthy relaxed and Hermione gave Harry a smile like he'd just done a clever trick.

"Just out of curiosity, Granger," said Elmsworthy, "why don't you use your cat to send a message to the people in Hogsmeade?"

"As a matter of fact I asked the Headmaster about that myself," she replied, her mouth deepening at the corners in a momentary grimace. "He said he'd rather I didn't."

"Didn't say why either," said Ron, who must have been there for the conversation.

"Probably doesn't want to risk your cat getting caught with a message on the only night there's a chance for Dumbledore to ambush the Dark Lord," Elmsworthy said.

"How the hell do you know all this?" Harry exploded. "The protective spells, the link to the barrier, the whatsyoucallit threshold quotient…" He calmed down with some effort. "I mean, do you have some sort of insight into Voldie's head or something?"

"No, that's meant to be you." Elmsworthy didn't give any sign he was joking. He sighed and rubbed his hands together. "Look, it's easy when you sit down and think about it. The spells he's using are based on solid arithmantaical formulae. You can work out fields from that. And the spells he used are on record in the History of Magic section – and in the old newspapers. You can work out other stuff from there. As for Granger's cat, that's basic psychology. Dumbledore has this one chance to get You-Know-Who. He doesn't want to botch it, because if he does then You-Know-Who gets away again and goes on to wreak merry hell throughout the Muggle and Wizarding worlds. Dumbledore doesn't like killing people and I don't know why he's been waiting all this time as if you, Harry, were meant to do the dirty work for him…?"

"Prophecy," said Harry faintly, deciding why not go the whole hog and let Elmsworthy know everything. "Me or Voldie have to die."

"Oh. I didn't think Dumbledore the sort to put his faith in mumbo-jumbo. Unless it was a really accurate prophecy, which have been documented, but to be honest I've never looked that deeply into them… Is it specific?"

"Not beyond the one-can-only-live-if-the-other-dies bit." Harry was reeling slightly at the fact that there was one subject in which Elmsworthy admitted to less than omniscience.

"Uh. I see your problem. There can be only one – very _Highlander_. Ever see the mov- okay, off topic again." He sighed. "No wonder the latest Dark Lord has it in for you, Potter." Elmsworthy looked sympathetic. "Um… where was I? Oh, right. So I guess Dumbledore got sick of waiting for you to act as sacrificial lamb or whatever and is going to do the decent thing and tackle the Dark Lord himself. 'bout bloody time. I mean, what's he on about, having people a hundred years younger than him and with a fraction of his power running around after an evil bastard like Lord V?" He looked at his watch. "Anyway, as for me, I've got to get on for my next class."

"Us, too. Potions," said Hermione, who was resting a hand on Harry's arm. He guessed his stress levels were becoming a little obvious. He looked around and it suddenly hit him, the fact that these people were clever, good people; they were his friends. Why was he worrying them? Why not relax a little and enjoy their company?

"Professor Lupin said it was going to be a good one," Harry said.

"Is he taking it?" asked Hermione.

"No. He's got the seventh-years for DADA." Elmsworthy hummed. He smirked, apparently at nothing. "So. Five minutes after first class, front doors? I want to learn these location spells of yours, Comrade."

"No problem," said Draco, who'd warmed to Elmsworthy after hearing himself described as a wiz at darts.

"I'll see you lot later, then," said Harry. He waved his pass. "I'm going to give Simon some exercise. It's been a while since he got taken out over the hills and he must be getting bored with the meadow."

"Enjoy," said Draco. "Make sure you don't tire him out too much – he's got to give Dumbledore a lesson straight after lunch."

"Oh, is that when we're playing riding instructors?" Harry wasn't sure he liked the idea of giving lessons to his professors, but then it was really Simon who'd set the tone for it. "Huh, y'know what Luna said once? She said that a really good horse that is kind, safe and easy for beginners to ride is known as a 'schoolmaster'." He grinned, feeling calmer again. The prospect of a ride cheered him up, and Hermione's hand on his arm had reminded him that he wasn't alone. He had friends. Living, breathing, warm friends who were capable of taking care of themselves: their lives didn't necessarily rest on Harry's actions. He wondered why he hadn't seen all this yesterday, but supposed it was because he'd been so tired. "Can't really see Simon in robes."

"He's got the sneer down pat," Elmsworthy pointed out. "Don't get him started with detentions. He might hand you over to Filch for brushing him wrong."

"Huh. Muggles must have a different idea of what constitutes a schoolmaster," said Ron. "Kind? Safe? Whatever happened to putting our lives in mortal peril because the schoolmaster's a secret followers of You-Know-Who? Or giving Gryffindors detention because we breathe wrong?"

"Those were the good old days," said Draco, heading out the door. "Got to move with the times."

They followed, speculating whether Dumbledore and Flitwick would find Simon kind, safe or easy. Hermione was sure they would be fine. McGonagall had told her that the headmaster had some previous experience on horseback, although admittedly that was the better part of a century ago. And Simon liked Flitwick…

Ron and Elmsworthy were betting chocolate frogs on who would be bucked off first.

"Harry, mate," Ron whispered, "let Dumbledore have first go. I've got five frogs that he'll be first to fall – within the first three minutes. So here's a packet of Instant Itch… just sprinkle a bit under the saddle, okay?"

"Sure, Ron." Harry had his fingers crossed as he took the packet, deciding to save it for something better.

ooOOoo

He had a full stomach and his friends were taking care of the potions side of things. Speaking of Potions, he had a note in his pocket excusing him from the lesson and a beautiful morning to spend outside. Feeling more optimistic than he'd felt in a long time, Harry whistled tunelessly through his teeth as he strolled up to the paddock.

Simon was in a good mood, too. He was a little too happy, perhaps, and Harry had to ride him in a few circles before he convinced him that today was a good day to stay on the ground and let Harry stay on his back, rather than send Harry soaring through the air to be smashed back into the ground.

After a few minor bucks, Simon took the point.

Harry turned the horse's head towards the hills and they set off at a canter which swiftly turned into a gallop. Harry stretched forward and laughed as the wind pushed back his hair, the air cool on his scar, and his laughter seemed to encourage the horse faster and faster until they were almost flying.

He rode Simon back on a loose rein. Simon wanted to go faster, but Harry gently insisted on a walk, not wanting Simon to hurt his legs by galloping too much on the hard ground. Simon settled for a brisk, long-legged stride that covered the ground almost as fast as a trot and Harry relaxed into it and enjoyed the view of the mountains and lake with the castle rising beyond it.

Simon was reluctant to return to the paddock, but Hagrid had been up in his absence and there was a big pile of sweet-smelling hay waiting, which stopped the horse from sulking. Harry brushed him down quickly, checked the long legs and hooves (shoes all on nice and tight as far as he could tell, although he wasn't sure if there was any significance in the way the nails were beginning to rise where they came out of the hoof) and left the cover off. It was a warm day and he'd be back in a few hours. Simon would be fine. He gave the horse a final pat on the shoulder and left Simon to his hay.

The others were waiting for him at the doors. It must be more than five minutes after the end of the lesson, because Elmsworthy was there. Hermione waved and Harry waved back, his heart lifting at the sight of his friends.

ooOOoo

A/N: Yes. At long last. In the next chapter we have the riding lesson. Mwa-ha-ha-haa! 


	78. Chapter 78

Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to JK Rowling and Warner. I make no money from this. Be nice if I was, but hey, I'm only borrowing these toys. I promise to return (most) of them in good condition. Possibly in even better condition than I received them.

ooOOoo

Chapter 78

Hermione had the foresight to bring a picnic and scolded Ron when he tried to see what was in the bag, telling him he would just have to wait until after they'd found the you-know-whats. They were aware of how little time they had – only two hours before Harry and Draco were booked in to give a riding lesson – so they walked at a brisk pace. Harry looked back towards the paddock as they headed into the thinner trees at the edge of the Forest. There was Simon, head over the fence as the horse watched them go.

Harry fancied the horse looked cross.

Well, Simon didn't approve of the Forest.

They found the first tree. It was still invisible, and the rocks Harry had spelled to act as a beacon were working nicely. No-one walked into the tree. They used to it work out the directions of the other two trees (or Draco, Hermione and Elmsworthy did, while Harry, Ron and Neville nodded occasionally and tried to look like they knew what the other three were on about). Elmsworthy took the opportunity to sound out the barrier potion (literally sound out, using a modified tuning fork he adjusted to the frequency of the barrier tree), and judged it excellent. He didn't quite smile, but the nod he gave was almost cheerful. Harry thought the tuning fork made rather a pleasant noise, but didn't say so in case he sounded naïve. There was a brief discussion on the merits of testing the anti-Voldie potion by taking it out to the barrier itself, but Hermione was adamant that it might alert Voldemort. Elmsworthy thought the chances were less than six and a quarter percent, but agreed that even that was a risk. Draco said that in that case they'd keep the anti-Voldie potion away from the barrier, becoming quite sharp when Ron suggested six percent was so low they didn't need to worry about risks: it was Draco's family on the line, Harry remembered. Like the reflection in Harry's mirror of late, Draco also looked tired.

"When's the election?" Harry asked as they made their way back through the trees. None of them wanted to stay in the Forest longer than they had to, and Hermione thought it would be easy enough to finish off the last of the spells when they were somewhere safer.

"Tomorrow."

"And Comrade President-In-Waiting is still currying votes," said Elmsworthy.

"I should hope I've got yours."

"Huh. I might make a protest vote. I hear Peeves is running…"

Draco snorted.

Hermione said brightly, before anyone could start arguing, "I'm terribly thirsty. Ginger beer, anyone? I made it myself." She magic'd up a set of paper cups.

They all had some as they walked. Even Draco admitted it was good. Ron and Elmsworthy held a burping contest to see who could get furthest through the alphabet. Ron won, making Neville unable to stop laughing even after he snorted ginger beer through his nose. Ron swore as his paper cup dissolved and spilled ginger beer down his arm.

Hermione gave Harry a look that said: I know, but he's got his good points, okay?

Instead of going back to the castle, they went to sit on the jetty by the lake and break out the food. Some students were out in a small boat. The giant squid was pushing them gently across the water, and by the shrieks of laughter coming across the water this was the most fun the students had had in weeks. Ron lay down on his stomach. The water was high enough for him to reach and he washed his hands, muttering to himself that he hoped there were no grindelows around.

Hermione shook her head fondly as she shook open a small blanket to lay out the sandwiches, fruit and an eclectic selection of cakes. She pointed with her chin to the little boat. "Were we ever that young?"

"No," said Elmsworthy, biting into a pear. "Mum says I was born forty years old. Ick." He wiped a rivulet of juice off his chin.

"This from the forty-year-old who sulked because he came second in a burping contest," Draco remarked.

Elmsworthy pretended he didn't hear, and surreptitiously wiped his hand on his robes. Harry tried not to smile. Those gingerbread men looked fun, and Harry wasn't above juvenile food… He took the one with a jellybean smile. His luck was in – the jellybean was orange flavoured. It went well with the gingerbread. He'd have to ask Dobby if they could have some more some time.

"Where's my paper…?" Hermione muttered, searching her bag.

"Here," said Ron. "I had it while Malfoy was teaching you about the location charms." He passed over a scroll along with a few crumbs from the donut he'd turned from an O into a C.

"Oh, ta. Those were great charms, by the way, Draco," she said.

"I'm noted for my charms," replied Draco, smirking.

Ron snorted.

"Like that paper bag summoning charm you tried on Simon?" Harry said. "Show them the bruises he gave you."

"Huh." Draco muttered something that sounded more like a curse than a charm, but he did help Hermione fix the locations of the other two trees into the parchment.

It was finished very quickly.

"Does it work?" asked Harry, peering over Hermione's shoulder at the map.

"Should do." She gestured at the parchment, which showed a relief map of the surrounding area. Inside the barrier was very clear, with the barrier tree crisply marked. Outside it, the lines blurred slightly. Two red spots, one towards Hogsmeade, the other some distance south, pulsed faintly. "It's a little indistinct, I know, but that's the time distortion. Once you're on the other side of the barrier it'll be fine. Just make sure it's turned off _while _you go through the barrier, otherwise the spells will all get stripped."

Draco took a sandwich. "Who made these?"

"I asked the house elves," Hermione said. "Smoked chicken and ham. We're out of beef."

"Smoked chicken's good." He leaned back against a post and dropped a crust into the water. It was snatched from the surface by what looked like a small clawed hand. He decided not to tell Ron. Harry inhaled a chicken sandwich and then took another gingerbread man. They were the best he'd ever had. He sighed happily. The happiness dimmed when he realised he was looking around for Luna.

"I don't believe it," said Neville from where he was sitting cross-legged picking apart a seed head. At first it appeared he'd found a new species of grass, then he added, "We've been into the Forest, found a tree used for evil plans, plotted the positions of You-Know-Who's two other trees of evil, and not been maimed, hexed, exsanguinated or had a bump to the head."

"I think I stubbed my toe," Ron said helpfully.

Neville rolled his eyes. "Apart from that one major calamity, we're currently sitting in the sun enjoying a picnic. Is it just me, or is there something really strange about this situation?"

"Law of averages," Elmsworthy told him. "We were bound to luck out sooner or later." But he tapped a plank of the jetty.

Harry laughed. "You just touched wood. You're superstitious."

"Maybe a bit."

"What does touching wood have to do with superstition?" Ron asked lazily. He was stretched out next to Hermione, trying to stop the contents of a sandwich from falling outside of his mouth. If the uneven planks were uncomfortable, he didn't give any signs of it. "You never – _unkh…_ blasted beetroot…" he grimaced and fished it out of his ear "… you never struck me as the sort to be taking Divinations, Comrade Tyrol."

"Muggle superstition," Hermione told him. "You say everything's going to be fine, then you have to touch something wooden to take away the bad luck of being optimistic. That beetroot clashes with your hair, Ron."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I don't believe it. Muggles are worse than Trelawney."

Hermione's eyes flashed and her hair became a little bushier with ire. "No, they're not."

"Yes, they bloody well are," said Elmsworthy calmly. "There's a lot of money in gullibility, so it's heavily encouraged."

"Really?" Draco looked far too interested at this.

Harry thought it safest to change the subject. "So how was Potions today?"

Someone laughed. After a couple of seconds, Harry realised it was Elmsworthy. That was new. He sat up straighter. "What happened?"

"Comrade Tyrol taught the class today," Draco informed him.

"What? What'd I miss?" And had it been good or bad?

"I made a potion," Neville said, puffing up with pride.

"You did a good job of it, too," Elmsworthy told him. "Once you colour-coded your notes to the stages and grouped categories into boxes, you were flying. You simply can't work with a list, that's all."

"Why didn't anyone tell me that before?" Neville complained. "I mean, Snape hated me, but McGonagall or Sprout? Flitwick? _Trelawney?_ Shouldn't they have said something?"

"People are idiots. Stop relying on them."

"Oh. Okay." Neville sat back and picked up a sandwich and tried to look like he knew the difference between Elmsworthy being serious and Elmsworthy joking.

"All people?" asked Draco. He seemed to think the other Slytherin was serious.

"Probably," replied Elmsworthy calmly. "Before you ask, yes, me included."

"It must be awful for you, being such a perfectionist," Hermione chided gently. Then tweaked Ron's ear when he muttered something about the hearth calling the cauldron black. "But it was a good lesson, wasn't it? I didn't know you could use a potion for that."

"Oh yes. If you use the right combination. And you can apply it in other gingerols- and cassia-related areas, too."

"Hm, you know, the possibilities are endless…"

"What? What'd you make?" Harry was getting annoyed now. He'd missed the fun and wasn't quite sure what the fun had been. Gingerols? Cassia? What were those supposed to be? He bit the head off a third gingerbread man. Mm. There was cinnamon in it, too…

Ron grinned at him. "Relax. We made cauldron cakes."

"Most of you did. I wanted to see if I could get the degree of effervescence right for the ginger beer," Hermione said. "It worked."

"On the second time," Ron muttered.

Draco sniggered. "Glad I wasn't on that side of the room. I'll have to get a Pensieve one of these days, just to revisit the expression on Patil's face."

Harry _had_ missed something. He scowled. Then he remembered the view of the Forest undulating away in soft dark waves on the far side of the castle as he and Simon came back from their ride, and decided that what he'd had had been at least as fine as anything anyone had experienced in class.

"Ron made those donuts. I made cauldron gingerbread men," said Neville.

Harry tried to stop the swallow but it was too late. The idea of drinking some concoction of Hermione's wasn't so foreign, not after second year and the Polyjuice Potion, but there was a limit. He was sure he felt it when the mouthful of gingerbread hit his stomach. Was it sending out the first warning bubbles, or was that his imagination? "I'm eating gingerbread men that came out of a cauldron? I'm eating gingerbread men that came out of _Neville's_ cauldron?"

"Hey…"

"Sorry, Nev'…"

"They're fine," Draco assured Harry loftily. "Even Professor Sinistra ate one, and you _know_ how picky she is."

Harry didn't really know much about Sinistra except she gave scads of homework. "Don't see you eating any." Harry put his hand on his stomach just in case it decided to do something weird.

"I prefer savoury food first. You know – manners and proper digestion?"

"Manners and digestion? You and Simon should compare notes," Ron said, idly seeing how far things could be pushed with Malfoy.

"True. He is a superior sort of horse, isn't he." Draco smirked, because no-one would dare dispute Simon's superiority over other members of his species and thus, thanks to Ron's implication that Draco and Simon were of a type, Draco's own superiority.

Ron only yawned and dozed off with his head in Hermione's lap.

It was a pleasant interlude and it was over too fast.

"Time to get on," Elmsworthy said eventually. "I've got a class to prepare for."

"Teacher or student?" asked Hermione, brushing crumbs out of Ron's hair.

"Teacher. First-years this time. I thought we could make toffee apples."

"Sounds fun." But Draco looked at his fellow Slytherin as if he thought the taller boy was out of his head turning Potions into cooking lessons.

"Yes. I thought that if the evil queen in the Snow White story had used a toffee apple she'd have had more success with inflicting the poison. Just a spoonful of sugar helps the necrotising pustule-producing potion go down, just like the song almost says."

"Oh." Hermione's expression, initially smiling, quickly shifted to horrified.

"What's the Snow White story?" asked Ron, scratching his stomach lazily.

"Uh, I think it's the Muggle version of 'Elderberry of Stump Cottage'."

"Oh." Ron looked ready to go back to sleep. Hermione and Harry dragged him to his feet while Draco and Neville flicked their wands and tidied up the remains of the picnic. Draco had his wand in one hand, half a gingerbread man in the other, and crumbs on his chin. Harry wondered if he should have tried a fourth one after all. The first three hadn't done anything weird.

They strolled back to the castle, not inclined to hurry. Harry and Draco trailed behind the others still arguing over the merits of cauldron cakes versus cakes from an oven.

The argument was still going when the arrived in the Entrance Hall. Ron was adamant that nothing could top his mum's cooking, and Harry was going to wait until he was sure there were no after-effects from the gingerbread men before he offered his opinion that Neville might give her a run for her money one day if he ever decided to go in to cooking. Then again, hinting that Molly Weasley mightn't be the world's best cook wouldn't sit well with Ron, so Harry decided to keep his mouth shut and was glad to disappear in the direction of the Headmaster's Office before he could be dragged into the argument.

"Any thoughts on the riding lesson?" he asked Draco.

Draco ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. His nose was starting to go pink, as were his cheeks, and he looked like he'd rather go to sleep than teach elderly wizards the finer points of equitation. He yawned, then frowned in thought. "No," he said eventually. "You?"

"I thought it would be a good idea if Hooch comes."

Draco considered a moment, then nodded. "Agreed. Or Pomfrey."

"Well, Simon likes her, but she doesn't know much about horses."

"Prat," Draco said good-naturedly. "No, but she knows a lot about mending broken bones."

"Oh. Right. You're not optimistic today, then."

"No. I'm trying for realism."

"Novel approach. Hogwarts usually only deals in surrealism."

Draco straightened and chuckled; caught off guard he gave Harry a grin instead of a smirk. "True."

They found Remus in the office along with Flitwick and Dumbledore. That was a nice surprise. And Sirius. Which wasn't. Hooch was absent. That was not a good sign, either. Harry decided it wouldn't be considerate to ask if Pomfrey could come. And while he was pleased to see Remus, a certain four-legged Hogwartsian of the equine persuasion would think somewhat differently.

"Don't worry," Remus said quickly, "I have no intention of inciting a riot by setting foot in Simon's paddock."

"I was trying to think of a tactful way of asking you to stay away," said Draco. "Thanks for the reprieve."

Sirius gave a faint twitch of his eyebrows, but Remus smiled.

Dumbledore gestured them towards the two free chairs. Harry had noticed that there always seemed to be enough chairs for everyone, providing the room wasn't overflowing with people, of course. The chairs seldom matched. Aware that he'd come back from the paddock without changing his clothes, Harry deliberately selected the rattier moss green armchair, while Draco settled neatly onto a more severe high-backed wooden chair with a maroon velvet seat and gold tassels, not quite restraining a sneer at the Gryffindor colours.

There was a semblance of polite conversation and three teapots and a jug of milk hung in the air, pouring into cups which floated to various people. Lumps of sugar flew into cups: one for Harry, two for Flitwick and Draco, six or seven for Dumbledore. Harry noticed his tea was the same as Sirius', although his godfather had lemon rather than milk. Then, just as his attention to the trivial was beginning to irk him given that this was probably his last mortal day, they got down to business.

"Have either of you ridden a horse before?" Draco asked. "Recently, I mean."

"No," said Flitwick.

"Not recently, no," said Dumbledore. "Would you like to run through the basics here?"

Harry and Draco exchanged a look. "I think it would be easier to get Simon. Luna taught us through demonstration at the same time as she gave us the theory."

Draco was nodding. "It's also easier to remember things when you're actually doing them."

"Hm. Clothing. Professor Flitwick and I are wearing trousers. Is there anything else we should wear?"

"Um, boots with heels. Low heels, that is," Harry added, remembering that Dumbledore tended to look even taller thanks to his tendency to wear boots with a definite heel. Although he wasn't tired enough to tell Dumbledore that he should stop wearing high heels – there might be people in the room who got the Muggle reference. "Madam Hooch found some for me. Will she be here soon?" Harry asked.

Flitwick shook his shock of white hair. "Unfortunately there was a mishap in Transfigurations. She's helping until the timing spell wears off Professor McGonagall."

"Oh. She's stuck as a cat?" Draco said, his head tilted slightly in an attempt to convey an innocent sympathy that Harry (and probably everyone else in the room) didn't believe for a second. A line formed between Draco's eyes. "And Madam Hooch really can't come?"

"I'm afraid not. I realise you were counting on her, but I expect that you two have enough experience in coaxing Simon over to your point of view now that Filius and I can rely on your expertise."

Harry shot a look at Lupin. The werewolf shrugged. "Do you think you and Mr Malfoy will be up to the challenge, Harry?"

"Well, Simon's not a basilisk –"

"– His glare's up to the challenge." Remus covered a smile with his hand.

Harry smiled as Draco snorted softly. "We'll be fine," Harry said. "So. When shall we go?"

"How about now?" Dumbledore put his cup in its saucer and flicked his wand. A bag (a rustling paper bag) appeared on the table. "He likes apples, doesn't he?"

"Mr Greedy likes anything," Draco informed him.

"Not lemon drops. Never mind. All the more for me." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Would you like Professor Flitwick and myself to come to catch Simon with you, or shall we meet you down in the meadow?"

"The meadow," Draco said. "Too many people coming up to see him might make him think something odd is going on."

"Really?" said Flitwick. "He doesn't take it as a compliment?"

"That horse is a Slytherin," averred Draco. "He's instantly suspicious of anything out of the usual."

"Which would explain a lot," said Remus. "Albus?"

Dumbledore was staring out the window. Harry thought he was smiling. He seemed serene enough when he turned back to the others, however. "Hm? Oh. Yes. A Slytherin horse. Why not."

"Well, because he's a Gryffindor horse, that's why," Harry said, glaring at Draco.

"You said he is intelligent by horse standards. That makes him a Ravenclaw," Flitwick put in, earning himself a huff from Sirius and a definite smile from Dumbledore.

"Perhaps he needs his own House," Remus said diplomatically. "A barn." He looked up at a dusty old shelf. "What do you think, Hat?"

The Sorting Hat yawned. "I don't usually Sort livestock. Well, there was Aberforth's goat, which only really Sorted into Gryffindor because he wanted it to be. But if you insist, bring this Simon by at the beginning of the next school year. I may invent a new category just for him." The tip of the Hat slumped forward and there was the soft sound of it snoring.

ooOOoo

Draco and Harry (and a shaggy black dog that was clever enough to stay at the edge of Harry's glare) took the bag of apples and Simon's tack up to the paddock. They walked up in silence. Simon was pleased to see them and especially delighted to get the apples. He even condescended to touch noses with Snuffles.

While leading the horse down, the silence started to get on Harry's already fraying nerves. He couldn't talk to Draco about tonight, of course, but it would seem suspicious if they didn't talk of anything. So they exchanged a few quiet sentences about tomorrow's elections, keeping their voices down as if they didn't want the dog to hear. Harry had no illusions: dogs have excellent hearing and Sirius would be able to hear every word they said. But it created the atmosphere of privacy and should have left Sirius in no doubt that his presence was unwanted. (And Draco and Harry would be here tomorrow for the elections rather than on the other side of the barrier or the other side of the Final Mystery.)

Sirius didn't transform back until they were in the meadow. It annoyed Harry no end that Simon whinnied to him. Sirius ruffled the horse's forelock fondly.

"Needs a wash," the Animagus commented.

Harry scowled. "What's your brand of pet shampoo?"

Sirius didn't reply to the barb. This annoyed Harry even more. Simon banged his head up and down against Harry's shoulder, trying to get rid of that itch that always built up under the headpiece of the bridle, distracting Harry before he could say something that would make Dumbledore step in. Not that Dumbledore would – he always had Harry fight his own battles as well as everyone else's, Harry said to himself with an aftertaste of that bitterness he'd gone to bed with last night. But Flitwick might give him a pointed look and Harry's respect for the diminutive teacher had grown over the years.

Draco rode Simon around in wide circles, talking as he went, explaining what he was doing and how he was setting and obtaining his goals. He used simple language and Harry was surprised by how well he fell into lecturer mode. Flitwick's uneasiness was visibly subsiding as the Slytherin made controlling what must look like a large, dangerous creature seem like child's play. Simon was being very obliging today. Harry kept his fingers crossed that this happy state would continue. You never quite knew with Simon.

Draco turned Simon and halted him four square just in front of the people on the ground, then backed up Simon a few steps and managed a fairly decent quarter turn on the forehand so Simon was side on to his audience, Simon a fraction over the bit and moving forward instead of pivoting around his forefeet, but not too bad for a novice rider. Simon was now near side on to them, ready for his first rider. Harry nodded to Draco in approval (and was secretly astonished he now knew almost as much jargon for riding a horse as he did for a broom). Draco smirked proudly. A non-Slytherin would have beamed.

Draco dismounted but didn't yield the reins when Harry walked forward. "Who's first?" he asked softly.

Harry tried to look innocent. "I think Dumbledore should have the first ride."

Draco frowned and asked sotto voce if Ron had bribed him with chocolate frogs.

"No. I take it Elmsworthy offered you something."

"Yeah. Half the profits. You didn't even hold out for even one frog? You're a mug."

Harry turned towards the three standing at a respectful distance. It struck Harry as odd that a headmaster of Hogwarts and a professor should be standing at a respectful distance. Flitwick looked pale behind his beard. As for Sirius, he seemed to be trying not to make himself overly obvious.

"Sir? Would you like to have the first ride?" Harry asked Dumbledore.

But Dumbledore and Flitwick had already decided between themselves to have Flitwick up on the horse first, although Flitwick was looking increasingly alarmed. Draco smirked at Harry. Harry ignored him and concentrated on keeping the Charms master calm as he helped him into the saddle.

"Just hold onto the pommel – that's the front part of the saddle – if you think you're going to fall."

Flitwick looked far from reassured. Perched up on Simon's back like the tiniest, oldest jockey in creation, he looked down and said: "Er…"

Simon looked less than enthused, too. He hadn't approved of Dumbledore levitating Flitwick, and now his head was lifted at an "I don't think anyone here has the faintest idea what the hell they're doing" angle. It was almost painfully comic after the time Harry had spent looking at the photos thinking of Severus and how likely it was that all his friends would die very soon… Harry held tightly to the leadrope and tried to think Happy Thoughts. It had worked on the roof yesterday.

Simon stamped a forefoot, making everyone jump.

Harry took a deep breath. "It's okay, sir. Just relax."

But Flitwick couldn't relax. He wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. "I don't think this is a very good idea…"

Simon must have agreed with him, because he began to toss his head and sidle nervously. Horses were good at picking up on the emotional state of those around him. Harry didn't understand why Simon should be so blasé about giving students pony rides then balk when Flitwick had the shakes. That girl who'd burst into tears because she was on the great Muggle monster hadn't made him twitch an eyelash, but right now…

"I think you should get down, sir," Draco said quietly but firmly. "Now would be an excellent time for down, the getting of." Despite the chance of chocolate frogs, the Slytherin wasn't ready to encourage the possibility of Flitwick being thrown from the horse.

"Right you are, Mr Malfoy," said Flitwick. "If you could just hold his head, Mr Potter…" Wand in hand, he slid down from the saddle and landed lightly on his feet. Even Simon seemed relieved, and turned to whuffle in Flitwick's mop of white hair. "I suppose that's horse for 'sorry'. Oh, dear… you're a good horse, Simon, just a little on the tall side," the Charms master sighed, patting Simon's nose.

Simon snorted.

"Yuck," said Flitwick, but he cleaned himself off with a wave of his wand.

Simon didn't seem to take offence at this, but he was still tense. A swish of his tail brushed Draco. The Slytherin patted the horse on the hindquarters. "There, there."

Once Simon seemed more settled, Harry turned to Dumbledore. "Are you sure you want to try this right now, Professor?"

"Needs must, Harry."

Harry wondered just how true Dumbledore knew this was. He held the stirrup for Dumbledore to mount, and the ancient wizard was up and lightly settling himself into the saddle with a spry leap that, for a moment, tricked Harry into forgetting about the worry which was ageing those blue, blue eyes into an accurate measure of just how old Dumbledore really was.

Now that he was on Simon's back, Dumbledore collected up the reins. "My, but it's been a long time since I was on a horse," he said. "But it all comes back to you. Just like riding a penny farthing. Unclip the rope, please, Harry. It isn't necessary. Come, then, Simon; let us see how well we can work together on this."

Not too well, as it turned out.

Sirius, standing next to Hooch with his arms folded, shook his head. "Honestly, Albus – it should be me going. You need to stay here."

Flitwick rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded like Merlin save us all, but the wind was blowing and Harry didn't quite catch it. His attention was fixed on Simon.

"Nonsense. I'm doing fine. Stop, Simon, that's a little too fast…"

Simon, who had been undecided as to whether he was being asked to trot or canter (Harry could tell Dumbledore was leaning too far forward), bounced on his front feet when Dumbledore pulled back on the reins.

Draco made a noise of negation.

Harry shuffled his feet, on the verge of striding over to grab Simon's bridle, when Dumbledore nudged Simon back into a canter. Simon flicked his ears and shook his head, and his tail was clamped down – a definite sign the horse was nervous. "You're –" _leaning forward at the same time you're pulling back which is something Luna told us puts Simon off balance_ was what Harry was going to say, when Simon, being Simon, had the last word.

The _subject_ of the last word was inspired by a rabbit, which shot up from in front of Simon and made the horse rear and, in reflex, Dumbledore jerked the reins.

Simon's mouth was very sensitive to jerked reins.

It was the last word in the form of a snort with a massive buck as the exclamation mark, which sent Dumbledore sailing over the horse's head.

Dumbledore being Dumbledore, he landed lightly and on his feet, still holding the reins. Simon half-reared, very upset now, mouthing at the bit and making it jingle.

Harry jogged forward as Dumbledore lifted a hand to stroke the unsettled horse's nose.

Simon's head jerked back, yanking the reins.

Draco, his face pink, shook off Sirius' restraining hand on his shoulder with a snarl. "I think that's about enough," he said quietly. "He thinks you're going to hit him."

Dumbledore had stilled, a frozen expression on his face, and the twinkle was gone from his eyes. "Easy, my friend," he murmured to Simon, who was quivering slightly, nostrils flaring.

Simon relaxed infinitesimally, and finally allowed Dumbledore to stroke his nose. The Headmaster continued speaking softly, gently running his hand down the long nose until the dark eyes were calmer.

"Why exactly would he think you were going to hit him?" Draco asked softly, but there was an unmistakable edge to his voice. "He's never done that with me or Harry."

"Ah, but then he doesn't regard me as one of the foals under his protection," said Dumbledore. "And no, before you ask, I really couldn't say how he regards me."

"Mixed feelings, I imagine," Sirius said sourly, coming up with Flitwick to flank Dumbledore.

Simon nosed at his shoulder.

"Hey there, horse," said Sirius, and there was something stiff about the way he refused to make eye contact with Harry, who was starting to steam at Simon being friends with the backstabbing liar. Sirius patted Simon's nose and the horse sighed gustily as soon as it realised no-one was going to start shouting, making Harry wonder if Simon's attitude towards him and Draco squabbling was more of an avuncular one rather than the tension when the horse worried that Dumbledore and Flitwick might be getting cross, two people the horse seemed to have respect for (rather than the sense of responsibility exhibited towards Harry and Draco). It was very strange. Simon had allowed Flitwick to levitate him three stories above the Entrance Hall, but as soon as Flitwick or Dumbledore was on his back the horse – Harry had to admit it, unlikely as it seemed – the horse panicked. Not for the first time, Harry wished he could owl Robert Python and ask him about some of the curly things that went on inside the equine brain.

It dawned on Harry just how dangerous it would be for Simon to carry someone the horse perceived as a peer or perhaps a superior. If Simon, Dumbledore and Flitwick went into the barrier it was likely only Simon would emerge. Harry shivered.

Sirius seemed to be calming Simon down. Simon didn't seem to regard him as a superior – Harry sometimes got the sense that Simon regarded the Animagus as a curiosity.

Nobody was arguing. Flitwick and Dumbledore were discussing various spells and potions which might help keep them on Simon's back for the time it took to get through the barrier and when Simon lipped at Flitwick's hair the Charms professor actually laughed and patted the horse on the nose, telling him that Simon really should have worked out by now that it wasn't candyfloss. Simon sighed and turned to see if Harry had suddenly produced any peppermints. He hesitated when Sirius tugged on the reins but followed amiably enough (Harry had no peppermints) as Sirius led him away from the group.

"You know," said Sirius thoughtfully, which should have alerted Dumbledore and Flitwick as well as Harry and Draco, "the thing animals need in handlers in confidence…"

He swung the reins over Simon's head.

"…And it's no use arguing about spells and potions when simple psychology is the key."

"Sirius…" began Flitwick.

But it was too late. Sirius had swung up and onto Simon's back and gathered up the reins. "Look, I've ridden a flying motorcycle, a hippogriff and several brooms. I've even ridden this chap into the Great Hall during mealtime. Besides, I've got the confidence he seems to need in a rider."

"I think perhaps some animals need more than confidence," Dumbledore said carefully. "This horse may not be a standard type."

"Actually, Headmaster, he may have a point," Flitwick said, although he sounded doubtful. "I panicked the horse with my nervousness. Perhaps he simply needs a firmer hand."

"Exactly," Sirius grinned. "Besides, I've got the basics, and we're friends."

"Friends on the ground," said Harry. "Simon's opinion shifts with…"

But Sirius wasn't listening. He gave Simon a kick and, after a moment's hesitation where the rather crude signal was guessed at, the horse moved into a walk. Simon flicked his tail. He didn't like having to guess. Harry felt his blood pressure begin to rise. Another kick and Simon jumped forward into a canter then, when Sirius pulled on the reins, came back into a slightly choppy trot. The horse's ears tilted back – not with anger, but with concentration. Although he was genuinely giving it his best, Simon wasn't sure what Sirius was asking and this was worrying him – Harry recognised the signs from when Luna had taught himself and Draco how to ride, but there was no Luna here now to reassure the horse. Harry should –

Draco's hand grabbed his shoulder and Harry turned to see a small but infinitely evil smile.

"Let Simon handle this one, okay?" Draco breathed.

Harry folded his arms and nodded curtly, if against his better judgement.

"There, you see?" said Sirius, reining Simon around in a small circle. "Confidence!" Simon was being much more obedient than Harry would have expected. Or liked, he admitted to himself jealously. Sirius reined the horse to a stop, then kicked him forward into a canter. Simon obliged, with that certain switch of his tail that said he wasn't happy and he wasn't sure what Sirius was asking, but he was putting up with things in the meantime out of the goodness of his heart and sweetness of his temper.

Draco gripped his shoulder tighter. Harry seethed. Life was so damned unfair – bloody Sirius, when would he get his –?

Life could be beautiful.

Sirius was aiming Simon at the log, but Simon's ears suggested the horse had his own opinion on the wisdom of jumping over things with novice riders on his back. Simon might have goodness and sweetness – Harry had noticed that particularly when Luna was around – but those virtues dried up and blew away under the implacable dragonfire of the horse's short temper and as of right now the horse had had enough of being confused by poor riding.

A determined expression of "enough is enough" on his bony face, Simon slowed, clearly intent on putting an end to this experiment.

"Gee up, there!" Sirius clapped his heels into the horse's ribs enthusiastically.

Simon flattened his ears, hunched up his back and jolted to a stop.

Sirius, in the spirit of inertia, bounced forward against the pommel. His eyes crossed, he went pale and made a strangled noise high in his throat that sounded like _Gnggk!_, and collapsed onto Simon's neck.

This alarmed the horse, and Simon leaped up into the air – unfortunately not over the log, but it was still an impressive bound – and Sirius hit the pommel again with another muted yelp. Simon shied sideways and Sirius fell, hitting the ground and curling up around himself, whimpering softly.

Simon kicked up his heels and plunged forward, standing on the reins. They broke with a sharp snap, and Simon charged off towards his paddock, tail a dark banner billowing out behind him.

Harry looked at Draco and nodded in Dumbledore's direction.

Draco pulled at his lower lip as he wandered over to Dumbledore. "I hate to say this – it's like I'm conforming to Slytherin stereotype or something, but is there any way other than the Imperius you're going to be able to ride him through the barrier?"

Dumbledore sighed and tucked his beard back into his belt. He looked sadly at Sirius, who was being helped to his feet by a sympathetic Flitwick and saying "It's okay, I'll walk for a little while, I'll be fine, don't worry…" in a strained voice, his eyes watering. "I wish there were," Dumbledore said.

"It's a sod of a spell to hold on an edge-creature," Draco pointed out. "Or so I've heard."

Harry hoped Draco kept his temper at the chilly look Dumbledore was giving him. Annoyed by it on Draco's behalf, Harry growled, "It's not like he's been practising on Simon. _Sir._ I hardly think you're in a position to make judgements on Unforgiveables seeing as you're going to use one on Simon."

Draco shot a quick glare at him, and Harry shrugged. "Whatever. I'm going to see if Simon doesn't hate me too much now that you lot have proven you can't be trusted with him without major Dark magic to control him."

He stomped off after the line of hoofprints. Behind him, he heard Draco saying quietly to Dumbledore so that Flitwick and Sirius couldn't hear, "You'll need a really sharp focus during the barrier, Professor."

"I know, Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore sighed, sounding a apologetic and a lot older. "I only wish it weren't necessary."

"I think you were the one who said 'needs must' just before…"

Harry wished he hadn't lost his temper with Dumbledore. He might have made him suspicious.

Simon was sulking. He wasn't interested in Harry and kept his rump towards him when Harry tried to approach, stamping a back foot then walking away.

Harry sighed, ran his fingers through his hair, then waved his arms, shooing the horse further away. It wasn't like he could go too far thanks to the fence Dumbledore had erected. Simon snorted and trotted off. The kick had been a bluff, then. Harry wouldn't have dared try walking up behind Simon yesterday – he'd sensed the horse would have meant a kick then.

They kept that up for a few minutes, Simon refusing to have anything to do with Harry, Harry telling him in the form of waving arms that he didn't care and Simon could just piss off, until it seemed that Simon was convinced Harry really didn't want him. Miffed, Simon began looking around at Harry to see why he kept making him stay away from the boy.

At that point, Harry stopped walking and turned away from Simon, pretending there was nothing wrong and, in fact, Simon did not exist.

Simon didn't like not existing. He twitched his ears and then ambled along the slope of the hill towards Harry.

Harry ignored the horse until Simon, growing impatient at being ignored, butted his elbow with his nose.

Then Harry smiled and took the broken rein. "Hello, Simon," he said softly, and began to rub behind Simon's ears just where the bridle made his head itch.

Simon heaved the sort of huge sigh heaved by a horse who was severely inconvenienced by the world and lowered his head so Harry could scratch behind his ears more easily.

"You know I won't let them hurt you, right?" Harry asked softly.

The horse yawned.

"I'll take that as a 'yes, Harry'." He smiled and leaned his forehead against the horse's for a moment. It was a good moment. Inside it he savoured the feeling of something real and solid and uncomplicated – something alive. Simon didn't see Harry as the Saviour of Wizardingkind. Simon was just… he was… he was _Simon_, a grumpy horse who liked Harry simply because Harry was there and Harry gave him apples rather than grief. It was an economical yet warm relationship where both parties knew where they stood. In the undemanding presence of a horse, with birds arguing in the trees and shafts of sunlight piercing the clouds and drifting across the hills Harry forgot about death and exhaustion and lies and responsibility. It was only for a moment, but…

… it was a _good_ moment.

Then Harry mended the reins (Simon not blinking at Harry's use of a wand) and rode the horse back down the hill on a loose rein, just because he could.

As if he wanted to rub salt in Sirius' wounded pride, Simon was meek as a lamb.

Life, thought Harry as he saw Sirius' sour expression and Draco and Flitwick swiftly pretending to scratch their noses to hide their smiles, was very good indeed.

For a short time he allowed himself to stop dwelling on the fact that he was probably going to die tonight.

ooOOoo


	79. Chapter 79

Disclaimer: See chapter one, already. My fingers are seizing up from writing all these disclaimers…

On the home straight now!

ooOOoo

Chapter 79

Harry and Draco had some fine points to work out. For instance, what was the best way to make sure at least one of them escaped to warn Hogsmeade should they be captured? They agreed it was probably better to try getting back to Hogwarts rather than staying in Hogsmeade – they didn't want the Death Eaters getting their hands on the latest barrier-breaking technology, i.e. Simon and the silver shoes.

After storing the saddle, bridle and halter in the barn ready for tonight (they stored the tack along with the brushes in a special box to stop rats or Simon from chewing on it), they sat down by the water trough to argue those points out.

They both agreed that the first thing to do was ring that bell Tonks would have set up by the gate. It was vital Hogsmeade be alerted – even if Voldemort escaped, they wouldn't have paid for it with the lives of everyone in the village. And Draco had an answer for being caught by the Death Eaters, of course. "Tell you what, if we run into any Death Eaters, I'll tell them you've got me under the Imperius."

Harry wiped his mouth. He'd bought some chocolate frogs off Draco by promising three-for-one as soon as he got down to Hogsmeade for shopping purposes (rather than saving-the-world purposes) and they made him feel a little more human, especially when he bit their heads off and their back legs kicked in a credible simulation of agony (not a tendency Harry wanted to go into right now – he had enough to worry about). So far he'd eaten far too many and he was probably going to bankrupt himself paying Malfoy back. Then again, dead people didn't have to pay back debts. Probably. Hard to tell, given the Wizarding world's propensity for twisting common-sense laws of man as well as nature. He wouldn't bet against the Malfoy library having a whole section on collecting on debt through necromancy. Not only was it dangerous that he'd indebted himself to Malfoy, but the mention of Imperius combined with the chocolate churning in his stomach. He turned his mind from the memory of Dumbledore casting _Imperio_ on Simon literally by turning his head to look through the bars of the fence to where Simon was grazing.

The horse had followed them to the trough. Simon liked having company (providing it was of the right sort, of course, and fortunately Harry and Draco fell into that category), and ignored the longer, lusher grass further along the hillside in favour of staying close to the boys. Harry tried to tell himself that it was simple friendliness rather than some disquieting after-effect of the Imperius curse still drifting through the horse's brain. But the awful image of Simon standing with his head lowered in spell-induced obedience chilled Harry from the inside out. There was something… sick… about seeing anyone, even an animal, stripped of their will. Simon had obeyed Dumbledore and carried the two older wizards wherever Dumbledore had directed him, but it had been clear that Simon's reflexes were impaired. He'd stumbled and almost fallen once. If he fell in the barrier the three would be doomed.

Dumbledore had removed the curse as soon as he dismounted. Simon had been very quiet in its aftermath. Smaller, somehow: the entire world of the horse seemed to have disappeared into the eclipse of his dark eyes, and when Harry took the leadrope Simon followed like an Inferius. Even Sirius had been visibly disturbed at the sight, although he'd changed back into Snuffles and gone loping off towards the castle as soon as Dumbledore asked Harry and Draco to take Simon back to the paddock.

Harry hadn't bothered being glad to see his godfather go. He'd been too busy hating himself for bringing Simon back to have his mind turned inside out. So much for Harry's promise not to let anyone hurt the horse. He bit into another chocolate frog, not caring about the cost.

"Hang on a tick." He gave Draco a hard stare. "Why don't I tell them you've got me under the Imperious?"

Draco, who'd been looking askance at the frogs disappearing at a frightening rate into Harry's mouth, said, "Less impact. And they're more likely to let me live if we get caught. They'll kill you either way."

"Thank you. That's very…"

"Warm? Cuddly? Nice? Wake up and smell the night-blooming pusweed, Potter. We're not on a happy little holiday junket here – one of us needs to tell the others back at Hogwarts what went wrong if we fail."

Harry – grudgingly – admitted Malfoy had a point.

"Hmm," said Draco as Harry unwrapped another chocolate frog. "In your will can you make sure whoever you bequeath your assets to makes sure I get my frog repayment?"

"Sure thing," Harry said, silently deciding to write up a will simply for the pleasure of bequeathing Draco a single Galleon and the order to go repay himself.

The benefits of death.

A shadow fell over him.

It was only Simon, come to drink. He lifted his head from the water and put it over the fence.

Harry's relief that Simon was showing some signs of his old curiosity coming back was immediately lost as the horse dribbled on him.

"Ugh!"

Draco had already moved out of slobber-range, and was laughing.

Simon gave Harry an affronted look. Obviously it was Harry who was at fault for making a fuss over a little water.

Harry brushed the water off his shoulder and face. "I suppose that's revenge for today."

"You think he needs revenge?" Draco was picking grass. Simon had enough on his side of the fence, but for some reason the horse preferred it picked for him. Perhaps it was the old grass-is-greener-on-the-other-side-of-the-fence philosophy, but Harry considered it symptomatic of Simon's love of being waited on hand and f-… hoof and hoof. He sighed and set to pulling up handfulls himself.

"I brought him back and let Dumbledore put the curse on him. How would you feel about it if you were him?"

Draco gave him an ironic look. "I'd feel shocked the first time, then be ready for it the next."

That sounded like the voice of experience. As per usual, Harry knew better than to ask. If Draco wanted to tell him what went on in those long winter evenings at Malfoy Manor when entertainment ran dry, Draco would tell him.

Simon leaned over the fence, greedily snatching at the grass Draco was holding out for him.

"Don't tease him," Harry warned.

"I'm not. I just want him to stay a little longer," Draco said, stepping up to pat Simon's neck. "There we go." He gave Harry a frown. "I wasn't trying to be mean to him. Stop stereotyping me. Besides, _you're_ the one who was having fun making those frogs writhe."

"They're inanimate and I wasn't stereotyping you. I just thought that there was a chance Simon might mistake you wanting to coax him forward with you wanting to piss him off. He's a bit…"

"Oh. Okay." Draco looked slightly alarmed. "I wouldn't want to do that." He scratched his fingers through Simon's mane. Simon scratched his head against the Slytherin's shoulder. "Ouch," said Draco. "But I don't think he's annoyed with me."

Harry chuckled. He had a good armful of grass now, so went to try and make amends with Simon. He also had his last, best secret weapon to win back Simon's good graces: a peppermint in his pocket.

Simon was ready to make amends. While there was something lingering in the darkness of his eyes that worried Harry, he seemed to be relaxing again. The Imperius had left him diminished in some subtle way but the attention he was getting from Harry and Draco was drawing him back from that terrible space the curse had sent him.

They stayed up with him for another hour. They both had lessons. Neither of them mentioned them. No-one came from the castle to scold them about it.

Birds sang.

Clouds shifted.

Simon lay down and went to sleep, snoring softly.

Without words, Harry and Draco went and sat with their backs against Simon's. The horse woke up briefly to peer over his shoulder and make sure it really was Harry and Draco.

Harry patted Simon on the rump. "Go to sleep, Simon."

Simon did so.

Harry smiled with one side of his mouth. For some reason the other side didn't feel like smiling. Probably because there were still things he needed to talk about with Draco.

He stared up at the sky. It was blue, but there were clouds building over to the north west. "Which tree do you want to do?"

ooOOoo

They wandered back in a more mellow mood. Draco wanted to know Harry's thoughts on centaurs and goblins.

"…I mean, at one end of the spectrum, you've got the Pureblood theory that Muggle-borns shouldn't be allowed within sight of Hogwarts."

"Hmm." Harry decided it best not to comment further on that.

"… But when was the last time a centaur or a goblin was enrolled at Hogwarts. I'll tell you: never. And the only house elves allowed in the place are those who work here."

Harry wrinkled his nose. He'd met goblins in Gringotts and not come out the sunnier towards them for it. "Are you saying we should open the doors to goblins?"

"Well, we've opened them to Muggle-borns."

Harry rounded on the Slytherin. "Yeah, but Muggle-borns are still wizards and witches!"

"And goblins and centaurs aren't?" Draco smirked in that way that really got under Harry's skin. "You know, I've been fed Pureblood mania since the cradle. What's your excuse for bigotry?"

"I'm not being a – … I am being a bigot, I guess."

"Well, it takes time for one to break the conditioning of one's youth," Draco replied, airily and apparently with complete sincerity.

Harry rolled his eyes. He always enjoyed being patronised by Malfoys _so_ much… And since when was Draco the moral majority? "You don't think you can push that too far, do you?"

"Well… yes. I mean, there's equal rights, and then there's just being silly with it. Do you think we should let trolls into Hogwarts?"

"That was tried in our first year. Remember? My wand's still recovering from the troll bogies." Harry sighed. "If that was a serious question I think the conditioning of your youth wasn't so much broken as shattered. And some of the sharp pieces have given you brain damage."

Draco sniffed. 'It was just an idea."

"Hermione said once that ideas are dangerous."

"Only when they're put into practice."

Harry mused on this. "That mess in the Department of Mysteries last year – Ron got attacked by a brain. He said ideas can definitely be dangerous."

Draco smiled – no, that was definitely a smirk of the old school. "Do tell?"

Knowing he shouldn't, Harry did. It helped pass the walk back to the castle.

It wasn't kind to Ron to tell Draco these things, but there was a bonus: Draco surprised him by opening up and telling Harry a lot about the Death Eaters. He talked about the philosophy of Pureblood supremacy, the inferiority of Muggles and Muggle-borns, magic as its own law – these things that Voldemort had used to build up his support base. He talked about the individuals involved, about the callousness of some and the fanaticism of others. The true-believers and the hyenas. The family ties that meant that many who wouldn't follow the Dark Lord would do so just to keep loved ones out of danger – and Harry realised that the downside of having a family was that it gave your enemies potential hostages. Draco talked about the ancient laws that had been resurrected in twisted form to suit the Dark Lord's powers, like the Law of Forfeit and the Matrimonial Blood Laws and how they could be built on to consolidate power in small increments simply by passing little amendments to the laws. Twisting the screw, he described it.

(Harry realised Draco's earlier ideas of letting in centaurs and goblins was perhaps an overreaction to the conditioning he was making such a determined effort to overcome. But he respected it. Humanity as the be-all and end-all wasn't such a great philosophy, but opening the doors of Hogwarts to any and all non-humans mightn't be successful. Maybe it would, but wouldn't it be better to ask the members of other species if they really wanted to go to Hogwarts? Maybe they wanted to set up their own schools. Maybe they _had_ their own schools already. It was mildly embarrassing that Harry didn't know this.)

It wasn't a pleasant bonus, but it was grimly useful. Harry was surprised Draco knew so much, but wasn't stupid enough to say so.

Once they hit the shadow of the castle, they walked in silence. It was very peaceful outside; all the students except Harry and Draco must have been in class. Sparrows on a low wall quarrelled, the only sign life had its combative side.

"It's not just You-know-who," Harry said in a low voice as they reached the steps up to the main doors.

"No."

"It's not just the Death Eaters."

Draco looked at him. "No."

"But stopping him and them would be a big step forward."

"Yes. Elmsworthy said something about how the journey of a thousand miles begins with one step."

Harry had heard another quote about one step. "Well, let's make our small step one giant leap."

Draco showed his teeth. "Yes."

ooOOoo

It was a bit perverse how Harry often felt better after those conversations with Draco when ideas ended up getting tangled, but he was able to ignore the stares from those Gryffindors he passed in the Entrance Hall who still held a grudge against him for not vanquishing Voldemort twenty years ago (and thus, as Elmsworthy had sneeringly pointed out in an attempt to demonstrate the low intelligence of humanity in general and Gryffindors in particular, fuck up Causality).

"See you in half an hour?"

"Sure." Draco headed off down to the Dungeons, off to see any potential voters.

Harry had promised to go up to see Dumbledore as soon as they got back to the castle. He trotted up the steps, which decided to oblige today, and swung around to leave him in the corridor he was wanting. He strode along the corridor, nodding to two girls he recognised from the DA last year. _They_ didn't glare at him; in fact they smiled as if they were pleased to see him. For some reason this depressed Harry: if he failed, would they suffer for it?

He spoke the password and climbed up to Dumbledore's office.

"Sir?"

Dumbledore's eyes were a touch red – not in the way Voldemort's were, but as if the ancient wizard had been crying. Harry found the idea of that more alarming than anything else from today. Was Dumbledore readying himself for death, too?

"Harry. Come. Have a lemon drop." Dumbledore blew his nose.

Harry sat but didn't take a sweet. Before today he'd have sworn on his parents' graves that Dumbledore would never try to feed him Veritaserum, but he'd just seen the hero of the wizarding world use an Unforgivable curse. That left him more than a little leery. "Are you all right, sir?"

"Oh, a slight allergy, I suspect. It's terrible, the pollen from some of the plants growing in the Forest."

Harry nodded. He didn't have anything to add that wouldn't have sounded any less suspicious than what Dumbledore had said. "About tonight. Would you like help in tacking up Simon before you go?"

Dumbledore smiled. "'Tacking up'. Odd phrase. One would think our dear Simon was being attached to a wall."

Harry tried to smile, but the analogy was too appropriate.

"Yes, Harry. If you wouldn't mind, it would be helpful to have you there."

"What about Draco?"

"I shouldn't like to have him up so late. He has an election to arrange – er, _win_ tomorrow."

"I would have said rig," Harry admitted. "But I think he's trying to see how being honest works for him. You're going to go late?"

"The attack is meant to occur at around four-thirty in the morning. As the time difference comprises some four and a half hours where Hogsmeade is ahead of us, Professor Flitwick and I decided that the best time would be to leave at half past eleven. We are taking into account the Death Eaters' preoccupation with Hogsmeade defences. They shouldn't be expecting anyone coming from Hogwarts."

"Why not go earlier? Wouldn't it make more sense to go earlier, to reconnoitre?"

"It would. Unfortunately Tom has an ability to sense where I am."

This was the first time Harry had heard of this. He frowned. "How do you mean?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "It's a long story. But think back to my arrival at the Ministry of Magic last year: do you remember how Tom was less than shocked to see me?"

Harry had been a little preoccupied himself, what with all the dodging, dipping, ducking, diving and more dodging around the MoM, particularly behind the statue in the foyer and the inner humiliation of knowing he'd been played for a fool by Voldemort and the sheer terror of having his friends in mortal danger (it had been months before he'd stopped seeing Hermione fall with a line of red opening across her chest every night as he closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep). However… there had been something. He strained his memory. Voldemort had turned to face Dumbledore and unless he'd had eyes in the back of his head (shades of Quirrel) there was no way he could have known the old wizard was standing behind him. "Vaguely."

Dumbledore was nodding. "You understand, then. It must be quick. Surgical, as the Muggles say."

Harry could feel his blood pressure rising again. "So shall I get Simon and meet you by the gates? Eleven o'clock?"

Dumbledore sighed. "If you would."

Harry nodded again and avoided direct eye contact as he left the room. He was a rubbish Occlumens and if Dumbledore had any idea what he was thinking right now Harry would be lucky to make it out of Gryffindor Tower. The hairs up the back of his neck prickled as he left. Those blue eyes seemed to be boring into him. He was glad to hurry towards where he'd arranged to meet his friends.

Now all they needed to do was to stay unnoticed…

How hard could that be?

ooOOoo

Someone was drumming their fingers on the table. _Rat-tat-tat-tat. Rat-tat-tat-tat._

The rhythm sounded familiar, like the feet of something going very fast.

Harry stared down at the polished wood, trying to remember what made that sound when it went fast. He had the feeling it was important to know this. But the noise was starting to irritate him.

The drumming stopped. That was good. Or was it? Perhaps he'd lost something when it stopped.

Harry had the feeling he'd lost a great deal.

Like purpose.

There was a window. He looked outside and saw that the sky was growing dark.

Why did that bother him? Was it important?

He bent his head and pressed his hands against his eyes, trying to remember.

ooOOoo


	80. Chapter 80

Disclaimer: recognisable characters from the Potterverse belong to J K Rowling and Warner. If you didn't already know this, welcome to Earth and I have a bridge to sell you.

A/N: Help! I'm getting lost within my own fanfic! If you spot any plotholes, please point them out to me and I'll tidy them up in the rewrite. Special thanks to Whitehound, who's been doing this all the way through.

ooOOoo

Chapter 80

There was something he was meant to be doing, Harry was sure of it. He lifted his head from his hands, blinked and leaned back in his chair, realising he wasn't alone. On his left was Hermione, steadily wading through a mountain of books. Harry nodded. Books. Books were why he was here. He felt his tension ease.

Ignoring the siren call of the mountain of books, Draco was staring into space, twisting a quill between the fingers of one hand. With the other he restarted that same rhythm that had woken Harry. His grey eyes were a little too wide.

Trudi Ricci was sitting near the door, her hands folded primly in her lap. She was the only one in the room not wearing a cloak. Maybe she was researching something not cloak-based. Or she was going to write a paper on tropical plants. That seemed likely. She seemed to be listening for something, because her eyes were shut and her entire stance bristled with alertness. Elmsworthy seemed to be deep in thought, so probably was. As for Ron, Ron was staring at Harry with a puzzled expression that more likely than not mirrored Harry's own.

"Have you found the book?" Harry asked him.

"Nope. I'll keep looking." But Ron didn't stand up. He merely transferred his gaze to Hermione, who was opening up book after book, testing each one out by sniffing the pages.

They weren't in the Library. They weren't in any of the common rooms. Harry thought they might be in a classroom somewhere. The door was shut and it was very quiet. There was food on another table. His stomach growled. It was lunchtime. Or dinnertime. Maybe it was time for breakfast.

Probably not lunch or breakfast, because it seemed to be getting darker outside. Wasn't dinner the one you were supposed to eat in the evening? Yes it was. Harry beamed, pleased at reaching his very own shiny conclusion.

The mountain of books kept drawing his eye. He was supposed to be doing something. It must be the books. Was he supposed to read them by smell like Hermione? That was a little out of his league.

Outside the narrow window, the sky was definitely darkening. Unless it was definitely lightening. Harry wasn't entirely sure. His heart took fright at something and hammered and he shook like the Whomping Willow in a temper and wrapped his arms around himself so tight that he could barely breathe for a moment, but the sight of the pile of books calmed him again. He released himself from his hug and took one of the books and stroked it, cradling it to his chest and whispering to it that it was safe, everyone was safe, there was nothing to be worried about.

Whatever he was meant to be doing was probably important to someone, but that someone wasn't Harry Potter. Harry Potter only had to stay with the books.

It was nice not being the someone who had to worry. Very calming.

Harry picked up another book in case it wanted to be friends with the one he was holding.

"Has anyone found anything yet?" he asked.

Draco looked across at him. His pale eyes were unfocussed and his hair wasn't as firmly slicked back as usual. A lock hung limply over one eye. It gave him a lost air.

Hermione glared at Harry. "I've almost got it. I know I have." She thumped a book closed, making Ron jump. "It's here. But I've lost it. You distracted me, you cretin." She itched her nose on the back of her hand. "Why won't anyone take these books seriously?"

Then she burst into tears.

"WAAAHHHH!" she wailed.

They stared at her. Even Elmsworthy had his attention caught away from whatever realm it had been delving into. Harry kept thinking how odd it was that Hermione could cry like this. He'd never seen anything like it, not since Dudley had been told he couldn't have a third slice of passionfruit cheesecake. "It's okay. As long as we stay with the books we'll be fine." He glanced at Ron for confirmation.

"Are you going to cry, too?" Ron asked.

Harry pondered this. "I don't think so. Should I?"

"Yes," said Draco in a soft, fierce voice. His eyes remained vague and his thin shoulders slumped. "We've lost something. Isn't that worth weeping over?"

Harry frowned. "I can't remember how to weep."

"Emotional triggering of tear ducts and arrhythmical breathing," Elmsworthy said. "Ask Granger. She's going great guns. But I think I've lost the trigger. Did anyone see where I put it?"

"Not me," said Draco. "I lost my sight once, you know." He held his hands in front of his face. The sight of them seemed to comfort him. For the first time his gaze sharpened. He peered closer at his fingernails. Perhaps he'd find something there, although Harry didn't want to be informed when he did. Yuck.

"Oh," said Harry. "I can't remember what I lost. Is it getting darker outside?"

"Yes," said Elmsworthy.

"Then I think I've lost the day."

"Was it a day you needed?"

Harry turned to Ron, who'd asked the question. "Probably not. Not if I lost it."

"For want of a nail, the shoe was lost," Elmsworthy told the room. "For want of a shoe, the… the… the thingy… the beast of burden was lost. For want of a beast of burden, the knight was lost. For want of a knight, the battle was lost. For want of a battle, a kingdom was lost. All for want of a beast-of-burden-shoe nail." Harry and Ron nodded appreciatively. Elmsworthy tilted his head and examined Hermione across the table.

Hermione had stopped wailing but she hadn't quite finished crying. Tears streamed down her face and dripped from her nose and chin. She blew her nose on the hem of her cloak. Maybe that was why they were wearing them – special absorbent qualities for nose-blowing.

Harry scratched his ear. He really should ask Elmsworthy how long these things were meant to take for girls, although he was still trying to remember if he'd recently lost a nail for a shoe for some sort of animal. In a vague way he sensed he had. "Aren't you done yet?" he said to her.

She sniffled and looked puzzled. "I am now."

"What did _you_ lose?" Elmsworthy asked her. He took out a sheet of paper and a pencil from a drawer. "I'll take notes, shall I?"

They all nodded energetically. Taking notes sounded like a smashing idea.

Hermione wiped her face. They sat mute for a long while. Perhaps they had lost the ability to speak.

"La, la, la," said Harry, just to test the theory. "Oh, I can still speak."

Everyone nodded.

"Like Harry, I can't remember what I lost," Hermione said, breaking the silence that followed Harry's experiment. Other than a slight husk to her voice, it was as if she'd never lost control.

Elmsworthy nodded. _2x can't remember_ he wrote. _Major memory loss symptomatic of head trauma. _His writing was scratchy and the ink weak. It reminded Harry of something. He looked at the books, but none were slim enough to prod the memory he sensed lurking just below the surface of his consciousness.

"I lost my friend." He was very pleased he could still speak, though. That was nice. He smiled.

Ron peered around the room. "Which friend?"

"The friend who was a badger."

_Badger friend gone_ Elmsworthy wrote. _Possibly insane and institutionalised for the public good._

"You have a Hufflepuff friend?" Draco seemed offended by the idea.

Harry ruffled his hair. "I have another friend. But… I think I lost him, too." He looked out the window. Yes, he was pretty sure the sky was getting darker. The darkness was reaching into the room. He hunched his shoulders and edged closer to one of the lamps. "He fell into a dark place." Someone was tapping their foot. The noise was irritating. Harry looked down and realised it was him.

The hair on the back of his neck began to prickle. Someone was watching him. Was it the friend he'd lost?

No. It was a portrait that was staring at him. The picture showed a sallow man with short brown hair and brown robes heavily trimmed with fur. There was even a heavy gold chain around his neck. He looked like a mayor. When he met the man's gaze, the man sniffed and pretended Harry wasn't that interesting after all. Not very friendly of him, Harry decided. Had the portrait lost his manners?

Over by the door, Trudi opened her eyes. They burned. She certainly hadn't lost the ability to be angry, Harry thought, and looked away because she was making him uncomfortable.

"Maybe he's fallen into one of these books," Hermione said brightly.

Harry scratched his chin. This seemed plausible.

"Rubbish," said Draco. "You won't find him inside one of those books."

Harry wilted. "Why not?"

Draco waved a haughty hand. "Because none of them are biographies, you twit."

That was sensible, too. But… "Are any Potions texts?"

Elmsworthy stabbed the point of the pencil against the paper and eyed the books with interest. "Potions rock my world," he informed them solemnly.

"Granger will find a Potions book if one is there." Draco went back to staring into space. One hand began to drum on the table. Someone should tell him how annoying that sound was, Harry thought. It sounded like galloping.

Hermione began to cry again. Luckily she kept the decibel level down, which was considerate of her. They watched her until she sniffled and wiped her eyes and went back to flicking through the books as if nothing had happened.

The sky outside got darker.

"Does it make a difference if it's a Potions text?" Elmsworthy asked. His pencil drew a question mark. After the question mark it began to spell out letters. An S. Then an O. Then another S. The letter triplet repeated until he looked down. An expression of surprise settled on his face. "Strewth. I wonder if I've lost my mind."

"No. Hands are very clever," Draco reassured him, peering over his shoulder. "What does 'Sossossossos' mean?"

"I've lost the memory of what it means."

"It means we need help," said Trudi speaking for the first time in the high, brisk voice she used when she was nervous and trying to overcompensate. How strange that she was here. Perhaps she had lost her way. "In fact, now would be a good time to get help." She raised her voice on the last word. "Welcome to the room!"

"Did you lose _your_ mind?" Ron asked helpfully. "Hello. Look at Malfoy."

Draco was beginning to perspire and his breathing was thickening.

They watched him as dispassionately as they'd watched Hermione. Draco pressed his hands to his eyes. "I should be somewhere," he whispered.

"Me too," said Harry, watching as the blond boy lost his balance and slid off his chair to curl up under the table. "But it looks a bit dusty down there. And there aren't any books under the table."

"Do you think he's going to choke?" said Ron. "If so, I want his cloak. It looks warmer than mine."

"Maybe," said Elmsworthy. "But I reckon it's just a panic attack. I wonder why he wants to have one?"

Hermione began to cry again. They ignored her. Draco going scarlet in his efforts to breathe was vastly more entertaining.

"A Sickle that he chokes to death," said Ron.

"You're on, bluey," said Elmsworthy.

Trudi made a noise and came over to crouch by Draco. She stroked his hair. "It's all right," she whispered. "We need to see Madam Pomfrey," she said crossly to the portrait. "Look, Dumbledore's well away by now. Hasn't this farce gone on long enough?"

"It will go on until midnight," she was told icily. "Professor McGonagall will be delivered a note at that point, and she will come and release you."

Draco whimpered, but he was taking more normal breaths now.

("Hah! You owe me a Sickle!" "Hey, he could still choke to death…" "So I have to wait and see if he dies from choking to death?! He could live to be a hundred!" Elmsworthy appeared outraged by the idea. Ron folded his arms smugly.)

"Shut up, you vultures!" Trudi shrieked at them. (Ah, thought Harry: she's lost her temper.) She turned to the portrait. "Midnight? That's not early enough. Welcome to the room!" Trudi shouted. Nothing happened although the painting was beginning to look uneasy. As for Trudi, she looked ready to panic. Much like Draco. Harry felt something churn in his stomach. He should be somewhere… and it was getting dark outside so fast now…

"Why'd you call me bluey?" Ron asked.

"You've got red hair." Elmsworthy's expression suggested Ron was a fool for asking.

Draco tried to stand up but his legs wouldn't co-operate. They wobbled like those of a newborn four-legged animal Harry couldn't quite remember the name of. Draco sat down hard and put his hands over his eyes again.

Trudi took his wrists and forced his hands down. "Look at me. Look at me. Listen to me. You're having a panic attack. That's not unexpected." She took his face between her hands, ignoring the others as they watched, wondering where this was leading. "Draco. You've had your memory wiped. Everything will be fine." She sat back on her heels and looked around the room. "Hey! Hello? Welcome to the room!"

"When?" Draco whined, ignoring that last bizarre sentence. "When will it be fine?"

"About now," a new voice said, grunting slightly with effort.

They looked over at the portrait. There were two people in the frame now. The sallow man was half out of sight, covered by the bottom of the frame, but his muffled curses could be heard. He sounded like he'd been gagged. Ivy had grown up and around him, effectively bundling him into a cocoon of vegetation. Standing over him, tying up the last strands by hand, was –

"Stephanie."

"Hello, Harry."

Draco looked up. He was still breathing hard but now seemed to have himself back under control. He clung to Trudi's hands. "Is this your Hufflepuff friend, Harry?"

"Yes. Well, not the one I was talking about, but yes, she's a Hufflepuff friend." Harry waved to her. "Hi, Steph."

Stephanie beamed at him, her smile as bright as her robes. Then she looked at Trudi. "All right, dear. It's safe to reverse the spell now," she said. "Just like I taught you."

"Okay." Trudi managed to detach herself from Draco now that he had calmed down again. She stood and looked a little uncertain, but she pointed her wand at Ron's head. "Here we go…" She winced and looked away as she raised her wand for the down-stroke.

"Stop!" cried Stephanie. She sighed. "Look, it's a little bit like brain surgery. Especially in that you need to look at what you're doing. Think of Ron as a subject of the experiment – it helps if you're emotionally detached."

Ron only looked mildly curious. "Am I a guinea pig?"

"Rather you than Draco," Trudi said with that blunt honesty the young Slytherin usually saved up for special occasions.

Draco smirked.

"What's the spell?" asked Hermione, who had snapped out of her tears as fast as Draco had recovered from his panic attack.

"It's the one to reverse having your mind Obliviated," Stephanie told them. "Hush, you." The other portrait was wriggling and making angry noises. She nudged him in the ribs with one foot, not gently.

"Oo, oo, I know that spell," said Elmsworthy, bouncing up and down on his chair and waving his hand in the air. "Should I use it now?"

"No!" howled Hermione. "Noooo! I wanna use the spell!"

"Christ, check out that for a wobbly… make her shut her yap, Yellow Lady."

Hermione wailed, ignoring him, "I never get to use the spells! Harry, make them let me use the spell!"

"Shut up, Granger," Ron snapped. "God you're noisy. You just nevernevernever shut up, do you? For once in your life, will you SHUT UP?"

Hermione shut up, looking hurt.

"Stop it, all of you. Please, Stephanie, help us," Trudi said, half begging, half exasperated. She sat down next to Draco and put her arm across his shoulders, suddenly looking very young and unhappy. It seemed to bring Draco even further out of himself and he took her hand.

"It'll be all right," he said.

She smiled shyly. "That's what I was telling you."

"Elmsworthy, if you already know the spell then you should use it first. Then Hermione can use it. You both get a go."

"Why can't I go first?" Hermione demanded, jumping up and planting her hands on her hips.

"Because I said so. Now sit down or… or… or I'll send you to bed without your supper." Stephanie looked frazzled. She kicked the wizard at her feet again, even though he hadn't moved for a while.

"I'll fix you first, Hermione," Elmsworthy said generously. "That way there's someone on hand with a functioning brain, which we wouldn't have even after I reversed the spell on any of these other doofi."

"That's kind of you," Hermione said.

"Yeah," Ron grumbled. "On behalf of the doofi I'd like to say he's really kind."

Harry's foot was tapping again. He glared down at it. "Shouldn't we be going through the books?"

They ignored him.

Elmsworthy took out his wand, looking at it for a long moment as if he wasn't quite sure what it was for. Fair enough; Harry wasn't sure what use a pointy stick was going to be in sorting through the books.

Elmsworthy must have been able to use unspoken magic, because the spell shot out of his wand and made Hermione's hair bush out like a dandelion clock ready to hit the hour. She sneezed sparks.

She blinked. Then her eyes flew wide open. "Oh, fucking hell," she said.

"'Mione!" exclaimed Ron.

She set her jaw and aimed her wand at him. "Well, see what you think about waking up and finding you've been acting a complete prat."

Harry didn't hear the spell – Elmsworthy was pointing his wand at him and then there was –

_– there was memory upon memory tumbling back from the dark corners of his mind sloshing and refilling with images: Harry and Draco meeting up with Hermione, Ron and Elmsworthy to talk about the right time for Hermione and Ron to put the potion on the tree on this side of the barrier and Dumbledore who must have followed Harry finding them there and a sallow-faced portrait whispering angrily about treason and Dumbledore looking old and sad as he raised his wand and said: _"Obliviate."

Harry was glad he was already sitting down.

Elmsworthy was blinking and rubbing his temples. Hermione must have fixed him. Draco unfolded himself and stood, murder ticking in the shadows around his eyes.

Trudi –

– "You weren't affected, Trudi, were you," Harry stated, wondering how this could be.

She shook her head. "I'm immune to being Obliviated."

"Thank goodness," said Stephanie. "Otherwise we'd be in a lot of trouble and no mistake – I couldn't have come in here without someone welcoming me. She was coming to see Draco about the election tomorrow and came in on the tail-end of Dumbledore's spell. Dumbledore had to cast the spell on her, too. Good acting by the way, Trudi. You really looked like you'd had your memory wiped."

"Thank you." She didn't look pleased. She was still clutching Draco's hand. "I'm sorry I couldn't wake everyone earlier," she said softly. "But I had to wait until I was sure Dumbledore, Hooch and Flitwick had all gone. And then I didn't want to lift the spell until I was sure Stephanie would be here to walk me through it." She was pale. Harry didn't blame her – she was only twelve or thirteen (he'd forgotten exactly how old) and she must have feared Draco was going to die when he went into that panic attack. It was amazing Trudi hadn't had a panic attack of her own.

Harry shivered. He'd sat there and watched it happen. He looked over to where Ron had gone to sit next to Hermione. Ron looked shaken, too.

"I'm so sorry… I didn't mean any of what I said…"

"I know. It's fine, really." Composed and telling Ron not to fuss, she was perfectly fine, Hermione looked the best of all of them. But her face was pale against her reddened eyes and nose.

Harry knew when she was acting. Only occasionally did she do it this well.

"Why did Dumbledore do that?" Trudi asked Draco. "And why did he do such a bad job of it? I mean, you and Granger…"

"Potter and I were going to stop him taking Simon – er. I'd rather not go into too many details," Draco said. He rubbed at one eye and sighed. "And I don't know why he did such a bad job. I thought he Obliviated everyone when you went back in time, Potter?"

"He used the Sickle," Harry said. "I guess he took his time with his own memories. I don't really know…

"And it's not 'were'." Harry stood up, feeling his blood pump strong in his veins. How dare Dumbledore blank out his mind like that? "We _are_ going to take Simon –" Draco clapped his hands over Trudi's ears and Harry lowered his voice: Trudi wasn't in on all this "– we're going to ride Simon through the barrier. Dumbledore thinks he has to go to Hogsmeade at the last minute," Harry whispered, remembering that last conversation. "So he won't get Simon until about eleven o'clock. Maybe ten to be on the safe side. He said something about Vol- about the Dark Lord having some sort of ability to sense him. Is this true, or another load of bollocks?"

"It's true," Stephanie replied, with a small shrug. "But a bit of a red herring. Dumbledore knows ways and means of getting around Tom's locator spell. His real motivation is keeping you lot here in the castle. He wants to protect you."

Draco took his hands off Trudi's ears and fingered his throat with a grimace. "By sitting us in here and making us freak out over the way we had to finish reading through a big fat pile of books? That's meant to be protecting us? Hang on a mo', what was that bet about me choking to death?" His face flushed angrily

"He thinks he was protecting you," Stephanie said just quickly enough to stop Draco picking a fight with Elmsworthy and Ron.

"He should have a word with my father," Draco muttered. He rubbed his hands together.

"But how is he going to control the horse?" Ron asked. He spread his hands. "I mean, from what Sirius told me and Hermione this afternoon about that riding lesson, it didn't go quite as smoothly as Dumbledore would have hoped."

"Er… Stephanie, wasn't it? Didn't you say Dumbledore has Hooch?" Draco said. He and Harry made eye contact. "She'll help him get Simon saddled and bridled."

"And then it's Imperius all the way." Harry looked out the window. It was very dark now and there was no moon. Perhaps it was the clouds. Far away on the horizon thunder rumbled. He thought of his dream, where Thor in the guise of Lucius Malfoy took Simon. _And Remus said that Sleipnir was Odin's horse – and Dumbledore was Odin in the dream. _"What time is it?"

"About nine-thirty," Stephanie told him.

So not as late as he'd thought. It was only the clouds making things so dark. "We need to get out of here now. Can you act as lookout?"

"Yes."

"Hang on. Why are you helping us?" Draco asked. He gave the portrait a suspicious glare. Elmsworthy nodded.

"She's a friend," Harry told the room. "She's been helping us all along. Haven't you?"

Stephanie nodded. "Ever since you went back in time, Harry. The Glasshouse wouldn't have given you the Golden Sickle if you hadn't needed it for the aid of Hogwarts. Nor the figs."

"So that's why you're helping us? Because of the Sickle?"

"It was a signal."

"Signal for what?" asked Ron crossly.

Stephanie smiled sweetly. "It was a signal that I was supposed to help you. That Dumbledore was wrong. That the Prophecy was right."

"What Prophecy?" said Trudi.

"We'll explain later," Elmsworthy told her. "After everything's over. I promise. Right now it's important that Potter and Malfoy get to that horse before Dumbledore. Right, Buttercup Lady?"

"Right. Simon will react very badly to the Imperius. Harry and Draco, you must have seen that today after the curse was lifted."

They nodded. "But Imperius going through the barrier –" Harry began. Draco put his hands over Trudi's ears again. The girl rolled her eyes, shook her head to make him let go, then stuck her fingers in her ears and started humming.

_Clever girl,_ thought Harry.

"Dumbledore thinks he's sorted out the problem of Imperius being sustained under a standing magical field. And he has. He's a very smart wizard. But he hasn't taken full account of Simon's nature. That charm in Simon's chest will make him think too hard about what he should be doing while under that curse. It will give him the will to get angry. He seems affable enough when you're with him, but at the base of his personality Simon is a very defensive horse who has had people in authority break trust with him on multiple occasions, and that gives him the capacity for great rage. And when he goes through that barrier, _he_ is the one who is under control despite whatever spell is placed on him to make him submit to authority. He'll realise this and, well…" She spread her hands.

"We'll never see Dumbledore or Flitwick again," Hermione finished. "So Simon really does belong to a wizard if he's got a charm embedded in him like that. How do you know so much about Simon? Doesn't Dumbledore know who the owner is? He must have some idea –"

Stephanie was shaking her head. "He doesn't understand this charm."

"So Simon truly belongs to a wizard?" Draco looked ever more upset by this than the prospect of going through the barrier.

"Yes. He does. I'm sorry, Draco. But that's the price of breaking the barrier – you must lose Simon."

Draco looked appalled, then his mouth firmed. The words _not necessarily_ were almost flashing above his head in bright neon letters, so clear were his thoughts.

Harry wanted to know the answer to Hermione's other question, how Stephanie knew so much about Simon's personality, but now wasn't the time to ask. There were other, more important things at hand. "Do we have to take the Sickle?" Harry asked. He didn't like the idea.

"Absolutely not!" Stephanie looked horrified at the very idea. "That must never leave Hogwarts grounds. If Tom gets hold of it he could destroy the castle."

"We're wasting time," Elmsworthy said.

Ron nodded. "The Slytherin has a point."

"Even the Gryffindor agrees with me."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Enough. Or I'll assign you as Comrade for Inter-House Liaisons, Comrade Tyrol."

"Oo. You're scaring me."

"Okay. Enough. Or I'll ask Milli' to assign you as Comrade for Inter-House Liaisons."

Elmsworthy genuinely looked alarmed.

Draco waved his hand in front of Trudi's face. She stopped humming and took her fingers out of her ears.

"Hermione?" Harry asked from where he was examining the door. The door was locked, of course, and the few spells he knew to open doors wouldn't budge this one. "You're our resident lockpick. Can you open this one?"

Hermione sniffed as she knelt by the door. "… Make me sound like a common criminal…"

Harry grinned. "You're uncommon, trust me."

She grinned and nudged him with her shoulder. "Go on, shove over so I can do uncommonly criminal things to this door."

Draco put his hands over Trudi's ears again, lightly this time. "She's too young to hear about what you do to doors, Granger," he said.

"No I'm not," Trudi growled.

Ron laughed and looked surprised at himself for joking with Slytherins. Even Elmsworthy smiled. Harry felt some of the fury ebb, helping him think again.

Hermione shook her head, unable to stop herself smiling up at Draco. "Some days it doesn't pay to leave the Library…" She set to work. But try as she might, none of Hermione's unlocking spells worked. From the frame, there was a snigger from the wizard wrapped up in ivy. He yelped – Stephanie had given him another kick.

Elmsworthy had had his bandoleer of potions confiscated by Dumbledore (and was seething over it – Harry noted that when he swore over his missing potions he swore like a wizard; the recent lapse into Muggle vernacular had been temporary and solved by the restoration of his memory) but apparently his robes had been specially made for his last birthday, and bottle after bottle was set out on the table, although Elmsworthy sneered at the paucity of choice left to them.

Elmsworthy selected a small phial with a dropper. He nearly smiled fondly as he cradled it in one hand. "This little beauty will eat through a cauldron. Any metal – poof!"

"So?" Draco prompted impatiently. "Those locks are shielded against acid."

Ron shook his head. "Yeah, but the hinges aren't. Right?"

Elmsworthy scowled. Ron had stolen his thunder (or that was the figure of speech that popped into Harry's mind – outside, on cue, thunder growled). "Right."

"It won't go boom, will it?" Hermione asked. "We don't want to alert everyone."

"It shouldn't."

"Does it explode?" Trudi wanted to know. "You're not going to bring down the castle like you nearly did in Slytherin the other morning, are you?"

"Of course n-… Probably not."

Harry heaved the table onto its side, taking pleasure in the way the books scattered. Even Hermione didn't care about them; they were only old texts. She even kicked one out of the way. Doubtless, she felt as disgusted at the amount of attention she's spent on such unworthy specimens.

"Stand back," said Elmsworthy, striking a dramatic pose. "I don't know precisely what this one does. There might be a bit of smoke."

That wasn't a problem: the others were cowering behind the table.

Elmsworthy sighed to himself.

Three hinges.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Elmsworthy shifted from one foot to the other. "Ummm… that's a lot of smoke…"

"You're not going to say 'oops' are you?" Draco said from the safety of the table lee.

"Er… Maybe. Uh-oh!"

He leaped across the room and dived behind the table, curling up and covering his ears with his hands. One mutual shocked expression later, everyone followed suit, curling knees to chests and covering their ears, too.

They waited for the bang.

When it came it was more of a pop-pop-extended-hiss followed by a sliding screech: the hinges melted and the latch bent and dragged through the lock as the weight of the door pulled it out of its frame.

THUMP.

The falling door shook the floor and vibrated the wooden table against the students' backs.

They waited until the noise died. Feeling very brave, Harry stood up first. The hinges had been eaten through. Faint wisps of smoke curled in the currents coming through the door. There was the stink of fading lightning, although that could have been from the stormclouds building up in the evening sky over the mountains. "It's okay. The door just fell down. It didn't explode."

"That just means it's waiting for a more convenient moment." Ron uncurled himself and eyed the twinkling motes of dust hanging in the air. Some appeared to move under their own power, sparkling with little aftershocks of magic. He eyed the door. "It's currently not moving. Fine. Now lets get out of here before Elmsworthy's potion mutates it into something only Hagrid could love."

That seemed sensible. Seconds later the room was silent apart from the muffled complaints of the gagged portrait.

ooOOoo


	81. Chapter 81

Disclaimer: Recognisable characters etc still belong to JK Rowling and Warner, not me. Oh well. Never mind.

ooOOoo

Chapter 81

Elmsworthy had an invisibility potion. But he hadn't tested it on a human subject yet. Everyone was remembering the smoking twists that were all that was left of the thick iron hinges of the door, so they argued for Stephanie keeping an eye out for them.

"I've got Polyjuice," Elmsworthy offered.

"No thanks."

"Levitation?"

"No, th-…" Harry paused. "Malfoy. We don't have your broom."

"It's out in the broomshed."

"Can you call it?" Hermione asked.

"Best if we do that when we're outside. Bit of a giveaway something's up, my broom whistling through the corridors."

"I can call Milli' with the alert charm and she can get it," Trudi said. She shook her head. "I don't know why I didn't think of that before when you couldn't breathe… She's got access to the broomshed, or she can get Crabbe or Goyle to open it up for her. Shall I meet you by the door from the rose garden?"

"Good idea," said Draco. "Stay hidden, though, okay?"

She smiled. "Not a problem. Comrade Tyrol? Can I have some of your potion?"

Elmsworthy looked around and then stood so the students coming down the corridor couldn't' see her. "Now," Stephanie hissed. Elmsworthy nodded, bottle in hand. He dripped three drops on the back of Trudi's hand. She flickered and then blinked out of sight.

"Still alive there, Trudes?" Draco asked. His wand was in his hand and Harry didn't fancy Elmsworthy's chances if something had gone wrong.

"I'm fine. Tyrol developed this potion two years ago. Daddy let him test it out on our kneazle the other year when the Elmsworthys came and stayed with us in Palau."

Elmsworthy almost smiled. "I had to test it out on jellyfish first."

Trudi laughed. It was eerie; nobody could see her but her quiet chuckle made the passing students turn their heads. They must have decided it was Hermione laughing.

Harry had forgotten how sociable the diplomatic families were.

"And I'm saving it for patent purposes – I want to make some money somehow. Not like you earn _that_ much as a diplomat," Elmsworthy complained as he slid the bottle back into his robes, his glare suggesting that if anyone damaged his chances at filing for a new patent there would be Trouble.

"See you soon," Trudi whispered. "Well… hopefully not too soon. Don't want to get caught, do I." Harry felt her robes brush his leg as she passed him, on her way to find Millicent Bulstrode. Or have Bulstrode find her, if he understood her plan right: there was an emergency charm on the younger Slytherin students that would bring the older ones running if anything went wrong.

Hopefully Bulstrode wouldn't be annoyed about being called out to find a broom.

Students were on their way to and from common rooms and various meeting places as the Hogwarts day came to a close. Dumbledore had stashed them in a room down towards the end of the thin corridor near where Harry had first found the Mirror of Erised, so Harry and Ron had known almost as soon as the door fell down where they were and knew that their best hope was to camouflage themselves by falling in with other students. The five students – now down to three Gryffindors and two Slytherins in company – didn't raise as many eyebrows as they might have only a few months prior as they shadowed a large gaggle of third and fourth years leaving the Library and going down the stairs from the fourth floor. The Slytherin Revolution had helped in at least one respect.

With Stephanie discreetly scouting out the path before them, they made their way back along a second-floor corridor to where they'd met up before Dumbledore had discovered them. Harry was relieved to remember that Hermione had stashed the anti-Voldie potion and the darts with the barrier potions inside them before Dumbledore could Obliviate them. Quick thinking on her part, yet again, had saved the day (or postponed the day of reckoning for another few hours).

"Here we are. Now act casual," Hermione cautioned them, apparently not realising how suspicious such a sentence was, particularly with a passing group of third year Hufflepuffs doing a collective double-take at the odd sight of Slytherins and Gryffindors in each other's company without blood on the floors or walls. Fortunately Hufflepuffs were very trusting of the Prefects, especially Hermione for some reason.

Elmsworthy gave her a sideways, exasperated look, but didn't say anything.

They pretended there was nothing strange about anyone wanting to go into a bathroom, which there wasn't. Not usually. What was strange was that four boys were going into a girls bathroom.

Hermione lifted the lid on the cistern behind one of the toilets. "I remember now – we had a trip-ward on the door, which alerted me to Dumbledore getting close. So – ouch! Blasted thing…" The lid didn't want to budge and pinched her finger. "…So I hid everything before he came in. Here we go, now we can…" She trailed off. Harry pushed forward and went to look over her shoulder.

The cistern was empty. Harry carefully dropped the lid of the toilet and sat down on it, putting his head in his hands. "Well. That's that, then."

"I suppose you're wondering where your contraband has gone," came a sad, hollow voice. "I suppose you think the Headmaster took _everything._ You must think it's the end of the world… are you really depressed yet?"

"Hello, Myrtle," Hermione said with false brightness. "We weren't looking for anything in particular, just…"

"Just some darts, two stones and two purple bottles?" The ghost poked her head through the wall, smirking. "The Headmaster had a _really_ good look through my bathroom. I don't suppose he was looking for some darts and two purple bottles, was he?"

"Something like that," Harry admitted, not taking his head out of his hands. He didn't need to have his nose rubbed in his defeat. "Let's go," he said to Hermione. She followed him out of the stall, closing the door behind them. Elmsworthy's dour face rivalled Harry's memories of Snape whenever he'd failed to get Harry expelled. Draco looked like he'd just had his birthday cake dropped on the floor. Ron looked angry and nervous and sympathetic all at once – something Ron did uncannily well.

"Harry…" Ron began.

Harry shook his head. "It's over," he said. "We could make up more anti-Voldie potion but we can't work on the barrier-breaking potion. Dumbledore will have that, and isn't that the most important reason to get through the barrier tonight, really?"

"Dumbledore wants to kill the Dark Lord," Draco pointed out. "That's his first priority."

Elmsworthy shook his head. "We need to get the barrier down," he said. "It's killing Hogwarts. I guess he's spent so many years trying to protect Hogwarts he's finally realise there's a bigger world out there – but God knows what's going through that man's head. Maybe we should go and see him – or Flitwick. Flitwick could talk sense into him, surely."

Ron spread his hand. "Face it. We don't know exactly what Dumbledore's plans are. He could be going to break the barrier or kill Voldie or both. In whatever order. He might even plan to give the barrier potion to someone else, someone from the Order, say, who could do it while Voldie's distracted."

"Could would should," came Stephanie's brisk voice. It rang out with an eerie shimmer, like someone running a wet finger around the rim of a crystal glass. Harry looked up and around and saw why: she'd inserted herself into a stained glass window high up on the stone wall. A unicorn sharing it with her sniffed at her sleeve timidly, but didn't run when she patted it. "The bones of the matter is that it's got to be Harry who bumps off Tom and Albus is for once in his life putting sentiment before practicalities. No offence, Harry, but I'm not above letting you put your life on the line for Hogwarts."

"None taken. Even though I know you're putting your faith in the Prophecy."

"As a matter of fact I'm putting my faith in the fact that you were given the Sickle. To the Wild Hunt with prophecies," she told him bluntly. "Myrtle, dear?"

The ghost leaned through the door of a toilet. "You're only here because I'm useful to you," she complained.

"Oh, Myrtle…" the portrait began tiredly, a glassy squeak suggesting she'd rolled her eyes, but Harry, his heart lifting in sudden hope, turned to the ghost.

"Now, you know that's not true," he told Myrtle. "You've been a great friend to me. And to Ron and Hermione."

Draco put on his most winning smirk for Myrtle's benefit. "You know why you're so useful? It's because you're one of the only people in the entire castle we can trust," Draco told her, grey eyes wide. Harry rolled his own eyes: did Draco really think anyone would fall for th-?

Myrtle giggled and twisted a pigtail between her spectral fingers. "I hid everything for you. Well, Stephanie asked, but it was my idea where to hide it before the Headmaster came back and started looking. He looked in the cistern, you know." She pouted. "You didn't tell me the Headmaster was going to get involved when I let you use my bathroom for your secret meeting."

"Sorry. We didn't want to cause trouble for you. It's terribly brave, you know, you hiding the stuff for us," Draco continued earnestly.

"That's true," Ron said. "Very brave. I bet you were a Gryffindor."

"Rubbish. Myrtle's to clever. She had to have been a Slytherin."

Myrtle was all the way through the stall door now. She twirled and then readjusted her thick-lensed glasses, which had slipped. "Actually, I was in Ravenclaw."

"Well, that explains why you've always come across as being so smart," said Ron. "You were a huge help with that basilisk, you know."

"Really?" she squeaked. A faint tinge of pink came into her grey cheeks. Harry had never seen a ghost blush before. (He wasn't used to Myrtle going so long without bursting into tears, too.) "Oh, well, in that case… I moved the package just down the U-bend."

"Which toilet?" Hermione asked.

Myrtle pointed, still twisting one pigtail coyly as she eyes Harry. "It's been ever so long since you visited me, Harry…"

("It's always muggins doing the _really_ dirty work," Hermione's voice grumbled It was given a slight hollow sound suggesting she was bending over a toilet.)

"Er, yeah, I've been trying to defeat Tom Riddle." _Come on, Hermione…_

(_"Accio _potions!" Hermione's voice came, complete with the very tight reverb generated from the small space of the stall to complement what sounded like a tight-lipped expression.)

"He was the one who killed me, you said," Myrtle sniffed.

"Yeah."

(Sploshing noises and Hermione's _tsk_ of disgust.)

"…Couldn't let him get away with that, could I?" Harry continued.

Myrtle was beginning to tear up. Drops of ectoplasm slid down her translucent cheeks. "Nobody ever thought about _me_ before…"

"We're thinking of you right now, Myrtle…"

"Boy, are we thinking of you," Ron said with barely restrained sarcasm.

It was too late. Myrtle was in full flow. "No-one ever thought of me, and it was _me_ who _died!"_

She wailed as she turned and sped through Hermione ("Gah! So cold!") and disappeared down the toilet. A small (by Myrtle's standards) wave of water splashed across the floor. Her echoing cries could be heard fading away through the plumbing.

Ron shook his head. 'I've said it once, I'll say it again. Mental."

Hermione dried and sterilised the package with her wand, although the water was probably clean since nobody ever used the toilet. (Or not for its official purpose: summoning basilisks and brewing potions with stolen ingredients probably didn't need to be added to the brief for any architectural plans Hogwarts might ever have had.) She opened the package and nodded in satisfaction. "Looks fine. Here."

She held out the two violet bottles – one each for Harry and Draco, who wrapped them in handkerchiefs (Harry taking smug satisfaction in having a clean hanky, even if it was one of the ones Malfoy had given him) and tucked them in the pockets of their robes, nice and safe, or so they hoped. The darts to break the barrier spell were distributed amongst Ron, Harry and Draco. (Harry tried not to be annoyed that they gave an extra one to him, the implication being that he was a great Seeker but a lousy Chaser.) If all else failed, they knew that there was enough left over for Dumbledore to apply it to the trees should he find a Simonless way through the barrier.

They didn't discuss the possibility of failure.

"Did it matter if those stones got wet?" Draco asked Elmsworthy, who shook his head.

"No. The spell is latent inside the stone. I Transposed some of the barrier-breaking potion into the core of the stones after resetting the focus to narrow it down to each specific tree, but I didn't leave any holes."

"How'd you do that?" Ron asked eyeing the stones in Hermione's hand. "The Twins would love to know how that works…"

"If I told you I'd have to kill you." Elmsworthy frowned when they smiled at what they thought was his joke. "That wasn't a joke," he snapped. "It's a Diplomatic Privilege. It's how documents get passed through hostile checkpoints. I, uh, borrowed one of Dad's pouches once and backchained the spells."

Harry caught Ron's eye. Ron raised an eyebrow.

"That barrier's the ultimate in hostile checkpoints." Draco said.

"Yeah, but the activation is keyed into your fingerprints so you'll be okay. Just keep the stones wrapped until you're ready to use them to locate the trees. As each stone has a thumbprint from each of you you should be safe to use either or. Okay?"

"Yeah. Hermione? Got something to wrap them in?"

"Well, they _were_ wrapped in paper…" She cut some fabric off the bottom or her robes with a severing charm. "Here we go. But next time you have to fish something out of the loo, you can cut up your own robes."

"I'll keep that in mind," Draco said in the airy tones of someone who'd already forgotten about it.

"You sure you don't want some of my Invisibility Potion?" Elmsworthy asked. He looked like he was psyching himself up to try some on himself.

Draco shook his head. "Just in case it reacts with the barrier or any other potions we're using tonight."

Elmsworthy nodded reluctantly. "Fair enough."

"Let's go," said Harry. He was too wound up to look anyone in the eye.

ooOOoo

Stephanie kept lookout for them again. It was easy enough to merge into the students wandering around the castle. Hufflepuff's daughter had other friends amongst the painted: a thin witch with a pointed nose nodded it in the direction of a storeroom as they scurried along one corridor. The five students crowded into the storeroom ("Get off my foot, Ron," Hermione whispered angrily) and waited until what sounded like McGonagall's bootheels disappeared down the corridor. How someone could walk so silently as a cat yet make such a brisk clatter as a human was one of the mysteries of Hogwarts.

They were nearly caught by Hooch, presumably on her way up to Dumbledore's office, from whence it would be onwards to Simon's paddock.

Harry had to snag Draco's sleeve to stop him breaking into a run. The younger Slytherin was beginning to sweat, although even Elmsworthy looked even more sour than normal, suggesting he wasn't as cool as the image he was trying to project.

They moved swiftly down a narrow corridor in a quiet part of the ground floor. There were no other students here for them to hide behind. Ron opened the door and peered around it. "It's empty," he whispered over his shoulder with a sigh of relief. "Come on."

Harry couldn't help wishing he had his Invisibility Cloak as he slipped out of the side door of the castle ("Good luck!" whispered Stephanie from the last painting in the corridor as they went further than she could go), even though it wouldn't have saved him. Running straight into someone was a definite clue of your presence.

Sirius Black grabbed Harry by the wand arm before Harry could draw.

"No need to ask what you lot are doing out here," Sirius growled. He looked like a man who'd never smiled.

"Were you waiting for us?" Harry demanded hotly as Sirius pointed his own (albeit stolen) wand at them.

The garden was thick with shadows. Ron, ears now going scarlet in mortification, couldn't have seen Sirius lurking in the darkness cast by the wall. The gate in the wall Harry had coaxed Simon through only two mornings ago was ajar – their escape so near and yet so far. The heavy attar of early roses hung in the air, catching in Harry's throat. He'd never suspected roses would taste bitter, but perhaps he should have guessed by the way Simon had spat one out yesterday.

"Dumbledore had a feeling you'd use this door if you escaped," the Animagus replied. He looked nervous. "Don't move," he growled at Draco and Elmsworthy, who'd tried to slip back behind the door. His wand moved and the door slammed shut.

"Did you know he was going to do a rough Obliviate on us?" Hermione said, her eyes snapping with outrage.

Sirius moved back half a step. 'Er… not exactly. I –"

He went blue. Or appeared to. In reality, it was because a large bubble had formed around him.

Trudi stood up behind the gate. She held up her wand. "Hello. Whole-body Bubblehead Charm, anyone?"

"Never thought I'd say this, but well done that Slytherin," Ron sniggered. "Er… aren't you supposed to be invisible?"

"It ran out really fast," she complained. "I've had to make do with Slytherin sneakiness. Luckily I saw Milli'. And – oh, here she is."

The square-shouldered silhouette of Millicent Bulstrode loomed behind the diminutive Trudi blocking out the scanty light of the cloudy sky.

"Comrades."

"You've got my broom! Comrade Millicent, you're a brick." Draco took his broom with every sign of relief.

"I hope you lot know what you're doing."

"We've got Elmsworthy on side – don't you think that counts for something?"

Millicent rubbed her jaw. "No." She turned to Trudi. "You shouldn't be mixed up in this. Slytherins in general shouldn't be. And you know why, Drake."

Draco nodded. "Yes. Trudi, this has to be where we leave you."

"But my parents are diplomats. They've got immunity –"

"No-one is immune."

Elmsworthy shrugged. "Mum's a Muggle. And Australian. I've always known what would happen if the fascists got into power." He locked gazes with Draco for a moment.

Draco dropped his eyes first. "Yes," he said shortly. "But others – others will be punished; it doesn't matter who they back."

Millicent nodded. "Which is why you need to go and do whatever it is I'm not interested in knowing about." She held out a hand. "I wish you the best of luck, Draco, but you know why I can't get involved more than bringing you your broom for some night-time Quidditch practice."

Draco inclined his head, not quite formally, but acknowledging what she couldn't say aloud but they all heard behind her words. "I know," he said softly taking her hand and shaking it. "I know."

"Potter."

Harry blinked. Then he remembered his manners and shook hands with her. "Comrade Millicent."

She gave him the barest sliver of a smile. "You're not a complete tosser."

"And you're not just another thuggish Slytherin lackey."

She squeezed his hand just enough to suggest that she could give him a serious amount of pain if she wanted and it was fortunate for him that she didn't want to. Not tonight.

Harry smiled back. It really was a strange night for finding out who your friends were.

Trudi gave Hermione a nod, popped the bubble Sirius was trapped inside, and Hermione deftly Stunned him and picked up his wand. "I'll keep this for now," Hermione said.

"We could leave him here," said Harry. "Although someone might find him."

Draco was tugging at his lower lip. "No. I've got a plan."

"Merlin help us…" grumbled Ron.

"Do we need to know?" Millicent asked, with a significant look at Trudi.

Draco looked up. "Hm? Oh, no. Best not. Thanks for your help and all, but it might be safest if you got back to the Dorm now."

"Draco…"

He shook his head at Trudi. "Please. I'd hate to think of you out in the Forest after dark."

Trudi nodded. Bulstrode laid a hand on her shoulder. "I'll see her and any others safely back to Slytherin."

"And then?"

She smiled, or her mouth did. Her eyes remained flat and expressionless in the meagre light from the corridor. "Then I will wait to see what happens. And I will continue to protect my comrades as I can."

Draco nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Well… This is goodbye, then."

"For now. Come on, Comrade Trudi. Comrade Tyrol? Are you coming, or are you going to do something daft with Comrade Draco and the Gryffindors?"

"Doing something daft."

She smiled again, this time with a spark of warmth.

Trudi suddenly closed the gap between herself and Draco, hugging him tightly. His eyes widened in surprise, but he recovered himself quickly, patting her on the shoulder. "Be careful," she said.

"I always am."

"Like hell you are."

"Well, I've recently learned to be judicious, how's that?"

She stepped back. "It's about as good a lie as I'll get from you, isn't it?"

Draco looked affronted. Then chagrined. "I guess so."

She gave a watery smile. "Another box of chocolates, then?"

"Of course. Milli'? More liquorice?"

Her eyes finally got a sparkle. "Oo, that'd be lovely, ta."

"Consider it done."

"Make sure you come back," Bulstrode said softly over her shoulder as she escorted Trudi through the door into the castle. "I'd hate to have to go hunt out my own liquorice."

"Heaven forfend."

But despite his air of carefree light-heartedness, Draco didn't fool Harry.

As the door closed and the blonde Slytherin sagged slightly, "C'mon," Harry said, putting his hand on Draco's shoulder. "What's this grand plan?"

"Well, Elmsworthy mentioned something he was working on the other day… Granger, how's your Mobilicorpus?"

ooOOoo


	82. Chapter 82

Disclaimer: pick a previous chapter at random. That'll most likely give you the idea of who Harry Potter et alia belong to. (It ain't me, curses.)

Chapter 82

Simon was leery of so many people coming to visit him around sunset, especially when one of them was floating through the air at wandpoint. He made hollow snorting sounds and refused to approach.

Over on the other side of the castle the sun was a fat molten ball fast disappearing over the horizon, forcing an almost palpable orange light between earth and overcast sky. Encouraged by the coming dark and possibility of rain, insects were coming out to partake of these last minutes before the predators of the night arrived to feast on them. Harry shivered. He couldn't see if Dumbledore was coming, but Dumbledore would have a brilliant view of the hillside all lit up in purples and muted orange with the last of the sun limning the heather and coaxing the lichenous rocks to crinkle with textured glow in the sun's last gasp-efforts to ward off the darkness.

_You and me both,_ Harry thought as his mood swung briefly back to dour. "Get a move on, Malfoy. Maybe I should catch him. He likes me better…"

Draco shot him a look so poisonous Harry could have bottled it and used it to test bezoar efficacy. "I can catch my own horse, thank you."

But it didn't take long before Draco grew exasperated. He walked halfway down the far side of Squirrel Hill, headcollar in his hands, to where they'd followed Simon. It was a stroke of luck Dumbledore hadn't thought to move the original set of tack in the barn (or the headcollar from where Harry had left it by the gate), otherwise they'd have had to manufacture their own, something neither Harry nor Draco were keen on trying at such short notice. It was even better luck that Simon was in the sort of mood to sulk in the shadows rather than in line of sight of the castle. "Look, Longbottom isn't here and Black is only a temporary balloon…" (Sirius was still floating with his eyes closed) "… Oh, come on, Simon. Look! Peppermints! I've … got … _pep_-per-mints…" Draco sang.

Fortunately the bag he rustled really did have a couple of peppermints in it. Harry wouldn't have guaranteed anyone's safety tonight with Simon's temper on a very short fuse.

But the surly stallion was coaxed closer by the peppermints ("No, I'm not going to run after him," a cross Draco informed Hermione when she asked, "because while I thank you for your faith in my fleetness of foot, I assure you I'm not _quite_ as fast as him.") and permitted Draco to buckle up the headcollar.

"There we go. Good boy, Simon," Draco smiled, patting the horse on the neck. "No, sorry. No more right now," he added when Simon sniffed at his pockets after crunching up the offered peppermints. "Get me and Potter through the barrier safely and I'll make sure we stop in at Honeydukes on the way back."

Simon sulked, his dark eyes glittering with some pent-up emotion that wasn't quite rage or nerves or sheer cosmic bloody-mindedness, and which might have been endemic to horses. Or possibly Slytherins. Harry associated it with that House for some reason.

"Don't think he's got another migraine, do you?" Harry muttered, worried by this possibility.

Draco lifted his wand and cast a basic diagnosis spell_._ Apart from his usual disdain of wands, Simon didn't seem upset by it. "He's fine. You'll get us through the barrier without a worry, won't you, Simon? Course you will." Draco ruffled Simon's forelock.

"Couldn't pick me up some more jellyslugs, could you?" Ron asked, hands jammed into his pocket. He seemed to be enjoying himself, possibly for the same reason Harry was: they were finally doing something. It was the waiting that had started him on the road down to Crazytown, Harry realised. The waiting and the wondering and the worrying.

And now he was _doing._

Yeah.

Despite those waves of malevolence emanating from Simon acting to remind him heavily of detentions with Snape, Harry was doing something and it felt good.

"Well, what are you waiting for, Potter? Want to ride him without a saddle? That'd be good for a laugh…"

"Yeah, providing it's you riding him, Malfoy." Harry wasn't really in the proper mindset for a witty comeback. He kept thinking that any minute Dumbledore was going to come and then there'd be all manner of trouble.

How long had it been now? Hooch had been on her way up to Dumbledore's office. Would they be walking down the stairs at this very moment?

"Harry, you're grinding your teeth," Hermione said.

"Huh? Oh." Harry took a deep breath and tried to relax.

They led Simon around to the back of the barn. Harry, the hood of his black cloak up, sneaked around the side to where he and Draco had stored the tack. "I've got the stuff…" said Harry as he scurried back with a bag and a saddle. "Hopefully nobody was looking out the window…"

Dumbledore's office had a _really_ good view of Squirrel Hill. Harry couldn't stop thinking how fast time was moving. They were even closer to the time when Dumbledore, Hooch and Flitwick would come to catch Simon. What would they do when they caught a herd of students? More Obliviates without the soft buffer of the Golden Sickle to cradle tender minds? Harry realised he was grinding his teeth together again when Hermione gave him a sympathetic but exasperated look.

He took the cover off first, being careful not to snag any buckles on Simon. The horse wasn't just upset because there were too many people – Simon's eyes had an evil glint to them and there was nothing friendly in his attitude towards Harry or Draco. "No time to give you a brush, boy," he said to Simon as he put the saddle on the horse's back, sliding it back to make sure the coat lay flat.

"Hope that Imperius didn't scramble his brain," he muttered to Draco under Simon's stomach as Draco passed the girth through to him, sliding it back to make sure the coat lay flat.

Draco grunted assent.

Harry lifted the flap and threaded the girth straps through the buckles of the girth. He pulled. "Hey!" Harry squeaked, jumping back, alarmed and annoyed.

Simon put his back foot down firmly on the ground. The horse had unmistakably threatened to kick.

"Wow," said Draco.

Simon glared at something in the distance. The entire universe, probably.

"Let's try that one again," said Harry. He tightened the girth – not too much in the beginning, of course; Simon would murder them if his tender skin got pinched. This time Simon didn't kick out, although he swished his tail.

Simon moved his head away when Harry tried to bridle him. Harry persisted as patiently as he could (his urge to just grab the horse by the ear and jam the bit in its mouth might end up with maiming), then once the bridle was in place and the throatlash fastened, spent a bit of time smoothing the forelock over the browband. "Good boy, Simon."

Simon sighed and lowered his head and Harry pulled at his ears until the horse relaxed a little. "He's still rather upset."

"Should we do this?" Draco asked.

"Dumbledore means to go one way or another. There's no way Simon can be considered safe for him. We only get more and more arguments for that – even Stephanie told us so."

"Not safe for Dumbledore means there's a good chance he won't be safe for you," Hermione pointed out. She'd overcome her fear of the horse enough to come up and stroke his hindquarters. Elmsworthy had his wand pointed discreetly at Sirius – no telling what Simon would do at the sight of a wand, the mood he was in.

"Nothing's safe for Potter at the moment," Elmsworthy pointed out.

Ron glowered at him.

"What? Just stating the obvious. It's Malfoy who's got a better chance of surviving."

"And I'm going," said Draco, making up his mind (for the moment). "Simon will look after me, bad temper or no."

Harry frowned. "You put a lot of faith in a horse."

Draco shrugged. "Once he snaps out of this post-Imperius shock he'll be better."

"His confidence is dented. How are you going to snap him out of _that?_" Elmsworthy sighed. "It's not like there's a ten-second confidence building course for horses."

"No," said Harry, thinking of the Horse Mutterer book. "It'd take longer than that, and it would mean convincing Simon that me or Draco are in authority over him."

"Could be disastrous from what the painting said," Elmsworthy said pensively.

"Yeah." Harry ran his hand down Simon's nose. "Come on, Simon. Think of Hogsmeade and peppermints."

Hermione shook her head. "Harry…"

"Hermione," Ron interrupted. "He knows what he's doing. Merlin help us, but I think even Malfoy does. All the horse has to do is get them through the barrier. After that they can manage without it. They'll have Malfoy's broom. We're wasting time here."

"My God. I agree with Weasley." Draco grinned in disbelief.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Okay. Let's get that diversion sorted. You two ready?"

Hermione smiled at him; Elmsworthy nodded. "We are," he said.

"Sorry about this, Mr Black," Hermione said, although Sirius couldn't have heard her, Stunned as he was. "I hope you don't take this personally…"

"It was Malfoy's idea," Ron said. "Credit where credit's due… and blame likewise."

When Draco had outlined his plan, Hermione and Elmsworthy between them had invented a new spell on the spot. There were probably already spells of that nature, but neither knew one so they cobbled one together from an image-spell Elmsworthy had been working on and a Confundus Hermione knew.

Even Draco was impressed, Harry could tell. Ron seemed to be torn between jealousy of Elmsworthy and pride in Hermione.

Now they just had to hope it would work.

Sirius lay on the ground in front of Simon. Hermione pointed her wand at him.

At the sight of the wand Simon sneered as only a horse (or possibly a camel) can, but Harry kept a tight grip on the leadrope. "Easy there, boy," he soothed. "He's just got a bit of a thing about wands," he told Hermione.

"Really? He doesn't like wands? Gee. I hadn't heard about that." Sarcasm. "Do you think he'll attack me?" That sounded like genuine worry. "I notice Elmsworthy doesn't have his wand where the horse can see it."

"He'll be okay for you," Draco said. "He doesn't see you as being as threatening as Elmsworthy."

Elmsworthy turned his head. "What?"

"Well, he thinks you smell weird, Comrade."

Elmsworthy's sneer almost pickled Simon's.

Draco ignored it, telling Hermione, "Potter will keep him under control."

"Good." Hermione hefted her wand.

"… Probably," Draco muttered.

Hermione glared at Draco, who gave her his patent-pending innocent smirk.

She sighed. "Harry?"

"We're running out of time, 'Mione. Simon will be fine."

"Remember to get that flick before the swish," Elmsworthy told her, for the third time. "Like in the Confundus –"

She tsk'd. "Of course I will. I don't want to turn him inside-out. Oops, that's not going to happen, Harry…"

Harry was appalled at the idea. "I should hope not!"

("Probably won't happen," Elmsworthy muttered, and stared off across the treetops.)

"Never seen anyone get turned inside-out," Draco commented happily.

Harry, Ron and Hermione glared and Malfoy took the hint and shut up.

"He'll be fine, Harry," Hermione assured him. "Now… here we go… _Praestigiae echohippus._"

There was a soft blurred light and instead of one Simon there were now two.

The Simon in the headcollar arched his neck and snorted at this new one, which stood with its legs slightly splayed for balance, head down, just like Simon this afternoon after having the Imperius lifted. Harry decided it was appropriate and patted the real Simon on the shoulder. "Hope you're feeling better about things," he said softly.

Simon seemed more puzzled than anything, although the oddity of seeing his friend turn into a horse made him put his ears forward.

"What was that?" Ron asked. "Talking to your horse now, are you – ah, yeah, Malfoy, he's not Potter's horse, sorry. Yes. I _am_ clear on that."

Draco took his possessive hand off Simon's nose and ramped the glare down a notch. "Right. Are you sure Black is a match… he seems a bit bigger than Simon… Here." He pressed the leadrope into Harry's hand and went to walk around the illusion centring on Sirius. "It's a bit fuzzy up close." He leaned in and squinted. "If you look hard, you can see him through Fake Simon."

"It'll do from a distance." Hermione pushed at Fake Simon. Her hands seemed to rest on the fake shoulder. Fake Simon moved sluggishly, out from behind the barn and into clear view of the castle.

"Ready?" asked Elmsworthy. "We need the finishing touch, the icing on the cake, the –"

"We need it quick," Hermione said shortly.

Elmsworthy (with his back to Simon) flicked his wand at the cover on the ground. It lifted and flapped over to Fake Simon, lying over his back like it would on the real Simon. Elmsworthy muttered something and the cover paled two shades. "There. That will make him more noticeable. If they see Simon on the hill they won't be looking for him by the school gates."

Fake Simon stood with his head lowered. Harry cringed a little inside; it was Sirius they were doing this to. "He won't catch cold or anything, will he?"

"The spell will wear off in half an hour tops," Hermione reassured him.

"Or if it rains," Elmsworthy added. "Leaving someone in the rain without proper shelter counts as putting their life at risk." He scowled up at the low black clouds. "It's going to rain sooner than later. Hope he doesn't break free too soon."

"I hope he doesn't die from exposure," Harry snapped. He brushed a hand through his hair and gave Elmsworthy an apologetic look.

"You'd never be prosecuted for it," Draco said. "He's an escaped criminal, even if he _was_ framed. That's the thing about being an outlaw – you're outside the law. It can't be used for your protection."

"Yeah, and even when you're _inside_ it, the law never gets used for your good," Elmsworthy sneered. "This country has gone to the crups – heard about you being dragged before the Wizengamot the other year, Potter. Ridiculous state of affairs." He carefully didn't look at Draco, although he must have known Lucius had arranged the travesty. "Why do you think all my family is overseas?"

"Thought it was something to do with the sun," Draco sniffed.

"That too."

Harry shrugged, more interested in what was going on right now rather than the slings and arrows of last year. He turned back to a more important topic than the law, which had always seemed a bit nebulous to him, something used by the rich and the powerful to maintain their status quo, certainly not something that was used decisively in his defence. "Simon was a bit funny after Dumbledore Imperio'd him this afternoon. But he seems better now. Turning Sirius into a horse has cheered him right up."

"I dunno. I'm positive it's why he was hard to catch," Draco suggested, staring at the imitation Simon. "And tried to kick you."

"He's sorry for that," Harry said.

Draco snorted. "No he's bloody well not. I wonder if he's got some residuals kicking around his system… We might be able to clear them out." He took out his wand and began to run it over the horse.

Harry looked around. "Come on, come on… Someone's going to come along and wonder why we're up here with Fake Simon…"

Draco glared at him. "Now I know why they called you 'Harry'. Stop harrying me."

"Why'd they call you 'Draco', then?" Harry grumbled back.

"I'm a star. Constellation, rather."

"Speaking of stars, which leads us conveniently to going nova, Simon's going to bite someone in a minute," Ron pointed out.

Draco sighed and put his wand into his robes. "Right. Simon's not obviously injured or carrying physical residue from the Imperius – nothing I can leech out, anyway – and the Animagus is about as good a copy as we're going to get. He's a tad taller and more solid than Simon, but he should pass muster for anyone who doesn't know Simon as well as we do."

"Pity we can't recreate the spell in Simon's chest," Hermione said. She tilted her head, eyeing Simon's chest. "I'd love to know how that works…"

"Maybe later. And when he's under heavy sedation," Harry said. "And when I'm in another country. Like China. Or maybe Fiji, which has a big happy ocean around it. Okay – let's go. Quickly, now." He tugged at the leadrope. "Gee up there, Simon."

It was a good thing Simon was black; a grey or palomino horse would have been easily spotted. They jogged down to the gate, the hoods of their cloaks drawn up to shade their faces, Simon following reluctantly, dragging at the leadrope.

"Come _on,_ Simon," Harry puffed. "What are you meant to be? A mule now? Cripes, if he refuses to more out of a walk when the Dementors come after us we'll be in trouble."

They scurried through the gate, worried as they were Dumbledore might have a charm on it to let him know when it was being opened (the charm on the fence meant they couldn't cut a hole in it on the other side of the hill without alerting the Headmaster).

"Can't you make him go any faster, Potter?" Draco's boots rustled through the long grass softening the curves of the hillside as his broom glided down the hill. Simon sped up grudgingly when the boy got too far ahead for his peace of mind.

The brisk pace didn't last. Simon was even more mulish when he realised they were going towards the Forest. Harry felt like running behind the horse and giving him a boot up the backside to get him moving faster, but that would have been more painful for Harry than Simon – Simon wouldn't restrain himself to an affronted glare, not when he had hooves at the ready.

The horse finally roused out of himself when they skimmed the edge of the Forest. Draco circled back. "Look out, Potter…"

Simon had his ears back, but it was Ron who got the nip when he tried to go between the horse and the shadowy trees.

"Ow! Why's he always picking on me?" Ron moaned.

Draco smirked and made a jaw movement unmistakably that of someone biting his tongue.

Harry took a firmer grip on the leadrope. "You three going to be all right from here?"

"We'll be fine, Harry," Hermione promised.

"We'll hide until it's time," Elmsworthy said. "I've developed a new spider-repellent –"

"Why didn't you use it the other night?" Ron complained.

"That was why I developed it," Elmsworthy sighed. "The potion to repel all the other nasties we might find in the Forest was in the bandoleers, but hopefully the spider one will work."

"Don't you know?"

Elmsworthy shot Ron a scathing glare. "I haven't had an opportunity to test it."

Hermione stepped between them. "We can hide in Hagrid's hut. I asked him earlier. He promised he wouldn't tell anyone, not even Dumbledore, although he didn't think we'd really be hiding _from_ Dumbledore..."

"Oh." Elmsworthy looked disappointed they wouldn't be testing his potion.

"What if Hagrid accidentally tells Dumbledore?" Ron said. "Remember Fluffy and the bloke down at the pub who turned out to be Quirrel?"

"It doesn't matter," Harry cut in impatiently. He blinked as the ambassadors of the thunderclouds speckled his glasses. "So long as Draco and I are on the other side of the barrier, it might even be helpful if Dumbledore's with you. Much safer, I should hope. But we're never going to get there if we don't go. Now."

Draco was nodding. "Granger? Five hours from now you need to be at the tree, all right? Nothing too precise – we don't know if the time difference is four and a half or four hours and twenty minutes. And while the potion should keep the trees above the threshold of destabilisation for a whole two hours after application, its peak is exactly at the moment of application and the standard deviation is pretty tight, so it's best if we get the potions applied within twenty minutes of each other. All right? All right. Potter, you ready, too?"

They'd already calculated it would take half an hour to get through the barrier and to the two trees, Simon willing. Once outside the barrier Draco would have his broom for the tree up in the hills, and Harry would be able to get to the one near Hogsmeade on Simon. Or walk if need be, but it shouldn't be more than ten minutes to get there.

They all had their fingers metaphorically crossed to ward off the possibility of the trees being guarded by Death Eaters or Dementors.

Harry and Hermione pulled out a pair of old stopwatches Elmsworthy had "borrowed" from some non-specific place the castle. (Elmsworthy wasn't saying and they weren't asking – some things were better left alone.)

Draco pulled out a third. He and Harry set the watches four hours and twenty minutes ahead to Hermione's zero. "On three. Three… two… one… Start your watches."

Three fingers clicked three buttons on three watches. The precision wasn't really necessary, not with the potion keeping the trees destabilised for a whole two hours after application. But it made them happy.

"Right," Draco said, smiling nervously as he tucked the watch into his robes. "Got everything you need?"

"Yes," Hermione said. She sounded less exasperated than she would have had it been Harry asking – she and Draco were still in an armed truce.

"Take these," Elmsworthy said, handing a small assortment of phials to Harry and Draco.

"Er… thanks. But what are they?" Harry asked.

Elmsworthy shrugged his rangy shoulders. "Nothing special. Just chuck 'em and run when you need a distraction."

Draco and Harry exchanged a wary glance as they pocketed the bottles, neither wanting to insult Elmsworthy by refusing his (potentially) kind offer. But Harry made sure he kept them separate from the other, more important bottle of anti-Voldie potion and the darts.

Draco straightened his cloak so it hung balanced over his shoulders. "Right. I've been waiting to say this for bloody ages now: Are we there, yet?"

Ron snorted. "Go on. Both of you… _and_ the horse you're about to ride out on. Get moving. Good luck. As for you, horse, if you don't see them safely out of the barrier don't bother coming back. You won't get any peppermints from me."

It was lucky Simon couldn't understand him or he might have been bitten again.

ooOOoo


	83. Chapter 83

Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to JK Rowling and Warner.

Chapter 83

Harry and Draco led Simon past the trees towards the lake, passing as close to Hagrid's hut as they dared, staying out of sight of the main part of the castle, and they kept their hoods up to cover their faces and, in particular, Draco's pale hair which would shine like a beacon in the murky twilight. A few early speckles of raindrops took the edge off the air which otherwise felt like it had been baked and left to sit. Harry held up his hand. "Wait," he whispered, squinting up at the path leading down to Hagrid's hut. The path which, coincidentally, gave an excellent view of the gates and the meadow Harry and Draco were planning on crossing.

A lanky figure swathed in a black cloak was sitting on a boulder by the path. The head turned; a nervous watcher.

"What's he doing here?" Draco hissed.

They hid behind a tree as best as they could. Simon's hindquarters were fairly obvious, sticking out from behind the trunk as they were, but the person sitting on the boulder wasn't looking at the trees.

"It's Dean Thomas."

"I _know _it's Dean Thomas. I have classes with Gryffindors inflicted upon me, remember?"

"Right back at you – with Slytherins to make it worse. But why's he out here?"

Draco rolled his eyes. The whites gleamed. "Didn't I just ask that?"

"Hey – that's…" Harry squinted again "… Justin Finch-Fletchley?"

"Those two have been sneaking around far too much lately," Draco spat, bristling with suspicion. "They're not even in the same House. It's not natural, I tell you."

Harry stared at him.

Draco had the grace to look abashed. "Well, it's only natural in extenuating circumstances."

"Like when a Slytherin is involved."

"Those situations would be extenuating enough, yes."

"Do you even _know_ what 'extenuating circumstances' means?"

"Yes. It means that they involve me." Draco pressed his lips together.

It was Harry's time to roll his eyes.

Dean and Justin looked around furtively then pulled their hoods up to hide their faces and crept off down the path.

"I think they're going to the Quidditch Pitch," Harry whispered.

"Maybe. Let's not stay to find out."

Harry thought this sounded like good advice. They hurried on, Simon stalking at their heels.

"Oh, hell… Whoa, Simon. Stay very still, there's a good horse. Malfoy – quick – your hood's slipped a bit. I can see your hair."

But Draco had seen them, too: Dumbledore, Flitwick and Hooch, the three of them leaving the castle on their way to the paddock. "Damn," he breathed, yanking his hood up to better cover his face.

The professors had exited the castle near Hagrid's. Dumbledore stopped and stood for a moment, his face turned towards the Forest and Hagrid's hut, eyes shaded by shaggy white brows scanning the deepening purple world for… for what? For Harry? Did he know Harry and the others had escaped? Probably not – he'd be in more of a hurry if that were so. Were Dean and Justin playing lookout for them?

Flitwick pointed at the equine silhouette on the hillside and said something to the others. Dumbledore nodded, but he still didn't move. It was as if he were waiting for something.

"At least we saw them before they saw us," Harry pointed out as Draco pushed at Simon's hindquarters to get the horse standing head-on to the castle and thus better hidden by trees.

"You sure? Oh, move over there, Simon," Draco whispered. "Honestly, if anyone had told me just two months ago I'd be sneaking around at night watching your back for you, shoving at a horse's bum to hide said horse from Hogwarts professors, not to mention going against the Dark Lord, I'd've said they needed to get a top-up of their head-potions from St Mungos. Or maybe I'd've just laughed and pointed at the crazy person. Mind you, it'd probably have been Luna saying that to me, so I might've just let it slide as another day at Hogwarts…"

He was complaining in a whisper so Harry didn't tell him to shush. Although he wished Malfoy hadn't mentioned Luna in such an easy-going way.

They waited a nail-biting two minutes until the professors had passed out of view. If Dumbledore had spotted them and intended to stop them he was being very obscure about it, even by Dumbledore's standards.

They hurried on, skirting the lake as they sneaked their way towards the main gates.

The lake was the place they'd planned on getting on the horse and the broom, and then moving swiftly towards the gates where Draco would get on behind Harry. Draco activated the silencing spell on the shoes.

(Hermione had pointed out with the aid of graphs and charts and several books that it had been sheer luck that the silencing charm Draco had used hadn't exploded the shoes going through the barrier. Draco, a little green, had agreed that the next time they went through the barrier they'd do it without the silencing spells, and quickly activate them on the other side.)

Harry remembered at the last moment he hadn't tightened the girth. Simon wrinkled his muzzle in a way that was only really menacing to someone who knew the subtleties of horsespeak as Harry did the buckles up a hole, and winced when Harry stuck a knee in the horse's stomach.

Simon had been holding his breath, of course, blowing his ribs out. He let it out with an indignant grunt and tugged at the bridle.

"There." Harry slapped the seat of the saddle. "That should be tight enough."

"Good," said Draco, who was holding Simon's bridle with both hands. Luckily for Harry's sake, he was one of those who knew enough of the subtleties of horsespeak. "He tried to give you a nip there."

"He might've just been warning me he's in a bad mood."

"Or he might have been after his pound of flesh. Maybe I should ride him and you should take the broom."

"What? Why? I got a majestically powerful rock to your pathetic excuse for scissors, Malfoy!"

Draco put his nose in the air and sniffed haughtily. "Perhaps, but he likes me better…"

Harry decided he could break Malfoy's nose later. "Shut up and give me the reins," he snarled. Simon wasn't the only one about to take a pound of flesh. "Stand still, there, Simon."

The horse sidled, not wanting someone on its back, but Harry swung up quickly.

Draco mounted his broom. "Want me to lead Simon for you?"

"Want me to give you a knuckle sandwich?"

Draco smirked, the only one enjoying the evening. "Pick up the pace there, Potter."

The horse cantered smoothly and for the most part silently past the lake, only arching its neck and snorting once when a giant tentacle reached out of the water and waved at them lazily.

The lake lay in a valley, and the hills and low clouds massing heavier and heavier as they moved in from the west soaked up any sunlight, leaving the water flat black. If Harry hadn't already known what lived in it, he'd have been quite alarmed. "It's just the Squid," he soothed.

Draco on his broom simply slid out of Simon's way and then glided back again. The thing about brooms was that they didn't have minds which needed to be predicted. Harry wished for a moment he had _his_ broom, but reasoned quickly enough that it was better to have Simon taking him through the barrier rather than something inanimate which might stall in the middle. He ruffled the horse's mane. "Good boy, Simon."

But despite the initial shy at sudden movement, Simon didn't seem to mind the Squid, which was odd. Maybe he thought it was some sort of semi-mobile tree. Or maybe he was used to it – he'd been fine with it in the past, Harry recollected.

They were coming close to the gates now. Harry cast a quick glance over his shoulder towards the castle. The sun must be over the hills. Sunset this far north was a late affair in summer, but it was going dark far too quickly. Harry had been counting on dusk on the way out and dawn on the other side to help him find his way around. He couldn't see past the castle to Squirrel Hill, but there was a good chance Dumbledore was finding Sirius in disguise right at this very moment.

Simon skittered soundlessly on his charmed silver shoes, picking up on his rider's nervousness. Harry forced himself to breathe normally again. However…

"Got a bit nippy all of a sudden…" Harry shivered. It felt like all the cold stored up by the lake from winter was now seeping out to surround them. Maybe the clouds were a cold front coming down from the Arctic, but he could have sworn they were of a more westerly origin. _Dark, too…_ But he didn't want to say that aloud. Simon started throwing his head up and down, the bit jingling as he mouthed at it unhappily, fighting the reins. The cold was bothering him. Or maybe it was the pearly barrier stretching up into the sky – Harry's eyes watered every time they looked too deep into it.

"Yeah." Draco's lips were pressed thin against his teeth, but Harry didn't think it was from the cold. "Dark, too. Right. We're close enough to make a run for it. I'll put the spell on the shoes back to sleep. Don't want to risk them in the barrier, not on top of everything else. Only the mind-ones need to be active…"

Harry saw it in Draco's eyes: they reached the same thought at the same time. And it was a bad one.

"What if Simon's post-Imperius jitters muck up his ability to tune in to the spell in the shoes and get us through the barrier?"

"Bit late to worry about that now," Draco said stiffly. But he looked terrified. "I guess if Simon won't go through, then that's that. We'll just have to trust his judgement."

Harry decided not to point out that Simon was only a horse. It was too obvious.

Now that the spell was off, Simon's hooves clip-clopped down the last of the road before the gates.

When they reached the gates, the iron bars rippling softly where one gate had swung outwards to touch the barrier, Simon paused, leaning back. He snorted one of his low, rolling snorts that sounded like a drain unblocking. The whites were showing around his eyes.

"Not a good sign," Harry said.

Draco, his teeth chattering and eyes as wide as Simon's, said, "Something's off. The cold's coming from the barrier. It wasn't like that last time, I swear it wasn't."

"That's because there are Dementors out there," came a soft voice to their right making Harry and Draco start. Simon didn't so much as flick an ear, which meant he'd already been aware of the person. "I've been listening to hear them sing, but they haven't made so much as a peep. Maybe it's the barrier."

"Luna!" Harry breathed. It was strange that Simon hadn't whinnied to her – but then the horse was busy being freaked out by the barrier. "What are you doing here?" He was torn between relief and horror. Why was she here? Had she come to see them off or stop them?

"What are you doing out here, Luna?" Draco demanded at the same time. "Oh, and Dementors don't sing," he added.

"You don't really know they don't." She sighed as if knowing there was no proper answer to that and slipped forward through the night. She was wearing a pale nightgown that went down to her bare feet (_She must be freezing_, thought Harry) and a blue gown embroidered with smiling Thestrals. The dressing gown was dark enough to let her blend into the night, but it was unforgivable how neither he nor Draco had noticed her, what with the nightie and the long pale hair spilling down her back and shoulders in a waterfall of moonlight. She shrugged making her hair ripple in a very interesting way as it fell over her shoulders and boo– er, (Harry did a quick mental edit so's he didn't feel like some pervy ex-boyfriend who was unable to move on), as her hair fell over her frontal chestal area, and waved a book. "Catching up on some reading," she said. "And waiting for you."

"Really?" said Harry, feeling his tongue thick in his mouth, striving mightily to say something clever despite this handicap. "Good book?"

"Yes, actually. It's the sequel to _My Pal Pooka_ – this one's called _Dunderhead._ I read it years ago, and thought it was time to go through the series again. There's a third book – _The Blue Grass of Kentucky_ which is a lot deeper and delves into philosophical themes underlying the passage through adolescence to adulthood – I'm hoping to get more out of it now I'm older."

Draco's mouth had dropped open. "You -? This -? I don't believe it. I've wandered into Hogwarts' weekly book club meeting. Where's Granger? Oh – that's right, she's got the sense to keep going on schedule. Potter," he continued, his voice dropping and becoming acid, "I always knew you were operating several sparks short of a spell but…"

Harry lifted his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Simon was beginning to fidget at the chill from the other side of the barrier combined with the building tension on this and Harry shortened the reins to let Simon know Harry was not only aware of the situation but in control. "Yeah. Right. Sorry. Where was I? Oh, right. Luna, what the hell are you doing out here?"

"You really can't go through there." Luna motioned with her head towards the gates.

"Luna, we have to go," Harry sighed. "Dumbledore and Flitwick can't ride Simon. He'll dump them inside the barrier and, well, I wouldn't wish that fate on my worst enemy. Especially when he's riding behind me. He might take me with him."

"Thanks," Draco said. He was still sitting on the broom. "And yeah, I would take you with me if I fell. Just for the record."

"Simon wouldn't let either of you fall," Luna said as if it were as simple a fact as gravity. "Professors Dumbledore and Flitwick might be different, yes. Simon thinks they should be able to look after themselves. I heard about the riding lesson."

"Really? How?" Harry wasn't sure he liked news of Simon-related events getting around the school, even when it got to the relative safety of Luna's shell-like ears… her plain, ordinary ears he did _not_ want to lick or nibble on in any way whatsoever. He sighed gustily. Hang on – had she just implied that Simon thought Harry and Draco were incapable of looking after themselves?

"I had afternoon tea with Mr Black and Professor Lupin. They wanted some hints that could help. Poor Mr Black…"

"Yes, poor Mr Black… That was a terrible thing to happen." Draco's shoulders were shaking with the effort of keeping a straight face. Harry didn't laugh: he was unappreciative of Sirius' name being mentioned, especially where Luna was involved. The next time Padfoot put his head in Luna's lap to have his ears rubbed he wouldn't have to worry about anyone trying to put a collar on him because Harry would cut his head off.

"But from what I heard, Dumbledore was going to put the Imperius on Simon…"

"…Correct…" growled Draco through thin lips.

"… and that would have been disastrous. I mean, the barrier has a heavily psychological element to it – thus the edge creatures like Granger's cat being able to get through it, especially when enhanced with the sorts of spells Draco put into Simon's shoes. So if you used something as horrible as the Imperius, which is so Dark you either need a soul-wall to stop yourself being dragged down with it or you have to be as powerful as Dumbledore, well, it would set up a harmonic with the personal spell component You-Know-Who inserted to make the barrier keyed to himself."

"And – wow. Yes. That would be nasty," Draco said, nodding. "I'd only thought of the uselessness of Imperius in terms of its needing constant casting on an edge creature, which I judge to be nigh on impossible when you're so busy feeling like you're being shredded from the inside out thanks to being inside the barrier, and in that case while Dumbledore and Flitwick might have fallen off and been stuck in the barrier until it was broken, they'd be able to be released at some stage. But… with the harmonic bouncing back on you and making what _you_ believe into a reality… Wow. Ugh." He shuddered. "Imagine the _mess_…"

Harry wasn't sure what would happen, but when it came to Dark magic he trusted that a Malfoy knew that of which he or she spoke. As for Luna – well, she was kind of weird when it came to running around asking questions. She'd even had Snape teach her how to make Mendeleev gloves, for goodness sake. (Even if they'd gone berserk, it still said a lot for the extent she would indulge her curiosity.)

Luna shuddered, too. "Professor Flitwick could keep his focus long enough, I think, but to be honest I don't think anyone has more than a small chance."

"How'd you work this out? Your _uncle_?" Grey eyes narrowed and Draco's tone became arch on the final word.

"Huh?" Harry felt like they'd plunged into another conversation. "All of a sudden he knows your uncle, Luna?"

Luna ignored Harry and gave Draco a mild look of reproof which suggested he'd found his target, yes, but she was going to counter him with the Power of Lunaness. "Mum was pretty smart, too. And I don't want Simon getting – um. Mulched."

"No. Fair enough." Draco leaned back casually on his broom and his mouth turned up at one corner in a cynical smirk. "You mean you wouldn't mind so much if it was Dumbledore or Flitwick getting, as you put it so prettily, mulched?"

"I think anyone who tries taking Simon into the barrier without taking into account the danger they're putting him in deserves anything they get," Luna said with unaccustomed ferocity. Her upper lip had gone tense and Harry wondered if she'd picked that expression up from horses. Did all horses get that expression before they bit someone, or was it only Simon?

"Are you referring to us?" Draco said. His eyes were icy.

"Yes. Although I think Simon won't let you do anything too stupid," she said, suddenly serene again as if the little moment of rage had never been. She stepped up to Simon and stroked his nose and the horse settled a little. "Go on – try going through the gates."

"I thought there were Dementors through there," Harry said.

"There are. Simon can feel them."

Draco pulled at his lower lip, then said, "I hate to say this, Potter, because foolhardy runs are for Gryffindors and other mental asylum escapees, but if we can get through the gates and ring that bell then cast our Patronuses to get rid of the Dementors, then we have a good chance of not only getting through thanks to the element of surprise, butalerting Hogsmeade, too. Maybe then they can shelter us for the time it takes to organise someone more skilled than us to use the potions."

Harry stared at him blankly for a full four seconds. "Huh. You want to trade that snake in for a lion, Malfoy?"

"No, a straightjacket," Luna said crossly. "That's the dumbest thing I've heard since Dumbledore's planned Imperius on Simon. You're basing your plan on the most preposterous series of ifs I've heard outside of _Hogwarts: a History._ First of all, it feels like there's an army of Dementors out there, which means too many Dementors for you two to counter with a couple of Patronuses. And secondly, Simon isn't your mindless servant, he isn't an idiot, and he _isn't_ going through the gates."

"He has to," Draco said. "Go, that is. And now. Because people are going to come looking for him very very soon. And if _we_ don't take him, Luna, be assured that _they_ will. They must have found Black by now. What say you, Potter?"

"I say let's let Simon say," replied Harry and slid his foot out of the stirrup. "Hop on…" He held out his hand. Draco got off the broomstick and stood, making sure his cloak wasn't going to get in the way (it was too difficult to dismount in midair, especially when trying to exchange one bony seat-astride for another), and took the hand. He put his left foot in the empty stirrup and Harry swung him up so he was sitting behind the saddle, the broom in his right hand. Luna looked at them worriedly.

"I hope you know that if you sit over Simon's loins like that for too long he'll get a bad back," she warned.

"We aren't planning on this being more than the time it takes to get through the barrier," Harry promised her. "Ready, Malfoy?"

"No." Draco was still trying to find a comfortable spot, not helped when Simon hunched up his back and bounced at the bristles tickling his flanks. Draco gave a muted whimper and quickly readjusted the broom. "But let's go. The game's 'Simon Says', didn't you say?"

"I did. Come on, Simon, what do you say?"

Simon sidled, arching his neck as he accustomed himself to the weight and the broom. The bristles resting on his rump couldn't have been comfortable, but at least he didn't seem to be ticklish there. But when Harry turned him towards the barrier the horse balked.

"Come _on,_ Simon…" Harry gave the horse a slightly sharper kick in the ribs.

Simon began to back up.

"Simon… no, horses aren't meant to walk backwards…"

"Ouch, Potter. Just… ouch, all right?" Draco snarled.

"It's going to get worse, you realise," Harry snapped back.

Simon swished his tail and stopped, but otherwise ignored his riders. His head was up and his ears pricked, his dark eyes intent on something over the other side of the water. His attention had suddenly fixed itself on the Forest. Luna was looking in the same direction. Was Hagrid coming? His house was over that way.

What if it was Dumbledore?

Draco, clutching the broom higher, hissed, "Potter…"

"I don't know what's wrong," Harry said. He jiggled the reins, not daring to pull too hard in case he hurt Simon's mouth. That would mean hell to pay. He gave Simon another nudge with his heels. Simon didn't move. For all the reaction he gave he could have been Immobilised. "Damn. It's like he's got a spell put on him." Maybe if he gave Simon a really hard boot in the ribs the horse would – _would probably do kangaroo impressions, come to think of it_. Harry sighed.

"Oh, hell," grumbled Draco nervously. "Dumbledore did something."

Harry had been thinking exactly the same thing. "He knew we might break free of the Obliviate and –"

He stopped. At his back, Draco had also gone very still.

"Oh, here they come," said Luna, smiling happily. "I was wondering if they would."

There seemed to be a silvery glow moving towards them from out of the Forest. It was as misty as Luna's eyes and as it drew closer it reflected on the still surface of the lake which lay between the students and the Forest.

Simon stopped being a statue and whinnied and bobbed his head up and down. He would have moved towards the glow, but Harry pulled on the reins. Simon pawed the ground to express his annoyance at the idiocy of his rider.

The glow became a rustling wind through the trees as it moved faster and faster, softer than a Patronus, warmer than figs, harder than the moon.

"…Unicorns?" said Draco in disbelief.

It was a herd of unicorns. Several herds of unicorns. Harry hadn't known the Forest contained so many. They flowed between the trunks of the trees like a spreading pool of mercury.

Harry was so surprised he loosened his grip on the reins.

Simon moved forward towards the lake with a spring in his step, bobbing his head up and down in greeting as he whickered again. Harry didn't stop him. Draco said "Ouch" again and tightened his arm around Harry as Simon moved into a trot. "Make him walk," he said, sounding like he had his teeth gritted. "I'm going to fall off in a second. Or possibly jump out of self-defence."

Harry tried to comply, but it was difficult with Draco pulling him off balance. Luna, jogging at Simon's head, managed to pull on the reins and bring Simon back to a walk – just in time. Draco grumbled and pulled himself back into place, using Harry as his handhold.

"Let's not do that in the barrier, okay?" Draco said through clenched teeth.

Simon didn't seem too happy about his ill-balanced cargo either. Even as his ears remained pricked forward towards the approaching unicorns, which had spilled out into the meadow and now stood waiting, his tail swished and one back leg struck the ground unusually hard in a warning that he wouldn't put up with any more sloppy riding, oh no.

"You'll be all right now," said Luna, puffing slightly from her efforts to keep up with Simon's long strides. Once around the lake, she grabbed the reins again to stop the horse, climbing up on a convenient boulder and resting one hand on Simon's crest. She seemed to be trying to convince herself as much as Harry. "Harry…"

"Yes?" He was dividing his attention between the silent beauty of the herd of unicorns and Luna's pale face uptilted to his – she was equally beautiful, he realised dazedly, and leaned down as she whispered:

"Do take care. Some of us would be sad if you didn't come back. And not just because Simon was gone too."

Were there bells, or was it Harry's ears that were ringing? Luna still liked him.

"I –" he said, then realised he only had to lean down a little more, and then he could press his lips to hers and they were as soft and sweet as rose petals, just like he remembered them and her fingers were laced through his and –

"Will you two save the snogging until after the Dark Lord is dead?" Draco complained. And Simon shifted just enough to remind Harry that the horse had certain ideas on his foals kissing each other around him. The one eye in view gleamed with threat. Honestly, thought Harry crossly, blushing although there was no reason he should be ashamed of what a _horse_ thought of his morals, had Simon fallen out of the Victorian era?

"Take care of them, Draco," Luna said, turning her pale face to Malfoy's. She was still holding Harry's hand.

"I… of course I will," he replied somewhat gruffly. "But – hang on." He turned to look up the hill, and suddenly tightened his arm around Harry's middle. "Someone's coming out of the castle," Draco gasped. "Oh, bloody hell… Get it together, you two – not get it on!"

Harry straightened up and looked back over his shoulder.

Four people had just come out the main doors. They were jogging down the steps. Yes. That tall figure could only be Dumbledore. And was that Sirius behind him? Damn. It was. Someone had freed him from the Illusion spell. That slender silhouette was Hooch and, yes, Flitwick was in their shadow, his white hair chiaroscuro against the dark bulk of the castle, but the Charms master had sharp eyes and it was him pointing towards Harry and Draco.

"Go, Simon, go!" Draco yelped.

"Hold on," Harry commanded. He held the reins a little longer and Simon swished his tail and half-reared, annoyed that one rider was pulling him back at the same time as the other one was kicking him in the flanks. "Luna…"

"Go." She let go of his hand and Harry made sure he was holding the reins properly. Her lips moved silently and Harry only imagined he heard three words no-one other than his parents had said to him.

Harry stored every detail of her he could in that last split second. "Ready to go, Draco?"

"Whaddaya think I've been – ugh!"

The "ugh" was because Harry had relaxed his grip on the reins and given Simon a nudge with his heels.

The black horse lunged forward into the unicorn herd which parted and absorbed them, moving like a school of fish in a gleaming, instantaneous change of direction.

There were unicorns cantering light as thistledown dreams either side of him, billowing and whirling in a swarm that was as silent as it was beyond Harry's abilities to focus on any individual beast. Only Simon stayed constant, his neck arched and his eyes deep with the shadows that slipped between the glory of the unicorns. A spell whistled towards them and was blown away by the shifting, melting mass that was the herd.

Another one: it was aimed straight at Simon, who rolled his eyes in terror and bunched his muscles to leap sideways.

"Potter…!" Draco yelped. He was already sliding and he had a death-grip around Harry's waist. They would fall the moment Simon changed direction –

A unicorn tossed its head up and around, skewering the spell on its horn. The spell ran down the horn like St Elmo's fire down a ship's mast, and the unicorn threw it away into the darkness with a snort.

Alarmed by the near-miss, Simon shook his mane and might have bolted, but Harry's hand on the reins and the river of unicorns kept him on course.

Harry wanted to take out his wand, but he had the reins in one hand and Simon's mane in the other. Draco had his broom, and was using the other arm to hang on to Harry, hauling himself back over the middle of Simon's back. They were at the mercy of the unicorns.

Draco had stopped talking, but he was so close to Harry that he could feel how tight each breath was. Draco's fear mirrored Harry's and was the last and most human part of the ride.

The unicorn that had caught the spell turned its head and Harry looked deep into its dark eye.

It was the unicorn stallion who had accompanied them out of the Forest after Simon rescued him from the Glasshouse.

As soon as Harry realised this, the unicorn dipped its head in barest acknowledgement. And Harry felt a great wave of safety lift him and hold him.

"We're going to be all right," he told Draco. "We're doing the right thing."

Draco hadn't given up his attempts at finding a comfortable spot, and he gritted out bitterly, "Bully for us."

Harry heard a distant cry: it sounded like Sirius calling his name. Harry had never heard it spoken with such despair and it cracked his heart that he'd not told Sirius that he loved him and Sirius' last memory of Harry would be of the Boy Who'd Not Forgiven. He looked back.

Sirius was running down the hill. A couple of unicorns had wheeled back and now stood with their heads lowered, horns a threat. When Sirius tried to dodge them, they slid, liquid and dispassionate as moonbeams, to block him again. Mild and serene as ever, they lowered their heads. If he tried to get past they would kill him.

Sirius stood, his hands empty, his face bleak.

Harry must have unconsciously pulled on the reins, because Simon tugged at them irritably. Simon was on a mission and he wasn't going to pause for a moment, even for his friend.

_"Harry…!"_

Harry clung to the knowledge that the unicorns had come for them and stopped Sirius, and told himself he couldn't have stopped Simon if he'd wanted to now. It was easier than having a choice.

And Luna loved him.

He turned his face away from Sirius and Hogwarts: he had to save the world for her.

In the eye of the vortex of unicorns, they plunged into the Forest.

ooOOoo


	84. Chapter 84

Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to JK Rowling and Warner. Marry, I do maketh no moolah here.

ooOOoo

Chapter 84

It was a wild ride, buffered only by the fleet unicorns cantering alongside Simon. They seemed to be guiding the horse through the Forest. That was handy, Harry thought giddily, because he didn't have the faintest idea how he was meant to direct him.

Especially right now…

"Potter – you dropped the reins!"

"Yeah… but I've still got my wand!"

"You tw–" Whatever Draco was going to say was cut off when Simon scrambled up the side of a dormant stream as the unicorns flattened the ferns into a new road. There was a yelp as the jolting stride made Draco bite his tongue.

_Good boy, Simon._

It was virtually pitch black. The sky should still have held some light – sunset was officially around about now – but the thick clouds overhead ate the light. The sky grumbled, hungry still.

Simon kept to a canter. But it was the unicorns which set the pace. Simon kept going in the midst of the megaherd, and Harry and Draco did their best to stay on. One time Simon stumbled over something – a root, a dip in the ground, a rabbit hole, perhaps even his own hooves – and Draco slithered sideways with a panicky yell.

Harry grabbed the pommel as Draco threatened to pull him off the horse.

The unicorns slowed almost to a halt. Simon did stop, but only long enough for Harry and Draco to pull themselves back up to an even keel. Then he was off again, straight from walk to canter: it was entirely possible the horse knew how uncomfortable the trot was for its riders. It more likely that Simon didn't like having Harry and Draco, who were still novice riders, bouncing around on his back.

"He's not exactly a stupid horse," Harry told Draco, who'd just offered this reason for Simon's eschewing trotting as a means of covering the ground.

"No, he's very Slytherin in that respect," Draco said. "Shame I'm not at the moment," he grumbled. "This really is the pits… We should have stopped and let me ride my broom…"

"I don't think the unicorns thought of that."

"Hope Simon doesn't – ouch – get –ow! – all worn out from carting us two through the Forest before we – argh! – before we even get through the barrier," Draco said.

It sounded incredibly uncomfortable behind the saddle. Harry might have had more sympathy, but he was too glad it wasn't him back there. He ducked as a branch swished towards him.

The branch slapped Draco in the face. He swore.

"Sorry. Didn't see that coming in time to warn you."

"Yeah, right…"

"You know, I was counting on there being more light," Harry said. He'd been trying to get the reins back, but snatched at the pommel again with both hands, almost dropping his wand, as Simon lowered his head and charged up a slope.

Draco managed to grab the wrist of his broom-hand with the hand of the arm he had around Harry, locking himself in place. He might have slid off Simon's rump otherwise. Harry had to pull himself forward as soon as the ground levelled off. His arms ached – it had been too long since he'd played Quidditch and he was out of condition. Draco's weight had pulled both of them backwards, nearly taking Harry out of the saddle.

It was highly doubtful Simon would allow them to ride through the Forest perched on his rump. Simon was a horse with high standards.

"If it's dark, then the Death Eaters won't be able to see us," Draco pointed out.

"And we won't be able to see them. I was planning on hiding a lot."

"Simon's hard to hide."

"He's black. And silent with those shoes when the spell's active. And he's a sneaky sort of a horse – sneaky in a good way."

"Sneaky? No, just cunning. Told you he was a Slytherin."

More branches. The unicorns gave some light, but it wasn't enough to let Harry and Draco see all the hazards coming in above equid-height. While the unicorns were polite enough to show Simon the best way for a tall horse with willowy long legs, they mightn't have been aware of the needs of the horse's cargo. Now that they were going through some fairly scrubby area of the Forest with lots of low branches, Harry and Draco abandoned conversation in favour of ducking and dodging potential concussions.

Neither voiced the fear that the unicorns could be leading them in the wrong direction. Even though it was a probability. Even Hagrid had to admit unicorns were only animals, albeit as sacred as animals got. And unicorns had never been documented to have complex plans.

The trails they funnelled Simon down might only be deer trails. At one hair-raising point when Simon slithered down a bank and splashed through a stream, Harry knew that this could be some sort of wild unicorn cavalcade that they performed on strange and mystical occasions… nothing to do with Voldemort or the salvation of Hogwarts.

Yet Luna had known they would come.

How did she know these things?

She couldn't possibly be right about Space Bunnies, and the idea of Dementors singing was ludicrous.

But the unicorns had come.

Stephanie had told them to trust the unicorns. Luna had been expecting them.

Animal or no, Harry clung to his trust of them like he clung to Simon's saddle: it was his last hope of getting through the barrier.

"Potter…"

"I see it."

Pearly through the trees, the vegetation around it long withered and brittle barring a single oak shivering determinedly with life where it touched it, stood the barrier. The wall spun from malice and time that kept Hogwarts apart from the rest of the world, slowly strangling the only home Harry had ever known. Like the unicorns, it glowed with its own light.

Unlike the unicorns, Harry felt its scorn as a thin itch in his scar.

A massive silhouette paced before it.

The unicorns and Simon stopped, Simon blowing heavily, sweat already forming on his neck and flanks from the effort of lugging two young men through the Forest on a warm night. Harry grabbed the reins while he still had the opportunity.

Harry squinted at the silhouette as he tightened the reins to let Simon know his rider was back in charge (and hopefully prevent any panicky gallops on Simon's part). The barrier outlined the shape of a horse and rider… or did it?

Simon tossed his mane and snorted. He would have turned around but the unicorns pressed in on either side of him, holding him steady. Shorter than the black thoroughbred, one of the unicorns had its shoulder pressed against Harry's foot. Harry didn't dare move in case the hard metal of the stirrup bruised the ethereal beast. They were tough, yes, unicorns were, but not against iron. Professor Grubbly-Plank had taught Harry's class that before she let anyone near a unicorn. Harry shortened the reins, not letting go again when Simon tossed his head and tried to snatch control of the bit again. "Shh, Simon, it's all right," he said, hoping he wasn't lying through his teeth. He turned his head, trying to get a better picture of what was now walking towards them.

Draco lifted his feet higher before a unicorn could squash one against Simon. Good thinking, Harry realised: Simon might think he was being kicked forward. Draco's fingers tightened on Harry's cloak. "Um… is that…?"

"…A centaur? Yes." Harry raised his voice a little. "Hello?"

"Hale be thou." The centaur's hooves hit the packed dirt of the trail with muffled thuds which reflected the great weight they carried. Harry made a mental note to turn on the silencing charm on Simon's shoes the very moment they were through the barrier.

The unicorns slid away as the centaur approached until it was right in front of the horse and its riders.

Simon arched his neck and blew great gusting snorts. Not a greeting: a sign of alarm. Harry patted Simon's neck. Simon wasn't too sweaty – his coat was just a little damp, and already it was drying and turning his coat prickly. They'd need to start walking again before the horse got chilled.

_Walking through the barrier then galloping for our lives…_ The morbid thought slipped into his mind before he could stop it.

"Oh… Yes. Hello." Harry felt the greeting was totally inadequate. It was the centaur they'd met in the Forest before. And he still didn't know his name.

The centaur came up to them and extended a huge hand over the back of a unicorn. Simon arched his neck, his eyes bulging as he attempted to size up his opponent, and Harry hoped the horse didn't do something insane, like attack the centaur. Simon hunched up his back and if there hadn't been unicorns still surrounding him he would have bolted. Keeping the reins tight in his left hand, Harry took the centaur's hand and shook, then the centaur shook hands with Draco, who looked as if he was bottling up enough nervous pressure to explode a case of butterbeer.

"Harry Potter. And Draco Malfoy. I am Tigris."

"Mr Tigris," Harry said. _Finally we get a name for our mysterious centaur shadow._

The centaur smiled like the Mona Lisa (not that Harry thought anyone else in the Forest tonight would know what the Mona Lisa was – no-one except for Hermione, of course. Harry spared a quick wish for the safety of his friends, just in case there was any kindly power passing by. You never knew with unicorns). "I know you meant no insult. I am Tigris."

"Tigris," Draco said, shooting Harry a look that said Don't-provoke-the-crazy-centaur.

"Well met, sons of Hogwarts. If late met."

"We were… erm… delayed," Harry said. Had the centaur been expecting Dumbledore?

"I had feared Albus Dumbledore had forestalled you. I am glad he did not."

Were centaurs psychic? After the unicorns he was prepared to believe anything. Harry tried to keep his thoughts positive to centaurkind in general. "Er… Yes. You – ah… you knew it would be us?"

The centaur's dark, almond-shaped eyes were devoid of anything other than a great solemnity. "The child-filly who belongs to this horse was the only one other whom could have been carried within his penumbra. I knew it would be two of the trinity."

Harry had no idea what a penumbra was. The swingy thing under a clock?

Draco sighed and dismounted, pushing a unicorn out of the way gently but firmly, just as he did with Simon when the horse tried to steal apples from the bag of brushes. It tried to sniff at his face but he leaned away as if it had bad breath. "Let's let Simon rest a moment, hey? Penumbra or no, he's still got to get us through the barrier."

Harry followed suit. The unicorns backed up to give him room. Down on the ground he found that the air was sweet with their breath. It was good to have his feet on the ground, but he also liked the feel of being on Simon with the ability to flee or charge at any given moment. Providing that given moment didn't include unicorns blocking all paths, of course. And the air the unicorns breathed out was heady; nothing overly intoxicating, more like butterbeer or the smell of Luna's hair than firewhisky. One exhaled softly into Harry's face, making friends like a horse would in the exchange of breath.

Unicorns are not horses.

Harry made the mistake of breathing in instead of out. His head reeled and he grabbed at Simon's mane for support.

Simon was shifting his attention between the barrier, the centaur, and the shadowy trees. Harry had a bizarre and fleeting image of the Simon as a human, rangy in an old overcoat, cupping a hand around a furtive cigarette to hide the glow as he lurked in the alley of a dingy city, uncompromisingly hard glittering eyes milking the world of its secrets. In another universe the horse was human and a detective. And he looked alarmingly like a Muggle version of Snape, what with the lank hair falling over his black eyes. In that universe Draco was a canary singing in a cage carried by Pansy the news anchorwoman, and in a zoo, next to the cage where Sirius the lynx paced with matted fur, was Harry the three-toed sloth hanging upside down chewing leaves with Ron, Remus and Hermione in Muggle school uniforms banging on the glass to get his attention and Dudley was the shadow minister of defence and Neville was a tree with Voldemort the squirrel running free through his branches and magic was the universe sighed into being by a unicorn.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut – the unicorns were making his brain fuzzy. He rested his forehead for a moment against Simon's neck and breathed in. The smell of horse was earthy and stripped away surrealism.

Harry opened his eyes and tried to get a grip on the conversation going on between Draco (most definitely not a canary although that pointy nose and the sharp eyes were a bit eerie after the vision) and the centaur.

Draco was looking up at Tigris with guarded hope written on his face. "I take it you're here to help us?"

The centaur stared down at him and blinked slowly. "As you would help the herd."

"Okay. Both our herds." Draco stretched his legs and patted a unicorn yearling which was curious about his hair. "It's not edible," he told the unicorn indulgently, pulling back just enough to avoid the colt breathing into his face. Harry realised Draco already knew not to breathe too deeply around unicorns. The unicorn curled back its upper lip, exactly like Simon would have done when given something new to taste-test. Speaking of Simon, Harry had seen the horse greet the unicorns before; how come Simon wasn't affected?

"All herds are one," the centaur said.

Draco cocked his head. He scratched behind his ear. "True. If you don't mind me asking, what do you do with criminals or the insane in the centaur sector of the herd?"

"Some are driven out. Some are killed. Some search constellations inner and outer and find God."

Harry had the distinct impression this centaur was in the latter group. It made him uneasy. Trusting unicorns was one thing – they weren't in the realm of the rational and people could take 'rational' in some very strange directions. Was that what the centaur had done, or had he tapped into the intuitive wisdom of the unicorns? If they _had_ intuitive wisdom, and Harry was betting his, Draco's and Simon's lives as well as the lives of everyone in Hogsmeade and Hogwarts that this was true.

Draco bit his lip and looked around the trees. It wasn't so much a clearing as an area where the Forest was less dense. The trail the unicorns had brought them along disappeared into the pearly mist of the barrier and spring growth was already blurring it. Draco frowned in thought as his attention turned to a log away to the right. "Er… I'm sure I've seen this place before. The darkness makes everything different, but I bet if I go to the other side of that log there I'll see a nice fat colony of exploding puffballs. This is a weak spot in the barrier, isn't it?"

"The one the cat went through, yes."

Draco looked alarmed now. Harry thought it was because the centaur knew about Crookshanks and the barrier, but Draco asked, "Did you know there were spiders here?"

"The Forest would no longer harbour them if they harmed unicorns."

Draco's shoulders lost their rigidity. "Do you know about the barrier trees, s- Tigris?"

"The northern vertex is near. The Forest groans with the strain of bearing it."

"You mean the tree to the north?" Harry asked. The centaur nodded.

"This is going to muck up our timing," Draco grumbled.

"What? Oh – right." Harry swore under his breath. They'd decided Harry would go for the southern tree because it was near Hogsmeade and the ground was level with handy roads. But…

They'd calculated things for going though the gates. The tree Harry was going to ride to was on the flat, an easy canter across farmland – ironically Draco must have ridden near it when the Dementors had chased him and Simon. He'd assured Harry that he might have to jump a few fences but he should be fine. Now Harry would have to ride through a populated area which was bound to be patrolled by Death Eaters before getting into the relatively benign area of Muggle farms. However – "Hang on a tick. We're closer to the northern tree. It was meant to have been yours, but how about if I take Simon to that one instead?"

"Yeah, okay. I'll certainly be faster on the broom. And it's farms all the way out there, too. But it's hill country farms. Not Muggle farms, either. Farmed for generations by witches and wizards with family heirlooms in the form of breeds of stock Hagrid would sell his back teeth to meet… and I bet even the Dark Lord would think twice before meddling with hill country farmers. They can get a bit… interesting in the head."

"How interesting?"

"Well… I don't know much about the cattle farmers, but the shepherds can have very set opinions on anything from the proper age for docking to banning pineapples because they're symbols of oppression. Father deals with them through intermediaries. And not because of their personal hygiene. Just… don't make eye contact if you meet anyone. Especially if they've got dogs with orange eyebrows. And _don't_ go into any paddocks where the cattle are white with red-tipped ears. Which is about all I know about cows, I'm afraid. And if anyone has llamas for God's sake take Simon and get the hell out of there before your heart is ripped out and offered for the sunrise or the precession of the equinoxes… no, hang on – the sacrifice for the precession of the equinoxes probably only applies if they farm alpacas. Alpacas are further north from what I've heard. If you're ever around Caithness and you see alpacas –"

"Okay, okay… avoid anyone and anything." What was Lucius Malfoy doing dealing with farmers? A rural recruiting program for Death Eaters?

"Except for the tree."

"Except for the tree, yes."

"…Although you'll want to avoid anything guarding the tree. And avoid touching the actual tree itself."

"Avoid anything and everything up to and including the tree. Got it."

Draco regarded him worriedly. "Do you think you can handle the uneven ground?"

Harry patted Simon's shoulder confidently. "He'll take care of me."

"Will he?" The centaur tilted his head as he eyed the horse. "There is a stain upon his honour. He has been compromised in a manner most ill."

Simon glowered back at the centaur.

"He… had the Imperius curse placed on him," Harry confessed.

"A great stain and a great evil." The centaur sighed. Tigris stared off through the trees as if his dark eyes could pierce them and divine the secrets of Hogwarts. "Desperate times have found you and desperation allows good to perpetrate evil."

"Tell me about it," Draco said. He was staring at the barrier. He winced and squeezed his eyes shut. The barrier had that effect on Harry, too. "Well, if you think you can handle the hills, Potter…?"

"There must be roads. Or sheep tracks, like Hagrid's herd of sheep leave through the heather behind Hogwarts. Hagrid's sheep don't give me any trouble."

"True. Sheep are generally harmless. Except for the bit where the rams charge at you and try to kill you because it's spring and they're feeling a bit cranky. Doubt they'll try anything with Simon, though. And it's a flock of sheep, not a herd. Townie. Muggle townie at that. Try talking like a wizard for once in your life."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I could talk some really good curses if you're ready to catch them. How come you know so much about the farms around here all of a sudden?"

Draco sniffed, but in a way that suggested Harry had amused him. "Good farming land around here. Follow the sheep – shouldn't be hard to do when you're a Gryffindor." He'd ignored the question, too.

'Follow the sheep' sounded a lot friendlier than 'follow the spiders'. But what was that Draco had said about breeds Hagrid would be interested in? That did _not_ sound friendly. "Fortunately Simon is a Gryffindor horse."

Draco made a small noise of disgust.

They swapped Elmsworthy's locator stones. The little grey pebbles were inert now, but Elmsworthy had sworn they'd activate just fine on the other side of the barrier. Like the charms in the shoes and the potions in the bottles and darts, the non-inherent magic (different to the inherent magic of their wands) should be masked by inorganic material. And if they didn't work, well, Harry and Draco had some spells for finding the trees. Unfortunately it meant using the potion in the darts, which could potentially alert Voldemort.

Harry would worry about that when it happened. He couldn't afford to get worked up over scary possibilities, not when he was going to need all his courage just to get through the barrier. His hand shook as he put the stone in his pocket.

A unicorn rested its nose against his sleeve. Harry felt a smile touch his mouth. He was calm again.

Tigris watched them without comment. Harry would have liked some words of encouragement but the centaur seemed to specialise in ambiguity. Perhaps a penumbra was something cheerful. "What's a penumbra?" he asked. So what if he sounded like a moron? It was better to be fully informed – death with dignity was nice, but he'd rather live with a blush.

"The sort of semi-shadow you see in an eclipse," Draco replied. "You know. Not light, not dark. Where were you in Astronomy? I never had that with you so that's one thing you can't blame me for."

"Probably talking Quidditch with Ron." Eclipses again. Harry wondered if he should tell them about the dream he'd had the other night of Simon being frightened by an eclipse.

That was probably too obscure even by Tigris' standards. Harry kept his mouth shut.

"You will need more than your pebbles. You will need an escort on the other side," Tigris intoned in his deep voice. "You will need a pass. You will need… a guiding light from within." He stepped back, his massive hooves stepping almost as quietly as a unicorn's.

The unicorn stallion stepped forward, another unicorn following daintily at his flank. He touched noses with Simon. There were soft snorts to recheck identity – the equids hadn't had time to properly reintroduce themselves on the way into the Forest. No, Simon definitely didn't get weirded-out by the unicorn breath, so maybe it only affected humans. Or wizards. Harry had heard that stallions could fight to the death, but these two seemed to be old friends. The unicorn stallion gave Simon's neck a friendly nibble, as if they'd done some mutual grooming in their time. Simon might have reciprocated – he might even have dozed off had the centaur been somewhere else, but as it was the horse was edgy around Tigris.

The second unicorn also touched noses with Simon. It also seemed to be a friend, although Simon wasn't quite as impressed by this one as he was by the stallion. More like how he was when he was introduced to a Hogwarts student like Trudi, Zabini or Hermione. A young member of the herd, then.

The younger unicorn pressed its horn against the neck of the older. A quick twist, and silver blood welled in a shallow cut. The stallion didn't twitch, his dark eyes not leaving Simon's. The horse touched noses with the unicorn again. It was equine communication; Harry didn't see anything sinister in it, and probably there was nothing magical, either. Simon didn't start levitating – generally a good sign. How was it that something as… as mortal as a horse could be friends with a celestial creature like a unicorn? Harry wanted to touch the unicorn, but Simon turned his head, blocking his hand, and the unicorn stallion raised his own head just enough to suggest that Harry's touch would be a grave impertinence.

Perhaps horses were allowed to be friends, but wizards weren't really worthy.

Harry had a moment's bizarre image of Simon as the unicorn's pet, like people kept monkeys,

He shook his head. Either Dumbledore's Obliviate or all the air the unicorns were breathing out had really scrambled his brain if he was thinking things like that.

The centaur dipped his fingers into the blood dribbling down the unicorn's neck.

"Tigris…" Harry began.

The centaur fixed him with a look from dark eyes deep-set beneath heavy brows. "It is only damnation for those who take it without the blessing of the unicorn."

Draco cringed back as the centaur turned towards him. "That's a bit esoteric for me. I don't even know if I _have _a soul, let alone one capable of receiving a blessing…"

"The Dementors know the truth."

Harry shivered. He'd actually _seen _Sirius' soul rise before the stag Patronus had come to rescue them. "Is this supposed to protect us from Dementors?"

Simon laid back his ears and stepped between the students and the centaur, who stopped, silver-coated finger raised like he was making an important point. When Harry tried to pull the horse back Simon wrinkled his nostrils to warn Harry the horse wasn't in any mood to allow heroics from his wards.

Two unicorns moved forward, their hooves barely rustling the skeletons of last autumn's leaves. They aligned themselves either side of the horse. And the unicorn stallion touched noses with Simon again. There was another soft exchange of breath and the unicorn brushed its muzzle along Simon's neck.

The unicorns were bidding the horse stay still.

Simon obeyed with a sigh.

Harry felt like he'd fallen into a dream. He watched as the centaur used one of his huge hands to cup beneath Simon's chin. The horse twitched then, as one unicorn whickered softly, accepted the touch, although the muscles down his crest stood out with the strain of keeping himself still. Draco rested his palm against Simon's cheek.

"What are you doing?" he asked softly, his voice controlled so that the anxiety barely filtered through.

The centaur pressed the bloody finger to each of the horse's upper eyelids. "The sky is too busy for stars. Even the sun will battle today. There will be little light for you to see. This will help you in the darkness you shall find yourselves within. And it will find you guides beyond the barrier. And yes, Harry Potter. It will help shield you from Dementors. Filth is both fascinated and repulsed by Purity."

"Won't it hurt Simon when he goes through the barrier?" Harry said. "Or hurt us?"

"This is not magic of the sort wizards can harness. It is as far beyond your barrier as unicorns are beyond the things that crawl in wounds."

Simon shook his head. He would have bent his head to scratch the drying blood off against his foreleg, but Harry held the reins tight.

"Wish we were beyond the barrier," Draco muttered. "Dumbledore must be looking for us…"

"He will not see you. Peace, my friend," the centaur rumbled to Simon, and ran his bloodless hand down the horse's nose in reassurance.

Simon twitched again as the centaur dabbled his fingers in the blood still seeping from the unicorn's wound and went to paint the blood on Harry's eyelids.

The unicorns leaned closer. They were cool against the warmth radiating from the horse: moonlight instead of the light of day. Draco clutched his broom against his chest. "Potter…"

"We can trust the unicorns," Harry told him.

"Since when?"

"Since Stephanie started helping us… Since the Sickle, the fig and the Glasshouse… Since Hufflepuff set everything in motion," Harry said. It was a guess, but the centaur nodded.

"Fortune smiled when the greenwitch gave the unicorns shelter in these woods," the centaur murmured.

"She's been the one behind the scenes all along, hasn't she?" Harry sighed.

"She never left these trees. Now close your eyes."

Harry did so. The centaur's fingers were cool; the blood evaporating like alcohol instead of sitting tacky on his skin.

And when he opened his eyes again the world glowed silver like the unicorns.

"You okay, Potter?" Draco blazed with magic. It eddied in leylines beneath his skin, curling through his fingers and forming silver discs for his irises.

His pupils were tinged with red.

"Potter? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Draco leaned in closer. Harry steeled himself and refused to shrink back.

"I'm… pretty good, as a matter of fact."

The centaur lifted his hand again. His finger blazed.

Draco's eyes flickered as he blinked, then he squeezed them shut and visibly braced himself as the centaur applied the unicorn blood to his eyelids.

When he opened his eyes again, they went very round.

Harry grinned. "Remarkable, isn't it?"

Draco looked at his hand which was still resting on Simon's cheek. "Yeah. Your eyes have gone all silver."

"Yours, too."

A wobbly grin. "D'you think Luna's contagious?"

"Hope so. We're going to need a bit of lateral thinking."

"Hah. True. Look at Simon…"

They stared at the horse. Simon gleamed in hard blue shadows limned with flowing graphite lines. His eyes held a green gleam like the dying souls of emeralds. The charm set into his chest by some unknown wizard revolved slowly.

"Ugh," said Draco.

"The anti-theft charm? Yeah." It was making Harry nauseous just looking at it. Something was out of kilter. "Hey – can you see that other spell? Just off the anti-theft charm?"

Draco squinted. "It's… it's like it's thirty degrees off along the zed axis…"

"…Yeah. Yuck. Speaking of yuck, er… I hate to break it to you like this, but… well… y'know how Voldie's eyes are… er… red?"

"Yes. Yours have red in the pupils. Maybe you're evil now." Draco smirked.

Harry snorted. "Welcome to the Clique of Evil, Malfoy."

"Oh. Mine too? That's…" His face contorted a moment. "… That's kind of cool, actually. Last time I had that it was from hexunctivitis."

"I had that in my fourth year."

"Fourth year? Oh no…" Draco's smirk became a fully-fledged grin. "I had it when I was eight. I hear it's slightly different after you hit puberty."

"Apparently so," Harry said, trying not to let his face twitch at the uncomfortable memory. It had been worse than the conjunctivitis he'd contracted from Dudley, which only itched. Hexunctivitis had had Harry itching to see naked people. Up to and including professors. After one terrifying double lesson in Potions followed after a crowded lunch by Transfigurations and with the faint-worthy prospect of Divinations to follow, he'd confessed in the break between Transfigurations and Charms to Hermione that Voldemort had finally tunnelled through his skull and hollowed out his thought processes and he was '… going mad, MAD, stark raving _mad_, I tell you!!' She'd immediately diagnosed him, clicked her tongue in her 'I can't believe you haven't read _Magical Maladies vol. XIII'_ way, and sent him to Pomfrey for eye drops. "Trust me, this is different."

"If it looks anything like the red in your eyes, I can imagine. Wish I had a mirror…"

Harry wouldn't have been able to stop himself from saying something about Draco and mirrors if his life had depended on it, but fortunately (because this was the sort of night when Harry's life could depend on the smallest thing), he was interrupted.

"The world moves. You do not," the centaur chided gently. Tigris's dun body glowed, the darker stripes down his spine and banding around his legs up to knees and hocks were starkly obvious where once they had been hidden by the greater darkness.

Harry looked up. Even the unicorns couldn't stop Simon looking sour – the horse was tired of waiting around in the Forest. Simon had a point. Harry reached up and ruffled the forelock. "Right. Let's go."

Harry mounted first. Draco clambered up behind him more awkwardly, hampered as he was by the broom.

"Scared, Potter."

Was that a joke? It was. "Oh yes. You?"

"I think that chattering sound you can hear is my teeth – I'm not really a castanets sort of guy."

The unicorns moved away as Simon pawed the ground. "I don't think Simon is, either. Er… sir – sorry, I mean Tigris, do you know what's on the other side?"

The centaur bowed his head. "Your task."

"Oh. Right." Fat lot of good that was… but the centaur _had_ given them the ability to see in the dark. Harry turned his head to the unicorn stallion, and got that familiar thrill like a plucked harpstring in his spine when its eyes met his. "Thank you," he told the unicorn.

The unicorn dipped its muzzle.

The herd opened up like a morning glory flower, leaving the barrier as the only way forward. With the unicorn blood enhancing his vision, Harry thought he could see it rippling. Out of the corner of his eye there seemed to be faces pressing up against it but when he tried to see who they were they disappeared. Ghosts. Phantoms. How exactly had Voldemort summoned the magic to form the barrier? Perhaps he didn't want to know. Harry swallowed against his suddenly dry throat as he gathered up the reins.

"Hold on," he croaked.

Draco's arm tightened around Harry's waist, but that was the only sign the Slytherin gave that he'd heard.

"Look after us, Simon," Harry breathed. He took a handful of mane. "Now gee-up."

Simon sidled at first, then seemed to take heart from the unicorns. One ear was tilted back, concentrating on his riders; the other was canted sharply forward at the barrier. To the relief of both boys the horse went from walk to canter without bothering with the bouncy trot.

Simon lowered his head slightly, both ears set back determinedly now, as he ran towards the shimmering wall.

They plunged into the magic and the last thing Harry felt as his world fell away was his head splitting open from the searing agony of his scar. It was blinding light and hammering sound and every acrid scent and taste pouring over him to rip his skin off and turn him inside out. It felt like Voldemort was suddenly pouring his anger and hate and festering evil straight into Harry's head, prying Harry's skull open with cruel and inhumanly strong fingers, laughing at Harry's pain.

_Come to me, Harry Potter…_ Pain was the voice of the barrier.

_Ohmygodheknowswe'recoming! Draco! Simon! He knows we're coming and he's waiting for us on the other side!_

Through the pain Harry was barely aware that he was still on Simon. It felt like being on a boat sailing over great rolling waves – Simon was cantering on steadily. And there was a constriction around his waist. Draco. The hold wasn't steady – and if Draco let go or pulled Harry off to the side they'd both die here in this hell between earths.

But Draco's pain couldn't possibly be as bad as Harry's, because Draco didn't have Voldemort ripping his skull open. Draco didn't know Voldemort was waiting for them.

And Simon… Simon didn't understand the sort of evil he was carrying them to meet. Simon was a horse and horses had no concept of evil. Evil was a human domain.

Harry had to speak. He had to warn them – Draco and the horse both. He had to tell them to get the hell away from Harry as soon as they were through the barrier. They had to run. Harry couldn't escape, but maybe they could…

It was his last conscious volition – he had to warn them…

He had to warn…

He… he had to…

He…

He opened his mouth and screamed.

ooOOoo


	85. Chapter 85

Disclaimer: Characters and settings still belong to JK Rowling and her associates. No one I've ever met. And do I really need to add I'm making no money out of this? Okay, I'm making no money out of this.

A/N: Excerpt from Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening".

ooOOoo

Chapter 85

Someone was screaming.

"Harry! It's okay, we're through. You can shut up, now… Harry!"

The screaming stopped, but Harry's throat was raw. His eyes seemed to have been welded shut by the pain in his scar.

He was falling now. Sliding sideways. His foot banged against something hard – shouldn't his foot be in it? He grabbed at something – anything – and his hand scrabbled at a smooth surface. The smooth surface shifted and then the world jumped to the left. Most of the world. Someone else wasn't quite in sync with the rest of the world and that person was holding on around his waist, pulling Harry off balance. An enemy?

Harry thrust his elbow backwards into something soft, and someone cursed in his ear.

Malfoy.

Wasn't Malfoy an enemy?

Malfoy was fighting him… Harry's head was splitting with agony so Malfoy was taking him to Voldemort…. No, Harry had caught the Snitch and Malfoy –

"Potter, you idiot – stop fighting me!"

They fell, hitting the ground hard, winding Harry.

"Oof!"

"Ow!"

Harry retched for air, aware that Draco was right next to him also gulping for air as helplessly as a Grindelow out of water.

Something went thumpetty-thump next to Harry's head. The fall had knocked his eyes open. He stared around wildly. There seemed to be a centaur in front of him – that made sense. He had some memory of a centaur in his recent past. But the hooves were smaller and neater than those of a centaur, and since when did centaurs wear silver shoes?

"Get… reins…" Malfoy gasped.

_Reins?_

The hooves danced back, and Harry looked skywards just in time to see a horse – a horse? _Simon! –_ to see Simon whirl away. Simon glowed blue with a silvery light. So did the trees and the barrier beyond them. They were in the Forest – outside the barrier – and Simon was – Simon was running away…

Harry struggled for breath. _"Simon,"_ he wheezed.

Crawling to his hands and knees next to Harry, Draco hissed, "Simon, come back!"

Did he hear them? Simon pranced to a halt, but his attention was riveted not on the boys but on the shadows moving towards them from between the trees.

The horse snorted and lowered his head, torn between fight and flight. The reins dangled, dragging on the ground as the instinct to run took over.

Simon stood on them.

His head jerked. There was no snap of breaking straps, but the horse stopped.

He must think someone's holding him back, Harry realised, dimly astonished at the inability of the horse to work out something so simple to a human.

Simon turned but trod on the reins again and stopped, his ears flicking in confusion. He tried again and this time managed to break into a trot.

"Simon! Don't leave us here!" Harry squeaked. He'd almost got his breath back but his feet were another matter. And what were those shapes moving towards them? Simon was worried by them and they weren't close enough for even the unicorn-enhanced sight to show what they were.

Simon had found his bearings and was trotting now; trotting away from Harry and Draco.

_Snap!_ went a rein.

Simon halted, mouthing at the bit anxiously. The jerk of the bit must have been quite painful.

Draco scrambled forward and grabbed at the rein still attached to the bit. Simon shied away, but the Slytherin was faster. "Got him."

Simon danced around him in a circle, eyes rolling at the moving shadows, but Draco, himself keeping one eye on the trees, took a firmer hold on the headcollar, which they'd left on under the bridle. "Whoa there, boy," Draco said, but his voice shook with nerves.

Harry couldn't blame him.

Draco took out his wand. Simon shook his head at the sight of it and tried to rear, dragging Draco back along the trail towards Harry, who rolled out of the way.

"Don't let him stand on my broom," yelped Draco.

The broom was out of trampling range. Draco must have dropped it right after they came out of the barrier. Harry staggered over to get it – they were probably going to need it for a quick getaway. Hopefully whatever was coming wasn't airworthy… although how would Harry ever face Luna again if he abandoned Simon?

More by force of will than anything else, Draco dragged Simon back towards the barrier and Harry. "Can you see what's coming?" the Slytherin muttered.

"No. Too big to be spiders."

"Simon's really scared."

They were speaking in whispers now. Harry found this painful. His throat was raw, but it seemed counterintuitive for it to be harder to speak quietly than at the louder, normal level. "Think it was the barrier? What was he like when you rode through?"

"Well, I wasn't screaming. I couldn't hear anything when we were in there but you sounded pretty upset when we came out."

"Was that me?" Although it'd explain the sore throat…

"Yeah."

"I… I thought You-know-who was with us. It felt like he was sticking his fingers in my brain. Providing his fingers are made of red hot pokers dipped in tabasco sauce."

"Oh, I just had the being flayed alive thing. Again. But for some reason I couldn't scream. Nothing manly, just… I couldn't scream because I was frozen with the pain. Same old, same old… Trust you to be weird. Told you you're a freak." He managed a shadow of his old smirk.

Somehow this made Harry feel better. If Draco was complaining and/or still insulting him the world hadn't completely tipped off its axis. "So you think I scared Simon?"

"You scared thirteen hexes out of _me._ Thought you were possessed. Do you think _he_ knows where you are?" Draco sighed nervously, peering into the darkness, probably, like Harry hoping that whatever that was out there would pass them by if they stayed still long enough.

Harry half-closed his eyes a moment. "I don't know. Best if I don't really think about him too hard, though. I have the feeling he's aware I've crossed the barrier, but I don't know how he did it. Or if he can trace me now I'm out of it."

"Yeah, but…wait – …damn. They're definitely coming this way… Shh…" Draco lifted his wand into the classic cursing pose, keeping a tight grip on Simon's headcollar. Harry stepped forward and they stood shoulder-to-shoulder for a moment before Harry ducked around to the other side of Simon. Just in case.

The heavy, almost sub-sonic pattering like giant raindrops falling on the forest floor grew louder. It rustled through beds of ferns and there was splashing as many feet crossed a stream.

Simon tried to rear again. The horse shook its head and Draco held tight, his face set. Harry didn't bother saying anything trite like 'don't let him go' because it was obvious this was the last thing Draco wanted.

He eyed Simon carefully. The horse's ears were laced back in a menacing fashion and the upper lip twitched to show the suspicion of teeth. Under the unicorn-glow Simon's coat glistened with silvery echoes of the charm in his shoes and his eyes were matt with shadows of things Harry had never seen outside dream, with green glowing in their depths. Had the barrier altered their horse? Harry had the horrible thought that this was the original Simon: not just the one who'd come to them in the Forest, but the one who'd nearly killed Draco when Draco was thrown into his pen; the horse before Luna had worked her magic and tamed him with a headcollar and an apple; the horse that acknowledged an owner who wasn't Harry.

Harry took a step forward, but Simon reared again, this time with determination so great that Draco gasped as he was almost lifted off his feet.

"Stay back, Harry," Draco warned from between gritted teeth. He was busy trying to manoeuvre his wand so it wasn't sticking into Simon's throat. He had almost dropped it in the frantic grab for the headcollar. "He wants you to stay here."

But Harry had realised that about the same time as Draco and was already falling back to stand by Simon's neck. "He was going to run off half a minute ago," he hissed over Simon's withers. Harry rested a hand on Simon's shoulder. The muscle was hard as the bone beneath it and the hide was damp. Harry patted the horse, but Simon's attention was fixed on the Forest around them. The bit jingled noisily as the horse mouthed at it. So much for whispering: they should have put a muffling spell on the tack.

"Yeah. Horse logic."

"What? He can leave us but we can't leave him?"

"That would be the horse logic, yes. Can you see what it is?" Harry still on the back foot from the barrier, was imagining some sort of giant millipede. Hatched from an egg Hagrid had bought from some bloke he met in a pub.

"I don't know what _it_ is, but _they _are all around us.

There was a crackling as huge shapes moved through the undergrowth. The deer trail they'd been following led into denser bush, and there were many things moving closer through it.

"Whoa, Simon," Harry said, his breath whooshing out in relief. "It's okay, Draco – put your wand away. They're friends."

"Yes, but do _they_ know that?" Draco whispered.

The centaurs emerged from the trees.

Harry had half been expecting more unicorns. He should have guessed from their meeting with the centaur Tigris that they would be greeted by more centaurs. But Harry's dealings with them hadn't always been affable. Bane was the one who'd –

"Harry Potter." A dark, scowling centaur stepped forward. Think of the devil.

Harry bowed his head politely as his heart sank. "Bane."

"You found a way through the barrier." This was another centaur. One much more welcome.

Harry smiled. "Firenze. Glad to see you're alright, sir." He'd known the centaur as Professor Firenze throughout the latter half of the previous school year and never been corrected over the honorific.

Another centaur curled its lip. "The wizard colt calls you 'sir'?"

Harry decided it mightn't be politic to remind them that Firenze had taught Divinations last year at Hogwarts. They'd driven him out of the herd for that crime.

"He has always been respectful to myself and our kind." Firenze's eye lingered a little longer on Draco, who was still holding tight to Simon. "Draco Malfoy."

"Professor."

Centaurs stamped their hooves in disgust.

Simon swished his tail defiantly and tried to rear against Draco's weight as the horse took offence at the centaurs' body-language-suggestion (right now it was equivalent to two raised fingers) that his colts were in some way inferior. And Harry tried not to wince too obviously at Draco's impolitic choice of address.

Firenze almost smiled. "I would not have thought to see you two in company." He turned back to Harry, who was stroking Simon's neck in an effort to calm the horse down. Simon shook his head and glared at the centaurs. He couldn't run, not with Draco holding onto him, so the stallion was getting aggressive. The horse was unnerved by so many centaurs, and Harry couldn't blame him, but he hoped Simon didn't get _too_ aggressive.

He wouldn't attack the centaurs, would he?

_Who, Simon? Attack? Simon the easy-going cuddle-bunny?_

He reached for the headcollar, gripping around the cheekpiece of the bridle for extra control, just in case the horse tried to attack the entire herd. "But then," continued Firenze, his gaze lingering on the horse, "stranger partnerships have been seen in these strange times."

Harry stilled. "Er… you're not going to tell me there are centaurs who are supporters of… um…" He trailed off.

"Supporters of the Dark Wizard?" a grey centaur snorted, offended. Magorian, Harry thought his name was, but he couldn't quite remember. The only other centaur whose name he knew for certain was Ronan, but while there were a few bays and browns and even a spotted centaur he couldn't see the red-headed centaur. How many centaurs had been isolated on the other side of the barrier, and how many had died in the battle? No-one had told him. And before now Harry hadn't thought to ask. The grey was still speaking. Harry made himself pay attention – best not be accused of disrespect here and now. "Supporters of vermin wizards? Is that what you were going to accuse us of?"

"He would not, Magorian." Firenze shook his head. "Do not be alarmed, Harry Potter. We were called here, but not by evil. We sensed the gathering of unicorns across the barrier, and you three bear their willing blessing. Only the purest of the pure could summon an entire herd of centaurs for a common cause."

"Especially where wizards are involved," Bane snapped. "You'd better be here to break this wizard-perpetuated blasphemy against the Forest."

Simon pranced, trying to put himself between the young wizards and the centaurs. Draco and Harry tightened their holds on bridle and headcollar. "We're here to break the barrier, yes," Harry said. "But we also need to warn Hogsmeade that You-know-who is going to attack it. Very soon. Within an hour or two as a matter of fact."

"Wizarding squabbles," a centaur said dismissively.

Harry's grip tightened. He stroked Simon's nose, more to remind himself to stay calm than to calm the horse. "It was reason enough to bring us here," he said softly. "I don't consider breaking the barrier more important than saving the lives of an entire village."

Bane reared. "Then you are a fool!"

Simon bucked, kicking out at the air, and then tried to rear again. He made that odd hoarse squealing noise Harry had heard him make when he attacked the spiders, and struck out with his front hooves.

"Would you mind stepping back a bit?" Harry asked, very alarmed now. One hoof had snagged his cloak and nearly nicked his shin. If Simon hadn't had careful aim Harry would have been sporting a broken tibia. Bane had already stepped back half a stride at the horse's outburst, but it wasn't enough for Simon, not by a long shot. Simon had very nearly lifted Harry _and_ Draco off their feet and was now pawing at the ground, digging a trough to China. His veins were standing out over his hide and the muscles of his neck and shoulders bulged. Harry was beginning to worry about the state of the shoes. "You say you've been called here to help," he panted, "but _he_ doesn't think so."

The centaurs stiffened. Only Firenze gave a nod to show he understood. "We unnerve the horse," he told them.

Bane gaped at Simon. "_We_ unnerve _him?_ We're not the ones –"

"You are correct, Firenze," the grey interrupted ponderously. "Bane. We are too many and a beast of direct thought such as a horse would see us as a threat to himself and those under his protection. Step back."

Bane snorted, sounding a great deal like an affronted Simon, but obeyed.

"Perhaps we may speak in a greater space?" Magorian suggested. "Come. There is a meadow with sweet grass. It is on your way." He turned and walked off down the track Harry and Draco had been following, his silvery tail swishing behind him. The other centaurs fell into step behind him.

Harry and Draco exchanged eye contact over Simon's neck. The moment the centaurs turned to go Simon had stopped tugging at the headcollar.

It took some urging by Harry and Draco, but eventually they got the horse moving forwards without resorting to smacking his backside with the broom's bristles, something (as Draco pointed out to counter Harry's half-hearted suggestion) for which neither broom nor horse were really designed.

Harry was just pleased Simon was moving forward without charging off over the horizon or dragging Harry under his feet. He would have liked to have fixed the rein, but Simon was in such a tizz it wasn't worth the risk of taking out his wand. He untied the leadrope from around Simon's neck and hoped Simon would remember his manners to walk at Harry's shoulder instead of _on_ it. Or any other part of Harry's anatomy that might come to hoof.

But he shouldn't have worried. Once moving, Simon stalked along at Harry's side, ears flickering to catch all the sounds of the Forest, nostrils twitching to take in its smells. The Forest they passed through now was all mature trees with space between them, and the trail was wide enough for them to travel three abreast and see for some distance between the trees.

Harry could see no unicorns, but he didn't stop looking.

On his broom, Draco glided along on Simon's right. Funnily enough Simon had never seemed upset by brooms. Like the Squid and flying blankets coming to land on his back, it was a part of the magical world this Muggle creature had no argument with.

(Harry did note that Draco seemed to have his wand out – only one hand was on the broom. The other was out of sight, suggesting that Draco had the presence of mind to keep his wand out of Simon's judgmental eye.)

"Think there'll be any spiders this side of the barrier?" Draco murmured.

Harry hadn't thought of that. "Good question," he said slowly. "Let's hope no spiders come along to answer it for us."

"Mm. But would any be daft enough to confront a herd of centaurs?"

"They've confronted Simon a couple of times. That shows they're not rational creatures."

"Good point. But I expect we'll see them first – look! A Bowtruckle."

"We wouldn't have seen that without unicorn blood on our eyes."

"True," said Draco with a measure of satisfaction leaking into his voice. He went silent a moment before saying with less assurance, "Ah… maybe that's not something we should go around telling everyone."

"What? Oh, don't worry about them. You can't steal the magic from the unicorns – it has to be blood given with their blessing."

"I was thinking more along the lines of it's kind of disgusting having someone smear blood on you, no matter what the source."

"Oh." Harry paused as Simon glowered at the Bowtruckle, which had twitched. Horses weren't meant to have great night vision, but it seemed that Simon's eyes were just as magically augmented as Harry and Draco's. That was a relief, although it opened up whole new realms of things for the horse to shy over. Harry made sure his feet were out of range of Simon's. "Yeah. Let's leave the blood part out of the story we tell any journalists. I really don't want Rita Skeeter writing an article on how my teenage angst is being made manifest in shocking blood rites. Stop that."

"What?"

"You were thinking of telling Rita Skeeter my teenage angst is being made manifest in shocking blood rites."

"No, I wasn't."

"Yes, you were."

"Okay, maybe just a little bit."

"See. Told you."

"Those shocking blood rites are making you psychic, Potter."

"No, that's the teenage angst. And if you go telling stories to Skeeter again it'll be psychotic rather than psychic."

"Like we haven't seen that one before…"

Harry tried not to laugh. This wasn't really the place for it. But he was on the outside of the barrier for the first time in nearly a year and now that his body was recovering from the Cruciatis-twin effect of being inside the barrier his heart was singing with the adventure of it. The danger? The danger felt like too many chocolate frogs hitting his blood stream.

A small part of Harry's conscious piped up, warning that this was false confidence. A voice in memory twitched. Luna. Something Luna had read to him once up on Squirrel Hill… a poem about a man journeying with a horse…

_The woods are lovely, dark and deep.  
But I have promises to keep,  
And miles to go before I sleep…_

The woods weren't lovely. They were dark and deep, yes, and bloody terrifying with what the mind's eye populated the shadows.

Harry shuddered. Cold. Why did treacherous memory have to give him this memory right now? The energy vanished as quickly as it had come. He shifted closer to Simon. The horse radiated warmth like a furnace. Simon was a horse and horses were animals, therefore unreliable, but Simon was _his_ horse and Harry would trust him over any other. Unreliable? Easily startled? Well, yes. But it was up to Harry to predict which way the horse would jump when frightened and ride out the leap.

He patted Simon's neck.

_Good boy, Simon._

It was like a mantra. Or a charm. Like an unvoiced spell, the words had power even when he formed them in the privacy of his own head. They soothed Harry's jangled nerves. And Simon, attuned to his rider even when his rider was on foot, lost a fraction of his nervous tension. The ears still flickered and the nostrils flared in quick snuffles at every moving current of air, but the urgency died.

The centaurs led them to a meadow as promised.

Harry looked up at the sky. There wasn't really much to see. It should be daybreak by now, but the clouds were just as heavy on this side as they'd been on the other. The scanty raindrops flecked his glasses and the silver light shimmering through the world sparked into tiniest rainbows as if the water it passed through were little prismic diamonds. They settled onto Simon's mane and picked out the softer hairs of his ears where they glittered like stardust.

A larger raindrop plopped on Harry's nose. It tickled. He rubbed at his nose.

"We need to get word to Hogsmeade," Draco told the centaurs. Perhaps he was feeling brave. Or, like Harry, he was aware that the time for the attack was getting very close. "Is there some way for you to pass on the message, or should we go?"

"We do not leave the Forest. And it would be better for you to deal directly with the trees. That is your task, is it not?" the grey asked. His severe tone said incontrovertibly that as far as he and the other centaurs were concerned, it was the task of the two wizards and if they started whining about it no amount of black stallions on their side would stop them from being trampled and riddled with arrows.

Harry wondered if a jab with an arrow to the centaur's behind would release some of that pomposity. He stifled the thought before Simon could pick up on it and bite Magorian. "Well, is there any way you know of for getting a message through?" Harry wasn't sure how long he could continue being polite if this was their attitude. Were they here to help or just slow everything down by giving him a lecture on the planets?

"Mercury is in retrograde. This is –"

"This is the time to lower our gazes to the earthly domain," Firenze pointed out quickly as Harry's pulse began to throb in his temples.

Harry and Draco were nodding. "So you can't help us," Harry said. "Well. As Tigris pointed out, the earth moves but we do not. We'll be on our way then."

Firenze held up a hand. "We will give you safe passage, Harry Potter. We cannot venture out of the trees without agents of the evil wizard sensing us. But we can guide you past their sentinels, leafy-pelted or otherwise. Evil leaves corruption as a slug leaves slime. This we can sense."

"Oh. Okay. That'd be good." Harry was disturbed by the implication that some of Voldemort's allies might be Dryads. Dryads traditionally stayed out of the affairs of mortals. "But the message? You know, there should be a bell by the gates of Hogwarts –"

"The gates which are guarded by seventy-three Dementors? Yes. We know."

"Ah. Seventy-three? Okay." Harry was suddenly very relieved the unicorns had come for them. Ten Dementors – he could scatter ten, but seventy-three? Come to think of it, he'd been so busy throwing up after the barrier he couldn't have summoned a pen, let alone a Patronus.

Unicorns really were marvellous creatures.

"I'll do a fly-by over Hogsmeade on my way to the south tree," Draco said, but he looked unhappy.

"Might be our only hope. I've heard Patronuses can carry messages…" He could probably summon his stag by now.

"Me too. Do you know the spell to make them speak?"

"No. Do you?"

"No." Draco scratched his nose.

"Oh. Well. Scratch that one." Harry studied the leadrope. Simon had stopped tugging at it, which was a nice change. He might get out of this without blisters after all.

He'd certainly not get blisters if Voldemort killed him quickly, a nasty voice in the back of his mind whispered. Harry rubbed his scar.

"Does that mean anything?" Draco asked.

"Hm? Oh. The scar. It – it felt like it was going to split my head open when we went through the barrier."

"Curse scar. Got to have some sort of resonance to the caster. Can you use it to get his position?"

"I'd rather not try, thanks."

"Yeah, might be best not to." Draco shivered. "D'you really think he sensed you in the barrier?"

The further they got from the barrier the harder it was for Harry to remember specifics of the barrier passage, only the terrible pain and Voldemort's hatred pouring over him like a crushing great tsunami. "Merlin. Let's hope not. But I think we really need to be prepared for him having done so, yes. Not even Elmsworthy or Dumbledore know how much of himself he put into that spell."

Bane was staring into the shadows, scowling. Harry couldn't recall him ever not scowling, so that wasn't as alarming a sight as it once was. "The Dark Wizard sensed you," he said. "We passed a vampire on the way. It was travelling in a most determined way in your direction and unlike us it would not have been summoned by the unicorns for your protection." He smiled unpleasantly. "The vampire will not trouble you. Nor will it report to its master."

"Not this side of Hades," a chestnut centaur laughed nastily. Harry noticed the dark splotches down his forelegs, much like Simon had had after the horse had killed the vrikolaki. No prize for guessing what – or who – had happened to the vampire.

"Maybe it was coincidence," Draco said.

Centaurs hated vampires. Maybe they'd only interpreted the vampire's movements as an excuse for killing it.

But no. Harry hated to admit it, but he was sure, deep down in the pit of his stomach where nightmares coiled, that Voldemort was aware of his presence now. Not just in the burning of his scar, but Harry _knew._ There was that link between them, prophecy and scar and murder, a link Harry could only skim over lightly because he didn't dare make the connection as strong as it had been last year when Voldemort had trapped him with false visions, but that link was still strong enough to feel Voldemort's attention shifting.

In those horrible Occlumency lessons last year Snape had told him to empty his mind of all emotion.

(Almost everything about that year made him angry or saddened.)

Rather than thinking about the past, Harry concentrated on Simon. You weren't allowed to be emotional when dealing with a jumpy horse.

Simon wasn't the only jumpy four-legged creature in the meadow.

"Others may be on their way," the grey said. He swished his tail impatiently. "The unnatural wall vibrated as you came through. Even we felt it. The evil wizard's creatures will have been attuned, no doubt. You delude yourself if you persist in believing you did not affect the wall."

"Did it do that when I came through with the horse the first time?" Draco asked.

The centaurs eyed him. "You have traversed the wall ere now?"

"Yes." Draco looked proud.

"We did not notice." Magorian shrugged and swished his tail again. "It must be the presence of Harry Potter that affects it thus."

Draco looked miffed.

"Perhaps it was the unicorn blood," Harry pointed out before Draco could start up a rant about stupid people getting their heads inflated with self-importance just because they had a stupid scar on aforementioned stupid heads.

"It was probably your scar," Draco said. It wasn't the rant Harry had been expecting. "Or maybe it was the potions. Maybe the shielding didn't work quite as well as we'd hoped."

"Well, let's not hang around discussing the what-ifs."

"Right. Time for some affirmative action." Draco mounted his broom. "I'll just have to alert Hogsmeade myself on the way. Lucky I'm a sneaky Slytherin." He pulled a face. "Want to fix that rein, or are you planning on casting a psychic spell to let Simon visualise your hands moving? Might as well put the power you raised using those shocking blood rites to work."

"I told you already, it's the teenage angst. You'd know about it yourself if you were human." Harry pulled out his wand. Simon gave the centaurs an especially nasty sneer as he allowed Harry to repair the broken leather and activate the silencing spell in the shoes. Then the horse's attention was captured by something in the trees.

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and squinted in the direction of Simon's stare.

There was something… something white… something like a phantom coming towards them.

The only sounds were those of the shifting hooves of the centaurs, the jingle of Simon's bit, and the whisper of raindrops hitting the leaves. Simon's silver-shod hoof was silent when he pawed at the ground for Harry's attention. Whatever it was coming towards them, it was as silent as the charmed shoes.

A centaur raised an arrow.

The ghost slipped through the trees. It floated down, making centaurs duck, and swooped at Harry.

"Don't shoot!" he shouted at the centaurs.

He threw his arm up at the last moment and felt a weight settle on his wrist. Claws gripped.

"Hedwig!" Harry cried joyfully.

It was.

Harry patted his owl, saying her name over and over in his relief. He hadn't realised he'd been so worried until now she'd found him and the relief of it was like a weight lifted off his shoulders, felt so strongly it seemed like an actual physical thing. Although the sun hadn't made its arrival felt through the clouds, Harry knew it was rising because the world was now a brighter place.

Draco tilted his head. "D'you think she could get a message to Hogsmeade?"

"Well, girl? Do you think you could get to Tonks or Moody without getting caught?"

Hedwig blinked her golden eyes at him indulgently and meeped.

"Of course she can. She's the best owl ever," Harry said, sure it wasn't a mere boast. He remembered how she had arrived at the Leaky Cauldron before him right before his third year, as if she'd sensed where he was meant to be. Wizarding owls weren't ordinary animals. This one blinked at him again as if she sensed the compliment and agreed modestly (but whole-heartedly) with her assessment by her master before rotating her head to peer around the Forest.

There didn't seem to be anything else out there and she wasn't alarmed. Neither were the centaur welcoming committee or Simon, who was standing with his head slanted just enough to let his riders know he wasn't keen on staying in the Forest any longer than necessary, thank you very much.

He hadn't encountered any Death Eaters, obviously, Harry thought with dark humour.

Simon poked his nose closer to the owl. Not too close – Simon was being especially cautious tonight, but it was enough to make Hedwig uneasy.

Hedwig twisted her head left, right, left, right, bobbing up and down to get in the whole of Simon. Harry wasn't sure she approved of his new familiar; she puffed out her feathers and tightened her talons on his forearm. At her warning shriek Simon pulled back with an offended look.

"Tell her not to be jealous – Simon's my horse."

"Keep telling yourself that fiction. Don't be jealous, girl. You'll like Simon. I'll get one of those saddles with a perch on it, like falconers use…"

"It's going to be day soon," Draco pointed out impatiently. "Owl? Nocturnal?"

"She's a Snowy. She's actually a diurnal species."

"Isn't a daylight owl a contradiction in terms?"

"The wacky big magical world of nature. She'll be fine. And she'll be able to spot Death Eaters and avoid them. Uh – I don't have any paper," he said.

"_That_ bit is not a problem." Draco pulled out a small rectangle of parchment, a miniature self-inking quill and some Slytherin green ribbon. "Never know."

"Elmsworthy's been a good influence on you."

"Huh. Mind you, he did give us some good potions to try out."

"True. Any idea what they are, exactly?"

"Not a clue. He didn't label them. But I think they're of the throw-and-find-cover-before-you-turn-inside-out-and-explode variety."

"Oh. Elmsworthy's favourite kind of potions." Harry scribbled a quick note and gave it to Hedwig. She took it daintily in her beak. Some owls needed to have the letter tied to their legs, but she was far too good for that. He smiled and stroked her feathers. "Get it to Tonks. Or Moody. Or Ambrosius Flume at Honeydukes."

"So long as she doesn't give it to a Death Eater, that's all."

Harry glared at Draco.

"Okay, okay, she won't do that, sorry," Draco apologised hurriedly. "She's the best owl ever. Et cetera. And we can concentrate on the trees. Speaking of which, can we go now?"

"Good luck, girl," Harry said. He watched the owl fly away through the trees with a sudden emptiness in his chest, the owl's departure draining him of that rosy glow her presence had kindled. There was a good chance he'd sent her to her death.

But the lives of everyone in Hogsmeade were at risk. It wasn't up to Harry to put the life of an owl before theirs, no matter how much he loved her.

The same went for Simon. He stroked the horse's nose before mounting. Grumpy, surly beast he could be at times, Simon had protected Harry and been a good friend. He didn't deserve to have his life put in danger but these were dangerous times.

The centaurs turned and began to trot along the trail. Draco shot Harry a look and would have followed, but Simon's laid-back ears and head-shake were a clear warning that the Slytherin was not allowed to get more than ten feet ahead of the horse unless they wanted a severe demonstration on the Importance of Obeying One's Elders and Betters. Draco hovered as Harry performed one last tightening of the girth (and that was done from the saddle – Harry was about to get smug with his abilities) and gathered up the reins.

Harry had been furious with Draco for taking Simon through the barrier that time, but Draco had had a point: Simon's life was on the line as much as anyone else's. If Death Eaters won, he'd be so much Kneazle-meat. Simon had a right to fight for his own safety. Just like Harry and Draco did. Being a child had never protected Harry. Being a dumb animal gave Simon the same lack of defence in a world run by adult witches and wizards, many of whom were only out for their own twisted version of What Was Good And True. The world wasn't fair. But that didn't mean Harry had to sit back and let himself be overrun by fortune's outrages. He had a right to determine his own fate, and although Simon was only an animal and his role in life was basically to serve the whims of his human overlords, it meant that Harry could take up the challenge to override the trend and give Simon the chance to change the world.

After all, hadn't Severus said that horses represented freedom? That horses were for war and bringing about the rise and fall of nations? If any horse had the right to be involved in the fall of Voldemort, it was Simon.

"Gee up, Simon."

ooOOoo

The Forest floor whispered as the centaurs trotted over it. They had their bows ready, but it was Harry and Draco who had the best eyes for this gloomy attempt at dawn. Harry checked his watch – the sun should be on the horizon by now, burning its way into the sky. But overhead the leaves were black shadows against the purple depths of the sky. The sounds of thunder had died, but there were the occasional raindrops making their way through gaps in the canopy. Any storm that was hitting Scotland was probably doing so further to the north. They were only getting the edges here – the rain and the clouds working to dampen the world.

Harry and Draco peered into the gloom with silvery eyes.

But in this forest there were always things lying hidden.

One of them must have made a small noise. It was too quiet for humans or centaurs, but not for a horse.

Simon jumped forward, and then sideways until he jostled against the broom, knocking it against a tree.

"Whoops – careful there," said Draco, brushing bark off his shoulder. He didn't seem to be hurt, only surprised.

Simon's ignored him. He whipped his head around. He definitely wasn't fixing his senses on the centaurs.

Which meant there was something a lot scarier out there.

His ears were already pointing like they were magnetised at something twenty meters away: something lurking in a small thicket of beeches that were growing out of the fallen trunk of another tree. The horse gave one of its deep drain-clearing snorts and pranced sideways as it tried to keep up with the centaurs while at the same time letting everyone know that Something Evil That Way Lay.

But the centaurs had noticed something, too. They spread out around the boys and the horse and put arrows to bowstrings.

The thicket rustled. Something large was shifting behind the trees. Something massive, Harry amended, getting a glimpse of a muscular back twice as thick as Simon's as the something tried to slink further out of sight. Grawp? Harry didn't think so, somehow – Voldemort had found out about Grawp and started testing out anti-giant spells, so under Hagrid's urgings the giant had gone further into the mountains this year and Hagrid was confident his big little brother was living in a cave somewhere, waiting for Hagrid to come and find him.

Hagrid was very protective of his big little brother.

"What is it?" Harry whispered. That line of back had led down to the suggestion of a tail. He was too busy keeping Simon still to get a good look at what the tail belonged to.

Draco went higher on his broom to peer over the dead tree. He blinked one eye after the other. "Er… Either it's three very big dogs… or it's one sodding great dog with three heads." He curled his lip in disbelief. "I think the unicorn blood's making my vision do tricks…"

"Fluffy."

"I beg your pardon?" Draco shot him an affronted glare.

There was a growl from the depths of the thicket. An alarmingly familiar growl. Harry associated it with streams of drool and teeth that could take off your head (and had nearly taken off Snape's leg).

"No – the dog. Fluffy. That's his name."

"Can you call it?"

"I'd rather not. The dog's one of Hagrid's more homicidal pets."

"Oh. Oh… That's really not a good thing."

"No." Harry raised his voice: "Can any of you sing or play a musical instrument?"

The centaurs looked at him as if he'd gone mad (or had gone to study constellations inner and outer or whatever it was that centaurs did when they lost the plot).

The monster prowled out of the trees.

Fluffy. He'd grown even bigger.

Simon reared high in terror. Harry flung his arms around the horse's neck and Draco grabbed the headcollar. There was a brief struggle as the horse tried to bolt, but Draco managed to get control over the horse although his broom was dragged sideways through the air, the spells holding it up glowing green under the strain.

A centaur let loose an arrow.

Fluffy snapped it out of the air. His growl deepened. One of the heads barked. One had its eyes locked on Simon and – yes – began to drool.

Fluffy was hungry.

The centaurs conferred in low voices. They seemed to be wondering about the merits of surrounding the dog and then hitting it with a volley of arrows.

Simon shook his head violently and reared again. Draco was flung back and this time it was Harry who pulled on the reins and turned Simon in a tight circle so that the horse was almost running on the spot.

"Music," Harry insisted. He was getting dizzy. So was Simon, probably: would the horse fall over like a human would? "It's the key. It sends him to sleep."

"Harry?" Firenze said.

"This is an old pet of Hagrid's. Music really does have charms to soothe the savage beast."

"How typical of Hagrid… releasing unwanted pets into the environment rather than giving them the care they need…" the grey chuntered.

A deep baritone began to sing in a language Harry had never heard. The song thrummed through the forest until the trees shivered to it and turned their leaves closer to catch its every note, and Fluffy yawned, one head after another, and Hagrid's favourite puppy lay down and closed his six eyes.

Harry shut his own mouth and looked around for the singer and found it was Bane.

Just when he'd thought this adventure couldn't get any more surreal…

Bane shot the wizards a haughty glare – apparently while centaurs might be able to sing, they didn't want it advertised.

Firenze held out an arm down the trail.

Time to go.

As they walked as quietly down the trail as possible, Harry could hear Fluffy's snoring. Not very loud, it still managed to be the loudest sound in the Forest.

The world was on the cusp of dawn. Shouldn't there be birds by now? Tweeting, building nests, finding early worms, being eaten by stoats?

He might have asked but he didn't think he'd like the answer.

ooOOoo


	86. Chapter 86

Disclaimer: Characters and Hoggy, warty settings belong to JK Rowling and the happy people at Warner.

Thanks to Friglit for telling me about Scottish roads, for e.g. they can be black with tarmac (as opposed to the NZ tarseal). Any mistakes herein are my own.

Apologies in advance to any readers from Scotland – my DNA left there well over a century ago and hasn't been back. So despite the pictures I looked up on this newfangled Interwebby thing, a lot of the countryside Harry rides through will look like NZ's South Island around Dunedin. (Apart from the hedges and any stone walls that will crop up.)

ooOOoo

Chapter 86

He was pleased to note they didn't pass any webs. They saw the occasional deer bounding away from them – deer didn't seem pleased to see the centaurs, and from the interested looks two or three of the centaurs sent their way and the thick fingers reaching absentmindedly for quivers before thinking better of it, the deer might be on the menu. Were centaurs carnivorous? Funny – after Simon and the unicorns it was bizarre to think of an equid as a meat eater.

Well, apart from Thestrals, of course.

And the occasional Kelpie in horse-form.

Come to think of it, Simon could be so nasty some days he might as well be a carnivore instead of a vegetarian. Maybe he was a humanitarian, if the definition could be spun on its ear that violently.

They came to the edge of the Forest with a suddenness that made Draco pull up his broom into a near stall and Harry sit back and halt Simon, although the horse showed every sign of pleasure at getting out from the trees. The horse hadn't been any the less tense since leaving Fluffy: Harry had the uncomfortable feeling of sitting astride a large keg of TNT with a slow-burning fuse. Perhaps it was just that they were outside the barrier, but already Harry fancied the wind was stronger than what they'd left behind. Horses, he recalled Luna telling him, could be even more skittish on a windy day.

_Great_. "Good boy, Simon," Harry whispered, just in case it helped.

Firenze turned and gave Harry a faint but reassuring smile. "We will take you on a short way more."

The centaurs fanned out across the meadow beyond the trees, wading through the lush grass – a legacy of spring – and the wizards followed as close as Simon would let them. There seemed to be a road not too far away – if that was what that sunken darkness was – but Harry was preoccupied with keeping control of the horse. Simon almost sprang into a canter but Harry kept him at a walk. Simon didn't stop twitching and trying to look around behind them, and champed at the bit until foamy saliva dripped, taking short, choppy strides in an effort to walk faster.

Simon would just wear himself out at this rate. Harry tried to pat the horse's neck, but found that the moment he leaned forward Simon took that as his cue to vault over the horizon.

"Sorry…" Harry apologised to an affronted Bane, who had horses trying to charge over him as just another item on his list of things he was less than amiable about.

Bane sniffed.

Simon snorted explosively.

Bane flinched away with a noise of disgust, his tail clamped down just like Simon's did when the horse was upset. Simon's snorts could be fairly spray-laden and that one gave the misting sky a run for its money.

Yes. There was a road a short distance away: two lanes, black surface that smelt faintly of tar even at this distance (faintly, yes, but the familiar smell of it was almost shocking after so long away from modernity), with markings running down the middle. And a happy little picnic table nearby. Harry stared at it for a moment. It seemed so… normal. A place where a driver could stop and take a break while looking out over the small woodland that was the Forbidden Forest to Muggle eyes. A place endorsed by the Muggle government and taxpayer.

The grass was overgrown and there were no bottles or empty crisp wrappers lying on the ground. If there was no rubbish then, in Harry's cynical experience, people didn't stop here often. Maybe Muggles had a problem with getting here. There might be wards on the road, subliminal magical suggestions that it would be better to make a detour somewhere further away from Hogwarts or the Forest.

And the road itself seemed to ooze through the landscape.

Harry didn't rub his eyes – it was probably the unicorn blood rather than the tar melting (the emerging day only had a suggestion of warmth rather than scorching heat to it), and he didn't want to do anything to lose the enchantment.

Apart from the unholy darkness, there was also another slight problem with the road for the young wizards and their horse. To wit, reaching it.

The centaurs stopped by a fence not too far past the edge of the trees, close to the picnic area. A young roan centaur eyed the picnic table curiously, the wind sporting with his long speckled hair. The others glared at the fence. The fence itself seemed rather new – wire and baton instead of the post and rail or hedgerows Harry was more familiar with around Hogwarts.

The road, only a few meters away, lay like congealed blood.

Harry remembered that as well as iron, unicorns also had a disdain for manmade tracks. It seemed this could be transmitted in the blood.

Simon arched his neck and eyeballed the road. He seemed more alarmed by the sight of it than the fence in front of him.

"This is where we must leave you," Firenze told them. "This fence is part of the Blockade. If one of my kind so much as touches it, it will call for its masters. Your broom, Draco Malfoy, should pass over it undetected so long as you are more than twenty feet in the air.

"And me?" Harry thought he could already guess.

Firenze smiled. "You, Harry Potter, must take a leap of faith."

Right. Jump. Great. He and Simon _had_ jumped a few logs, to be sure, but nothing more than two feet high. The fence was at least twice that.

"It doesn't look too bad," Draco said from the (literally) lofty comfort of his broom. "I jumped higher than that last time I came through the barrier. Couple of fences, easy."

Harry glared at him. "You're not sitting on Simon right now, I notice. Besides, that wire doesn't look natural."

"No. It looks like it's holding a badly-disguised tangle-web spell. Simon's not affected by them – or he wasn't last time I went through the barrier – but we'd be wrapped up like Christmas presents if we touched it."

"Oh. Lovely."

"Want me to ride him over?"

"No. I can do it." _I hope._ "But it's wire. Simon's eyes aren't that good." Harry's inner eye gave him a gory image of Simon going through the fence and he winced; Simon picked up on it and pawed the ground. "Even with the unicorn blood, he could misjudge the wire and if it comes to a fight between steel and his legs, I'm pretty sure which would win."

Draco pulled at his lip. "Oh. Could we make it – um – more visible somehow?"

"I guess we could –"

"SCATTER!" bellowed a centaur.

Harry turned just in time to see Fluffy galloping towards them. The three heads had their mouths closed determinedly as the dog barrelled down, and the gigantic paws were almost as soundless as Simon's silver shoes. In the last split second of clear thought Harry realised the dog must have woken and started stalking them. They –

The three heads began to bark and howl in their rage at being spotted. The cacophony sent ice through Harry's marrow.

_Merlin – how could we not have noticed him following us?_

Simon didn't have any issues with questions of canine tactics: he ripped the reins out of Harry's hands, spun so fast he nearly tripped over his forelegs, and galloped full-tilt along the fenceline.

Fluffy bounded after him.

Simon veered right, towards the gleaming fence.

There was a howl from Fluffy and terrifying snarls: at least one of the arrows must have hit.

Simon sped up. He was coming towards the fence on an angle.

Harry could do nothing to stop the horse. Luna had said something about collecting the horse before the jump; getting him focussed; keeping him calm.

Getting him going straight towards the jump had been high on the list, too.

Simon's wasn't calm and his rolling eyes couldn't possibly be focussed on the fence, not when they were obsessed with the monster charging towards the horse with a greedy bloodlust in all six of its eyes; as far as collected went, Harry hoped that didn't mean taking the fence down with them. As for heading straight, Simon was simply taking the most direct route away from Fluffy. Possibly that ugly road had something to do with it, too. But now they were coming up to the fence and it was jump or die…

If they got much closer that wire could touch Harry… Harry should jump off… away from the fence… stay close to the centaurs… stay and fight Fluffy…

_I'm not a coward._

Harry grabbed handfuls of mane.

The horse jumped.

There was no finesse or style. It was an extension of the gallop. Simon's angle of attack was no more than thirty degrees and he went over the fence on an arc that was almost flat, making a small, strained _hungkf! _sound on the way, corkscrewing his body to get his feet tucked up and over in a Herculean effort not to touch the blue-lit wire, nearly dislodging Harry who slid around in the saddle and held himself on by clenching the mane. And then he was on grass and across the grass and coming up to a pile of rocks and veering to the right again and then – with another swallowed _hngk! _and a kangaroo-leap of horror at the hideousness of the road – he was _on_ the road and flicking his ears and tail in satisfaction, because despite the strangeness to unicorn-augmented sight this was an easier path than the lumpy ground of the verge and then Simon the racehorse found his full stride.

"Potter!"

Draco's voice came from somewhere behind and skywards. Harry was torn between relief that Draco had made it out of the melee and astonishment that he himself was still sitting on Simon's back. There was the minor problem about staying there, of course, but so long as Simon kept galloping in a straight line he should be okay, and all other things considered –

There were snarls and shouts and yelps from behind – Fluffy must be desperately hungry if he was going up against a herd of centaurs. He must have hoped to take them by surprise. The centaurs hadn't taken kindly to this. Harry could hear their battle-cries: one sounded like it could have come from Bane. The centaurs sounded ferocious but pleased – the battle must be going their way.

"Simon, whoa…"

Simon ignored him. He flew around the bend in the road and charged on. At this rate he'd be swimming for the Shetlands before noon.

Draco dropped out of the sky. He took a moment to adjust his broom to Simon's speed but then he was at the horse's head and had his hands on the reins.

"Whoa, Simon…"

Simon shook his head and nearly knocked Draco away, but he slowed to a choppy canter. Then to a trot, raising his knees and hocks high to fool everyone he was going faster than he was.

Despite the uncomfortable ride, Harry managed to let go of the mane with one hand and get the reins back. "Thanks."

"Welcome." Draco let go and wiped a trail of foam off his sleeve from where the horse had banged its muzzle on him. "Can that creature get through the fence, do you think?"

Harry shuddered. "Let's hope not."

"Well, he solved the problem of getting Simon onto the road."

"That's true."

"Is it just me, or does this road look a bit dodgy?"

"I think it's the unicorn blood. It's – Simon…" Simon thrashed his head around violently and nearly ripped the reins out of Harry's hands. When Harry fought the horse for control, Simon tucked his chin against his chest and began to travel down the road in great sideways bounds. Draco got in the way and Simon flung his head around again, bashing the boy and broom sideways. Draco swore. There was more foamy drool on his hip.

Harry was getting desperate. Grateful Luna wasn't here to see his terrible crime against Simon, he sawed at the reins. Beyond distracting Simon for a brief second it didn't help much. Simon's fear wasn't going away, it only seemed to be changing to anger. The silver shoes skidded on the tarmac. They were silent, but Harry felt the shockwaves of each plunge travel up through the long legs and through Simon's body. "Ouch," he complained, more in sympathy for the danger Simon's legs were in than for his own discomfort. "I'm going to stop him. All this running on roads has got to be bad for his legs."

Draco frowned. "Quite right. I'd ask what the hell you think you're doing crippling my horse like this, but I rode through the barrier with you, I just saw a rather large three-headed dog. And this road looks like it's been rejected by Hades for being too weird. That's three impossible things before breakfast. So I'm open to all sorts of possibilities today."

"Like defeating certain scaly red-eyed annoyances?"

Draco made a small guttural sound deep in his throat and looked around. His wide-eyed panicky expression said that he'd only just realised they were in imminent danger of meeting up with Voldemort.

Harry couldn't get Simon to quite halt, so he took the closest to a stop the horse would give and dismounted, making sure he had a good grip on the reins.

The tarmac didn't feel weird under his feet. It felt normal, in fact. And a bit of a relief to have his own feet doing the work, which meant he had something at least marginally under his control. He pulled the reins over Simon's head. "Good boy, Simon."

Simon shook his head and glared around at the offending countryside. The road here cut halfway down a small dip between long, sleepy hills. To their left was rocky scrubland and heather; the Death Eaters' wire fence ran along the ridge. A blackbird flew down to perch on a stile set into a hedge protecting the fields which rolled down the lower slopes and then lapped up again over the far hill. Someway back along the way they'd come was the oozing ribbon of another road leading off across a little bridge to the south east. There were some white specks in the fields that must be sheep. Harry hoped they were sheep. He didn't know what alpacas looked like.

The bird sang a few sweet bars until Simon gave it one of his more poisonous sneers. Simon was not a big fan of cheerfulness.

Harry had Simon walk around him in small circles, like mini-longeing. It didn't take long for the horse to calm down to something more manageable, and by then Harry wanted to sit down on something solid and unmoving for a bit. He shoed the bird away and led Simon over to the stile. The hedge should shelter the horse from view. "Here. Try the grass, Simon. This road is going north. Right?" he asked Draco, still hovering on his broom.

"Right. See that bridge there?" Draco pointed at the bridge Harry had just spotted.

"Yeah? And? Is it a magical portal or something?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "I think it's just a portal across the river. But the thing is that it's about a mile north of Hogsmeade."

"You sure?"

"Yes. The arch is quite distinctive. Those trees either end of it, too."

"If you say so. You ready to go for your tree?"

Draco shivered slightly. He was especially pale under unicorn-sight. The silvery discs of his irises flickered, red-gleaming pupils distant warning lights now instead of the fires of hell. Either the blood was less effective as the sky lightened, or it was wearing off. "As I'll ever be. Wait – the stones!"

They'd nearly forgotten. That didn't bode well for the morning's adventure, and by Draco's disgruntled expression Harry wasn't the only one upset by this near lapse in memory that could have been disastrous. Well, they had the potions that could give resonance to the trees, of course, but Harry had more faith in something Elmsworthy had custom-built for the task.

That was scary in itself.

Draco landed next to Simon. His timing could have been better.

Simon startled as a rabbit sprang out of the hedge and rustled through the grass of the field, jumping sideways just as Draco was dismounting, flinging the Slytherin into the verge. Draco was lucky enough to land in the grass rather than the prickly hedge, but the volley of epithets he let loose was a robust sign of his not being aware of his fortune.

"Bloody horse," he grumbled, sitting up and picking grass out of his hair. He checked his broom. "Seems all right," he grudgingly allowed. He rested his wrists on his knees and gave the road a Simonesque sneer. "Why are we doing this again?"

"Because it's the right thing."

"Why, then, does the right thing end up with me getting hurt or thrown in a ditch?"

"That just shows it's the right thing."

"Stupid, Gryffindor world…"

Harry gave him a hand up. "Come on. Time's a-wasting, as the centaur said. We need a meeting place for going back to Hogwarts or going after You-know-who."

"Here's as good a place as any. We can get back through the Forest the way we came. If the barrier's still up Simon can take us again."

"What about Fluffy?"

"I should think the centaurs would've done for him. Don't you?"

Harry agreed. Although he had no idea how he was going to break the news to Hagrid. He tapped the stile with his wand and spoke a warding spell that would act as a notice-me-not when Harry returned. Shame it couldn't be portable, but it would do if they needed shelter in a pinch, although if anyone was looking directly at them when they reached it they would be visible. Harry wondered if it was the one Dumbledore used when he wanted to sit in a place unseen.

The spell hovered over the stile and hummed, waiting to be set. Two smaller rings of magic hovered above the stile. "Password?"

Draco shrugged. "'Simon says'?"

"That'll do." Harry set the spell. The stile went black for a moment, then the faded wood was back to normal. Two small silver rings lay on the top step. Harry gave one to Draco and slipped the other on his little finger. The rings shimmered and took on the colour of their fingers – you had to look at them side-on to see that they were there. Hopefully this meant that if either of them were captured they couldn't be used to trap the other. This was what Hermione had reasoned, but she'd had that small line drawn between her eyes which meant she wasn't telling Harry everything she was frightened about because she didn't want him to think she was worried. "Just say the password to the ring and squeeze it two times when you're ready to –"

"I know how tête-à-tête spells work, Potter. I also know they're not very reliable, otherwise everyone would be using them."

"Well, you obviously don't know the one Hermione and Elmsworthy taught me yesterday."

Draco stopped looking scornful and started looking guardedly impressed instead. "Oh. Well, that's a bit better, I guess. Although don't start expecting me to have faith in Elmsworthy's potions."

"Let's hope we don't need them. Okay. Two squeezes means we meet here… three at the bridge… three short three long three short means you're in trouble beyond anything I can help you with so I go somewhere for help. What do you think?"

"Three short, long, short?"

"Morse code. You know. Dot-dot-dot, dash-dash-dash, dot-dot-dot."

Draco's face was don't-react-to-the-crazy-Gryffindor blank.

Harry sighed. "Eh. Hopefully you won't need to use it. Two for here, three for the bridge."

"Five for Hogsmseade – under the stand of pines by the road to Hogwarts."

"I know the place. Okay."

"But if it doesn't work or if there's suddenly lots of Death Eaters hanging around here shall we meet up at the bridge anyway?"

"If there're lots of Death Eaters hanging around a stile in the middle of nowhere then something's gone wrong. Get yourself somewhere safe."

Draco didn't say anything for a moment. He coughed. "Right. Stones."

Harry dug in his pocket. "Here." He swapped the small grey pebble for Draco's. He hefted it to see if the weight or magic felt any different (it didn't) then pressed his forefinger against it. "Okay, Rock. Point me to the tree."

Nothing.

"Ahhh… Malfoy?"

Draco was frowning and jabbing his impatiently with his finger. It was hard to say for certain in the unicorn-enhanced silver light, but his face seemed to be colouring red independently of the weak sunrise. "Was there some sort of an invocation we were meant to use?"

"Abracadabra Rock? Ha! No, it's Open Sesame!"

Draco gave him a scathing glare. "Now's really not the time to be a prat. What did Elmsworthy say we were supposed to do, exactly?"

"Activate our rocks with our fingerprints." Harry felt a terrible queasiness in his stomach. "Do you think the barrier broke the charms?"

"Maybe. God knows what sort of spells Elmsworthy used to put these together. Boffins… Can't live with them, can't dissolve their bodies in concentrated acid because they'd be warned of your intentions by the smell and then sneer at you for using sulphuric when you should be using hydrochloric…" He froze, then slapped his forehead.

Simon snorted.

Harry was worried by this, too. "Er… you okay there, mate?"

"Idiot. We're both idiots," Draco muttered. He waved his rock in Harry's face. Simon, who'd been putting his head down to snatch a few mouthfuls of grass, snorted again and gave the boys a suspicious look. "He didn't say _fingers_ he said _thumbs."_

Harry didn't bother to smack himself in the forehead. His scar hadn't stopped aching since the barrier and he thought whacking it might twitch some sort of magical resonance to alert Voldemort. Well, probably not, but he still didn't know just how far-reaching the Dark Lord's powers were.

Just how tired were they? The whole thing with the rings seemed like there was something missing. It was either too simple or too complicated and Harry felt like they hadn't covered everything properly. Or was he making it too convoluted in his own head?

Some days it seemed you just had to stop thinking.

They pressed thumbs to the smooth pebbles.

The stones trembled and turned warm. A small, flickering light appeared on the top surface of each of them. Harry gave the reins to Draco for a moment as he walked around the road to check the direction. Yes: the speck moved faithfully no matter what way he faced.

Harry peered off into the distance where his stone indicated. It was hilly. He thought he caught a peep of trees across a saddle in a ridgeline. The Forest, most likely. "Hmm. Hope it's not too far. I don't know how Simon will do on those hills."

"Stick to any roads you find. Or sheep tracks. Muggles are restricted to farming around here – not that they bother with that so close to the Forest. Most of the sheep in the area are Bermudan Blackface. You know – the ones that give wool for robes. Their wool is magic-tolerant. Although if you weave it wrong you tend to disappear."

He hadn't had a lot of sleep lately. They'd just been chased by Fluffy. Simon had nearly ripped his legs off in a magical wire fence. There was a strong chance Voldemort would be following up the vampire scout the centaurs had killed to see if Harry Potter had come through the barrier. He was relying on unicorn blood, a couple of untested potions, his own skills with a wand that were pitiful when you compared them to Voldemort's, and Draco Malfoy. Oh, and a tall, dark, bad-tempered peppermint-loving apple thief with a good turn of speed. So basically he was in a lot of trouble and should be on the move in case said trouble began to congeal around him. But above and beyond these issues something else had been bugging Harry for the last ten or twenty minutes and he had to ask: "How come you know so much about sheep all of a sudden? I thought you knew nothing about Muggle animals. Sheep are about as Muggle as you get."

Draco stared at him. "You've got to be kidding. I've said it once and I'll say it again: you're a despicable townie and anyone would be forgiven for thinking you're a Muggle townie. Wizarding sheep are integral to our world. I thought everyone knew that? I mean, although Father employs people to take care of the land Malfoy Manor's on, it _is_ a working sheep farm, and part of the reason my family's got screeds of money is that great-great-great-great-grandfather Malfoy bred the incredibly hardy meat-and-wool Avebury Myth from an ancient pre-Celtic landrace variety that –"

Okay, that was enough information. Death Eaters were probably on their way now. And Draco was starting to sound like Hermione or Elmsworthy.

"Does your stone work?" Harry snapped. Sheep? How the hell were sheep going to help?

Draco frowned at Harry's tone, although Harry had been more annoyed at himself for going off track. "Well, there's a little dot pointing towards Hogsmeade. I guess if I fly high enough I can go over the Dementors without being detected." He shuddered. "One advantage of cloud cover is the way you can hide in it."

"Okay." Harry checked his watch. "We've still got ten, maybe fifteen minutes until peak time. Not that we really know when that is."

"Those unicorns and centaurs really sped us through the Forest didn't they?" Draco grinned. He gave Simon a last pat on the nose. "Take care of him."

"He will." Harry was touched by his concern.

"I was talking to _you,_ Potter_._ Don't let anything bad happen to my horse." Draco shoved the reins at Harry, got on his broom and kicked off lightly so that he hovered next to Simon. Simon sniffed at the broom but immediately lost interest. The bristles probably weren't edible.

Harry gritted his teeth, gathered up the reins and put his foot in the stirrup. "Just get on with it before something bad happens to you," he grumbled, forcing himself with some effort not to kick Draco as he swung the other foot over Simon's hindquarters and settled into the saddle. Simon lifted his head, ready to work, ears flickering as he took in the birdsong at the same time he concentrated on his rider. Harry patted his neck. It felt like coming home. He gathered up the reins and Simon turned in the direction he was looking. Horses were uncanny, Harry decided. Or maybe it was just Simon.

Not for the first time, Harry felt a pang at the thought of his father's cloak, somewhere in his trunk back at Hogwarts. He didn't get why their wands, Malfoy's broom and Simon's shoes were okay to take through the barrier yet the Invisibility Cloak wasn't. It came from an organic source, just like the wands. The Weasleys had sent through their fake bags without fuss. Hermione had tried to explain it to him and Ron, of course, telling him that the bags were a spun-carbon material and inorganic tethers for the magic, which had made some sense, but Harry's eyes had glazed over right after that with Hermione's first "– you know about sub-resonic fibre woven into organic flux – it's in _Weaving for Magical Design _and you _must _have read that –". He'd nodded off soon afterwards. Ron told him later that he hadn't missed anything in the following half-hour.

Draco had been right when he said his broom could climb like a Bowtruckle: he shot up like a cork out of a shaken bottle of Butterbeer and soon even Harry's unicorn-blood-sight couldn't spot him in the clouds. The rising sun was trying harder to thrust itself through the thick curtain occluding the heavens but apart from the occasional ray without much success.

Harry turned Simon's nose northwards. "Let's go," he murmured.

Simon broke into his long-striding trot. The shoes muffled any ring of hoof against the road.

Harry kept the stone in the hand with the reins. His other hand rested on his hip, wand at the ready.

ooOOoo

A/N: Not just Simon. Horses can sense where the rider is looking. Especially if the rider is scared of something and staring at it. For anyone who is interested, give Sally Swift's book "Centred (or Centered for US readers?) Riding" a read some time.

ooOOoo


	87. Chapter 87

Disclaimer: Hogwarts and denizens belong to JK Rowling and Warner people. I'm not making any money from this. Just having a little fun.

ooOOoo

Chapter 87

Somewhere a bird started singing then fell silent. Harry thought it might be a thrush but it didn't sing long enough for him to identify it and he wasn't an ornithologist. If it shot out of a clock and went 'cuckoo!' at regular intervals then he was confident it was a cuckoo, and might even hazard a guess that it was a Swiss subspecies. No other echoed it. Perhaps all sensible birds were still in their nests, waiting to see if the sun or the rain would win the battle for the day. The sky cupped the world and held it close, smothering it with a syrupy red tint; the clouds were so low they had devoured the hilltops and were louring in a menacing way at the valleys. The bird sang again, bravely lifting its voice. But in all the world, there was only the song of one bird. Soon that, too, died, and there was only the press of clouds and hedges.

Harry felt his isolation for a moment, but then told himself not to be melodramatic. Draco was winging his way towards the southern tree, Hedwig was on her way to warn Hogsmeade, and he was on a horse.

Trotting was less comfortable than cantering by far, but when weighing up speed for effort it was the most ground-effective way for Simon to cover the distance. They'd need Simon's real talent for speed sooner or later. His legs were probably going to be sore from the galloping he'd already done on the tarmac. Cantering would only make any micro-injuries worse. Harry gritted his teeth and tried to relax into the saddle. If he stretched his heels down it helped a lot. Luna had compared riding to a tree – your centre was the ground, and you pictured yourself growing roots down into the soil to anchor you while the rest of you from the naval up was the trunk and branches reaching proudly into the sky. It was pretty weird, yes, but it did the trick. Just like Luna. Neville would probably do well with the analogy, but it was unlikely he'd ever get onto Simon's back without some sort of heavy-duty sedative for everyone concerned, especially Simon and Neville.

Simon's stride was long and elastic. The silver shoes on his silenced hooves flashed in the dim dawn struggling to break through. The occasional glimpses he caught of Simon's front hooves when they entered his line of sight just ahead of the horse's shoulders were brilliant meteorites to sight enhanced by unicorn blood. Harry wished he'd thought to mask them with black paint or something before they'd left. Oh well. If wishes were horses… The thought popped into his mind and a second later he remembered it was Luna who'd said it.

Luna said some pretty clever stuff. She'd also expected the unicorns, and the unicorns had sent Harry through the barrier.

This cheered him up even more. It made him feel less alone.

Come to think of it, there were probably lots of Death Eaters out there who'd love to keep him company, providing they had him tied up like a Christmas present for their lord and master.

This… did not cheer him up.

He kept the hood of his cloak up to cover his face. The clouds sucked out most of the light from the world and it was unlikely Death Eaters had been given any help by unicorns, but it paid to be cautious.

There were occasional noises and once more they disturbed a rabbit. Something in a field beyond a particularly thick hedge went 'toc-toc-toc.' That could have been a bird or a wizarding animal. Or possibly a sheep. Harry didn't know half as much about them as he'd thought pre-Draco's mini-lecture.

Hopefully it wasn't an alpaca.

What the hell _was_ an alpaca, anyway?

Despite the black surfacing of the road they were following that was decidedly Muggle, Harry was sure they must be on the way to some of the more out-of-the way wizarding homes, he decided; the signs had the occasional wizard-sign on them, such as a little owl to signify a postal drop-off point was nearby, and one lane he assumed led up to a bed-and-breakfast had a little broomstick painted on a sign by the turnoff. The absence of letterboxes might have pointed to this land being farmed by witches and wizards, but Harry didn't know enough about Muggles to be say if they had rural delivery this far out or not. Maybe they –

"Stop it."

Simon tossed his head. This was the first time his rider had spoken since leaving Draco.

Harry patted Simon's shoulder. "Sorry. First I was distracted from the job in hand. Then I started talking to myself." He considered his situation. "And now I'm talking to a horse. I think that's a step up, to be honest."

Simon flicked one ear backwards at the craziness of his rider, sighed, and kept trotting steadily on.

Harry settled back again and reminded himself to keep his eyes and ears open for attack.

Oh, and his toes up. That really helped with balance when you were on a horse. Even if turning your toes up was kind of a bad metaphor when it came to staying alive.

At least Simon hadn't kicked any buckets lately.

He'd long since lost sight of the fence Simon had jumped. It was a bit of a worry, actually – it made a handy landmark, although he was worried he would have to jump Simon over it again.

They came to a fork. A small brown bird investigating the verge in a series of short, darting runs paused, cocking its head to the side as it eyed up the tall horse and rider as they stopped. When Simon snorted – just a snort to clear his nostrils rather than any specific sign of imminent threat – the bird sang a rather noisy (if melodic) warning and flew off along into the fields. Harry didn't watch its progress. He was more interested in checking the stone: just as he'd thought, it indicated the left turn, the one which seemed to be leading up the hill. Simon was on a loose rein but when Harry urged him back into a trot, and shifted his right foot back a little and pressed the left against the girth, the horse turned left. Harry breathed easy for the first time since coming through the barrier: Simon was listening to him, _really_ listening, and anticipating his needs. Simon wasn't a scared horse anymore, he was a horse on the job.

Hopefully he remembered that his job included acting as Harry's bodyguard when monsters appeared.

"Good boy, Simon." Harry leaned forward as the incline steepened. "Hey… wait a tick."

The little gold speck in the stone had shifted to the left.

Okay. So how did he follow the yellow speck road? There was a hedge between him and the way he was supposed to be going. Maybe the lane would turn in that direction, but it didn't seem to want to do so, at least not on this side of the hill. In fact it was turning to go east again. Less than helpful when your direction was somewhere in the west. Harry stood up in the stirrups and peered over the hedge into the distance doubtfully. He fancied he could see the edge of the Forest, but there was a lot of pasture between him and it. The Forest had curved around the side of a hill at this point, puddling in the valley and climbing the steep slopes of the valleys to the north until the ground became just flat enough to stick sheep to it. Or cows – Harry was pretty sure he could make out some cattle. Or cattle shapes. Cattle shapes with long horns. They looked a bit scary, even by the standards of someone who'd survived classes taught by Hagrid.

The cows (or bulls, but Harry didn't think he could deal with bullfighting on top of Voldemort and Death Eaters) seemed to be watching him and Simon. That wasn't promising: shouldn't he be almost invisible in the dim light? Simon didn't seem too interested in them. Maybe cows had better eyesight than horses, even horses with unicorn blood help.

Just so long as they had better night-vision than Death Eaters or anyone else without unicorn-enhanced sight. Harry gathered up the reins as Simon pranced around a hedgehog which had stayed up way past its bedtime snuffling its way through the verge in search of the worms the early birds had missed (not that Harry had actually seen that many early birds). The prickly little animal made noises far too fearsome for something of its size, and if Harry hadn't already been familiar with them he'd have been worried that this one was possessed. Simon's ears flicked disdainfully. He wasn't a hedgehog fan. Maybe they kept him awake at night.

There was a flicker of green and yellow. A rather pretty bird was hopping about through the hedge to his left. Harry was a little disappointed when it flew away and joined several of its fellows – finally, a bird he recognised from primary school. Although it was mainly because Dudley and his friends had had sniggering fits every time the teacher had told them about where you could find great tits in Britain.

The little flock zoomed back down over the hedge and into the field beyond. They seemed to flit through a lower point or a hole in the hedge.

Fine if you were a bird. Not so fine for a more cumbersome wizard and his even more cumbersome horse. How could they get through the hedge? Could he hack a hole?

Harry took a moment longer to study the hedgerow. It had a few pale flowers which seemed to be relics from spring – hawthorn, it could be. The leaves looked about right, although Harry thought the mayblossom should have finished blossoming now June was on the way out. Otherwise what was the point of the name?

The thing about hawthorn, he remembered learning in Herbology, was the fact that it was brilliant at anchoring boundary spells. That was why it was so popular in magical farming communities when it came to keeping your stock in and your neighbours' stock out. And if you tried climbing through it onto private property, into a paddock with valuable animals, to give a totally random example, it had thorns that could give you an extremely pointed argument for staying on the public side of the hedge.

What they needed was –

"Whoa, Simon," Harry whispered. But Simon, having felt his rider shift back ever so slightly in the saddle, had already done so, and was looking in the same direction as Harry.

Brilliant. A gate. Just what the Healer ordered. It must have been what the birds had flown over.

Forget following the spiders… Ron would never recover if Harry told him about following the tits.

He dismounted. Luna had showed him how to open and close a gate on horseback. Providing they didn't do it too often in a session Simon would permit them to practise whatever they liked, even when it involved a great deal of turns on the hindquarters and walking sideways as well as shoving at things with his chest when it got too heavy for Luna to push shut with one hand – Harry was sure this was not a recommended method in the upper equine classes, but it got the job done. However, this gate wasn't a nice big gate well-balanced on oiled hinges. It was small and held together with baling twine and magic (Harry felt the oiliness under his fingers when he touched the wood). Rustic was a word that could have been used, but only by someone being very polite.

Poxy piece of crap was what Harry thought furiously as he sucked splinters out of his finger. It had opened without too much fuss, opening wide enough to allow Harry to lead Simon into the paddock where the horse had seized the opportunity of testing his death-glare on a new species. (The cows were unmoved, which suggested they were either Dark magic, too far away to be worried, or very stupid. Whatever their motivation, Simon was threatening a sulk at not being taken seriously.)

_Closing_ the gate was a whole different story. He'd spent an unwanted extra minute simply getting the stupid thing back onto one hinge. It was a sore temptation to leave it hanging open, but Harry wasn't quite city-slicker enough to forget the cardinal rule of the country: leave gates as you find them. The trouble was that the gate had ideas of its own, and playing fair wasn't among them.

Harry kicked it.

Simon pricked up his ears, marginally impressed, possibly by the gate's ability to annoy Harry.

To hell with conventions of inbred morons, Harry fumed silently. He was Harry Potter. He was out to save the world. He was the Boy Who Lived, for Merlin's sake. He wasn't someone who should kowtow to the petty rules of –

_Wait a minute…_

He wasn't thinking with his right mind. That anger seemingly bubbling up from nowhere did in fact have a source.

Voldemort.

Harry felt the hairs up the back of his neck begin to prickle. _Occlumency, occlumency.. Snape told me to clear my mind of all emotion…_

_How do you do it when you're scared?_

There came a voice:

_Harry Potter… Haaaarrryyyy…. _

His name trickled silently from his hindbrain down his spine to where it coiled in his guts like an icy snake. And it wasn't him who'd thought it.

_I will find you… Haarryyy… sssssooooooooonnnnn…_

He could _feel_ Voldemort's attention turning, fixing, focusing, _finding_ him –

Harry put his hand on Simon's neck. He leaned his head against the horse for a moment and breathed in. Simon smelt of horse-sweat, but it wasn't unpleasant. It was natural. It was normal. It steadied. The fear began to drain away. The horse turned its head and nuzzled Harry's shoulder to see if Harry was alright and Harry smiled and put his hand on Simon's nose and forced himself to be completely in this one moment, the moment where there was himself and a horse and the rumbling sky and somewhere a blackbird's song and it was good and wholesome and beyond the petty cares of magic.

Voldemort's influence ebbed.

Harry straightened.

"Good boy, Simon. No, sorry, I don't have any peppermints," he added, smiling, as Simon checked his pockets. "Now, if you'll excuse me a moment, I'm going to put this gate back as it should be. Because I can. Because it's the right bloody thing to do, and while I realise how pompous that sounds I'm pretty sure you won't give me a hard time about it. Even if you could understand the words, I know you've got a lot of respect for boundaries and the rules and stuff like that. Funny how you and Hermione never really clicked."

Apart from the right thing, et cetera, Hagrid would have been disappointed in him if the cattle had got out onto the road and been hit by a lorry. Harry couldn't deal with Hagrid thinking Harry was irresponsible like that.

It took another minute or two and gained another splinter, but Harry kept his temper and got the gate shut. Robert Python had said frustration was the beginning of a trainer's personal journey, so Harry forced himself to treat it as just another lesson, a lesson in keeping his temper. It would have been brilliant for Occlumency, although it was highly doubtful Snape would have assigned rickety gates as a meditation method. Then again, he might have, the sadistic old bastard, Harry thought almost fondly, thinking of Severus and the time they'd tested out location spells up on Squirrel Hill.

But he didn't want to think of Severus. Or Snape. He had things to do, a mind to keep calm and blank and impervious to Dark Lords, and here and now his company was a stallion named Simon – no ghosts allowed, thank you. He pulled Simon around and looked across the field, wondering if he should go along the obvious track or if it would be better to ride down the hill…

His finger really stung now. He shook his hand as he took another step down the track. Why not ride back and meet Draco? He was finished here. If he didn't know what way to go, he was certainly finished. He knew that Hogwarts was back down the road – Simon would have him back by breakfast if he left now.

Breakfast sounded good. There might be sausages. Buttered toast. Orange juice, now that he was growing out of pumpkin juice. Harry turned to open the gate again. Yeah, time to leave. Take Simon and –

"Ow…"

The pain from the splinter brought him back to his senses for a moment. Leave before he'd finished?

The moment passed. Well, why not leave? The urge to get out of this stupid paddock and go back to civilisation was overwhelming. He pressed his hand against his eyes. Leave now… The urge flowed up out of the ground and tried to turn his feet around.

Out of the ground…

Harry flung the reins over Simon's head and scrambled back onto the horse. Simon bobbed his head up and down and shifted his hooves, surprised at Harry's sudden burst of energy.

"Wow," Harry breathed. His head had cleared as soon as his feet were off the ground. He gathered up the reins, feeling the contact of Simon's mouth at the other end, Simon ready and listening and direct of purpose no matter what bewitchment his rider was submitted to. "That was… that was a nice Baffling Charm, Voldie, but no cigar. Or whatever it is you smoke."

Was that what Muggles felt when they got too close to Hogwarts?

Harry shivered, glad he'd been born a wizard.

Now all he had to do was get past a phalanx of cattle…

…Which could very well have been spelled by Voldemort to attack him and gore him to a bloody death with their big pointy horns. They'd all coalesced by some unspoken cow-command until they stood halfway down the track, all staring wide-eyed at Harry and the horse as if the pair were Celestina Warbeck with the Wyrd Sisters as backup.

Freaky animals.

The wind swept towards him and over the hedge, to his right flowing down over the hillside, speckling his glasses with a brief shower that passed along with the wind, grass bending, flickering the edges of the flattened rosettes of young thistles; in a hollow boggy with cloven hoofprints surrounding the dark surface of a water trough gleaming like the lake in miniature, the wind fluttered and lifted the broad leaves of dock. Harry frowned. Dock was useful as an astringent and was added to many healing potions, but there was something odd about its presence here. Harry just couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Well, in the meantime he'd stay away from it.

He checked the stone again.

Yes. It said he had to go along the track past the cows. Of course. Harry sat back in the saddle and considered his options.

He could ride Simon above or below, perhaps, but the hill was rather steep and the cows were on the only part that looked easily covered by a horse with delicate legs. No matter how prepared Simon had been to scramble over rocks and attack Snuffles, Harry always remembered that time he'd watched Simon in the pen all those weeks ago, considering whether he could Stun the horse before it attacked Draco.

He'd thought then how delicate the horse's legs looked when compared to the mass they carried. Luna had given him several lectures over the subsequent weeks which only reinforced this initial impression.

This was cow territory. Their legs were short. They could probably clamber around this hillside with an agility Harry couldn't manage on foot, let alone Simon, who was built for the race track.

But then again, their legs were short. If push came to shove and shove came to take to your heels and run for your life, Harry knew where his money lay. Simon could outrun pretty much any Muggle farm animal on four legs, even most magical creatures. And he could probably jump the gate. Harry had never heard of cows being able to jump.€

He rode Simon at a walk towards the cattle, not making eye contact (was it evil magic or the unicorn blood, because the cows' eyes glowed green like Simon's), playing it cool in the best Horse Mutterer traditions, trying to hide the fact that he had do idea if they would charge or not. Harry wasn't quite prepared to play matador on top of everything else. Come to think of it, did matadors actually ride horses?#

It was moderately unsettling the way the cattle parted and surrounded Simon, true, reminiscent of the unicorn herd. But the unicorns had been a supportive part of Harry's world and these cows were not. They were probably magical, to hear Draco tell of the farm country in the area, and the way they stared at the horse and rider from under the orange thatches of hair from which the long spreading horns grew made Harry's skin crawl. It wasn't anything overtly evil, not in the 'we are possessed beasts in the thrall of Lord Voldemort', it was simply… curiosity.

(Plus the flashes of green from the backs of their eyes. _Like Simon's eyes… like Simon's eyes… _just_ like Simon's eyes…_ Harry kept telling himself over and over, reminding himself that just because things looked a little weird didn't mean they were sinister… the trouble was that himself wasn't believing much of what Harry was saying at the moment)

They didn't charge, but they did follow, trailing in Simon's wake like some sort of large, odorous cloak.

_Glonk. Blong. Donk. Dong. Glonk. Clonk._

One cow had a bell around its neck. Any Death Eater within range could come looking for the source.

Then again, maybe the cows would act as some form of concealment. Harry was pleased by that idea until he realised that the cows were fairly short as cows went, and a tall black horse with a cowled rider leading a procession of cows along the side of a hill was on the eye-catching side of scenic.

He urged Simon into a trot.

The cows sped up, fanning out behind him.

_Glonk, blong, donk, dong, clonk._

"Piss off," Harry snarled over his shoulder. "Go on, bugger off, you lot!"

Simon swished his tail. His reproachful snort said that all the cows being towed in his wake were an affront to the considerable dignity of a stallion of his stature.

Harry grinned despite the circumstances. If Simon could pass judgement on lesser beings, he was definitely back to his old self.

The little gold speck said that the tree was in front of him. Somewhere. Harry readied his wand in case of Dementors, but he suspected that if any were out tonight, they weren't in the immediate area. The air was warm and it didn't have so much as a hint of that mouth-drying cold from the bitter marrow of winter he felt around Dementors.

It didn't mean Death Eaters were off having a cup of tea and a bun, of course. Harry was counting on Simon and the unicorn blood to fill him in on Death Eater presence.

Simon slowed. He stopped. Harry, who'd been busy scanning the far distance of valley and Forest for anchor trees and threats, realised he'd nearly missed something alarmingly obvious.

_Oh, right._

The small issue of a cliff in front of him.

_How the hell could I have missed a sodding great cliff?_

Simon had seen it. The cows, too: they stopped behind Simon. That was lucky – for an alarming half-second Harry had been sure he and his horse would be washed over the cliff by a bovine tsunami. But the cows were aware of the cliff. The fan of cows (fan club, Harry thought with a demi-smile tugging up one corner of his mouth) folded in on itself as the cattle skirted the edge. They weren't getting any closer than Simon already was.

Simon snorted and pawed at the ground.

Harry realised they were overlooking a ravine rather than a sheer cliff. The track they were on continued along the side, nice and broad for a horse and its rider. There was some heather just in front of them, but from there on in it was all lush grass, green and welcoming. Harry nudged Simon with his heels. "Come on, Simon. There's a clear path. It's got pretty little daisies on it, too."

Simon didn't want to go along the path, no matter how green its grass, how sparkly the daisies, or how invitingly wide it was. He swung his head away to the right, trying to turn. But Harry needed to go straight ahead. When he tugged on the left rein, Simon stopped again and bobbed his head up and down.

Harry gave Simon a stronger kick. Simon backed up a step. Feeling a little annoyed that Simon would choose this moment to become disobedient, Harry gave the horse a good solid boot in the ribs.

Simon jerked his head up and down unhappily and pawed at the ground. Sparks flew from the silver shoes.

The path…

… rippling silver and scarlet in unicorn-sight, the path curled up on itself like a dog's tongue in a yawn and flopped back down again.

The path was fake. A spell. A glamour on the air itself. Magic thumping strong enough to fool human eyes enhanced with unicorn blood pulsed as it resettled itself after the shock of Simon's shoes hitting it.

Harry felt like he'd swallowed an ice cube.

_I just tried to ride Simon over a cliff._

Voldemort hadn't posted sentries here – he'd worked his own magic. Harry recognised the sense of humour. Voldemort was the kind of person who would crack a lipless grin at someone slipping on a banana skin, yes, but only if it was an evil banana skin and the someone was, for preference, a Mudblood. Or a Gryffindor. (A Gryffindor Mudblood skidding on an evil banana skin might rate a dry chuckle.)

He patted Simon's shoulder shakily. "Good boy, Simon."

After another moment, he patted Simon's shoulder again. "Really sorry about kicking you like that," he muttered. "That wasn't very nice of me. Extra apple when we get home, okay, mate?"

The kick in his sides seemed to have been forgotten. Now that his rider wasn't telling him to walk out over thin air Simon was too busy pulling faces at the cows to notice.

Harry peered at the path. It was back to its old image of a green-grassed track. Even the unicorn-sight didn't reveal it. But now that he knew it was there, Harry could see the tell-tale signs of a glamour: it didn't quite mesh into the hillside it lay along, and the grass with its daisies was too uniform to be real. Interesting how Simon's silver shoes had fizzled it. But then the shoes were imbued with psychological charms to enhance the horse's ideas of what reality was – it was how Simon had brought them through the barrier, that augmented strength of belief. Simon had seen the glamour for what it was. A trap in the form of a fairly powerful illusion…

Oh yes, this was Voldemort's style, Harry thought bitterly. It was too similar to the trap he'd set for Harry last year, trying to convince him James Potter was alive and trapped in the Department of Mysteries. It was a trap, but it didn't mean the bait wasn't real.

Harry couldn't afford to get angry. Anger was an opening for Voldemort. He breathed deep and took out his pebble.

According to the stone the tree was right ahead. When he held the stone in his open hand it seemed to get heavier. He lowered his hand.

Yes.

The stone was pointing down. By moving it around and feeling the changing weight and seeing the golden spark inside it ebb and gleam, Harry could get a decent idea of where the tree was. Providing the stone was accurate, of course.

_Hmm._

He took out his wand and called up a small spinner spell. Nothing fancy – first year prank stuff – but it should do the trick.

He waved his wand and sent the spell floating out over the gully. Left. Right. And why was that area way over there bare…? It made his eyes water.

Harry sent the spinner spell towards it.

The spell hit something that crackled into fierce life. It lasted only a second, but that second was long enough for Harry to be confident that there was a tree. More than that, the brief magical outburst had had the spreading pillowy look of a mature oak. Simon snorted and backed up a step, bumping into and kicking out at a cow which skittered off in a sprightly way not hitherto suggested by its stocky body.

Harry gathered up the reins and closed his calves on Simon's ribs just enough to let the horse know Harry wasn't alarmed and only wanted Simon to stay in place.

Simon obeyed.

Harry gave him an absent-minded pat. His mind was on the task ahead.

The tree. Brilliant.

And he'd probably just allowed Voldemort to pinpoint his location.

Not so good.

The tree was too far away to hit with a dart. He could levitate a dart… drop it… and it might just drop harmlessly through the leaves or fall point-last. No. This needed to be done properly.

Keeping a wary eye on the cows, Harry dismounted, carefully testing the ground to see if there would be that compulsion to leave like he'd felt back by the gate. That spell must have been localised, though, because he felt nothing beyond nervousness as the cows stared at him like he was an alien stepping out of a UFO.

The cows backed off. Apparently Harry was scarier than Simon.

One cow was sniffing at Simon's hocks. He stamped a back leg but the cow didn't seem to take this as a threat. Harry had felt the earlier kick as the horse hunched up its hindquarters, but there hadn't been any serious connection with the cow. Simon was just wanting some space; he wasn't at the violent outburst stage yet.

"Sorry, Simon," Harry said. "But I'm going to have to leave you here for a bit. At least they'll keep you warm now that the wind's picking up. Plus you'll have company. Horses are meant to like cows. I read that in the book."

Simon glowered across the gully, which seemed to be the edge of the Forest. Some horses had higher standards than others. He flicked his tail and put his ears back menacingly. As it was to warn the overly-friendly cow to back off, it made a pleasant change from his glares at Harry.

Harry took a moment to get his bearings, hanging onto one stirrup as he leaned as far over the side of the cliff as possible. There was a fairly clear delineation in the form of a little creek that trickled down along the bottom of the stony slope between tame farmland and that brooding stand of ancient magic that was one of the few relics of Forested Britain. The Forest strong and proper thickened quickly as it rose on the far side of the gully, blanketing the hills softly from this distance. There, so far away it looked like a mist rising from the hodge-podge patchwork of trees, was the barrier, blending into the sky as it rose into the clouds. Somewhere beyond it would be Hogwarts. Harry fancied he glimpsed turrets, but was probably only imagining them.

That was odd. The barrier rippled: a great wave of pewter through the silver, running up from the south to the north, following the barrier as it curled around the hills and disappeared. It certainly wasn't imagination: even Simon and the cows pricked up their ears as the wave raced along the barrier, even though it was several miles away. Perhaps they felt or heard something. Harry rubbed the back of his neck until the prickling died away. Simon shook his head until his mane flopped either side of his crest, and there was a _bongle-blong-glong_ as the cow with the bell shook herself all over like a dog.

Did that mean Draco or Ron had been successful?

Cheered by the thought (and amused at himself for being little bit jealous that he hadn't beaten the others to the tree), Harry looped the reins around Simon's neck so the horse wouldn't trip on them if it put its head down, then tied the leadrope to a handy bit of heather. The trail had been fake, but the heather was real. It marked the edge of the slope, where the track proper stopped and the pasture dropped off into rocky scar. It was strange it hadn't been fenced off to stop animals from running over the cliff, but Harry noticed a small cairn half-buried in the heather by Simon's right forefoot. It was only really obvious because otherwise the trail he'd ridden Simon down ended at nothing, and was only properly visible if he squinted at it. Its top two stones were blue with red paint and Harry frowned at them. Yes – that was a definite rune carved into them. He recognised one of the basics he'd learned from Divinations: Fehu – the sign for cattle; that made sense. He paused before identifying the rune on the second blue stone as an Othalan derivative – the siting of the dots around the lines made it into a signature, he'd been told by Hermione right before she quit Divinations in disgust at Trelawney's mysticism. Othalan was about personal property. It probably reinforced the barrier around the farmer's land and stopped the cows from falling down into the ravine. Shouldn't there be a third rune to even out the balance?

There it was. It had rolled halfway down the cairn and was now almost swallowed by the heather. There was a small scorch-mark on the stone. Someone had hexed it from its place.

Harry wasn't sure what the third rune was. He couldn't think of any that looked like that – certainly not from the same runic family as the other two.

It took him a moment to realise that the third rune was upside-down. Algiz should signify protection. Reversed, it meant hidden dangers.

He doubted it had fallen that way by chance. For a moment he thought he could smell the old cloying scent of the Divinations classroom and hear the clack-clatter of bangles on bony wrists.

Harry shivered then told himself to stop taking Trelawney so seriously. Wizards had done this, probably purposefully putting it upside down; not some mysterious Hand of Fate.

He gave Simon a farewell pat on the shoulder. Simon was, as always, solid and real. This was a horse who didn't have any patience with self-deluding dingbats high on their own incense. Not that Simon had ever met Trelawney, but Harry was sure he would put on one of his extra-strength lip-curls if he did.

"I'll be back in two shakes of a – well, probably not a lamb's tail… You might want to keep an eye on yours. That cow's chewing it."

Harry started to clamber down the rocks before Simon noticed what the cow was up to.

_Winning the war one battle at a time…_

He was a good way down when his foot slipped.

ooOOoo

A/N: Yes, an actual cliffie. Couldn't resist.

€Sorry, Harry, but cows can jump. Sometimes very, very, very well.

#Er… let's not tell Harry that he's thinking about picadores or rejoneadores. He might do some research on them and find out what bad things have happened and can still happen to horsies in bullfighting.

ooOOoo


	88. Chapter 88

Yay! Lucky number 88! (In my original plan all those years ago this story wasn't going to get past 18 chapters… likewise, it wasn't going to be written over a span of 4-5 years. Pfft.) A/N at the end… because it'd give stuff away to have it at the beginning…

Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to JKRowling and Warner. Och aye!

ooOOoo

Chapter 88

His foot skidded out from under him and he began to slide.

Harry flung out an arm, but the only rocks he snagged with his fingers were loose and rattled down with him, bouncing faster and faster. He tried to dig in with his elbows to slow himself down, which worked for a moment, but then a jutting rock hit his funny bone (which wasn't funny in the least) and Harry yelped and cursed and skated backwards down the skree on his stomach.

There was a terrible stink – it was –

– he was on top of it, gagging –

– he dropped and landed on a shelf, landing on something soft and almost buried in heather, the stone in his hand throbbing as he rolled –

– he sprawled and spread out his arms in hope of catching something.

"Ow!" Harry hissed a painful curse when his elbow hit a rock again and went numb. His hand opened – "Oh, no…" – and the stone flew out, falling up and away and down, down, down. Harry rolled, trying not to fall after it, the numb hand plunging through something like an old suitcase built of twigs, the other hand clinging to the heather desperately, knowing there was no way he could catch the stone now, trying to follow it with his eyes as it fell and hit something invisible –

_Crack._

There was a hole in the world. It writhed like Medusa's hair. The stone smashed into a thousand golden sparkles that drifted away on the wind.

Harry had seen something like that before – that time Draco had reached out with his hands and been knocked unconscious. The spinner spell he'd sent out from the top of the cliff had given him a basic idea of the shape, but the stone let him know that there was something there, a something that would be like touching a downed power line if he was stupid enough to get close.

It could only be the tree.

He should be ecstatic. But Harry moved slowly, trying not to breathe. His mouth had gone dry. That was never a good sign. His hand had feeling coming back to it. And this, he sensed in his marrow, was not going to be good: he had punched through the cloaking heather and into some sort of cavity. He was lying on something brittle, something that snapped and clung like old leather. Something… very wrong.

It smelt like death, but there was no sweetness of maggots: this was the sort of death that even flies were afraid to approach. Fragments of magic clung to it, crept cold into Harry's fingers and slipped through his hair.

A dead cow?

Harry's hand had gone through ribs, he realised. Too small to be a cow's.

A calf? A dead sheep? An alpaca?

Then he saw the skull. It was still wearing a hat. Reddish hair poked in wisps from beneath it.

Oh.

He'd found the farmer.

_The dock by the water trough – Hagrid said it can be poisonous. The young thistles. Hagrid always keeps them out of the paddocks. These plants don't belong in pasture. But they're young. They must have sprung up after the farmer's death._

The magic seemed to snigger in his ears, dry as scales sliding through pebbles. It had Voldemort's dry edge.

There was a blank space in his mind. In that space Harry found a small corner and braced himself and let the horror wash over him. His mind buzzed. His dry mouth suddenly filled with saliva.

Numb, Harry made it to his knees and threw up away from the body. It was bad enough being sick – his mind sent up a the vague idea that it didn't think it could handle vomiting on a corpse on top of everything else.

Still in that strange demi-space of humming in ears and ghostly flutterings around the edges of vision, Harry wiped his hand on some heather and climbed the rest of the way down, being very careful not to get too close to where he'd seen the edges of the barrier tree shake its fury. The rocky slope here evened out and gave him lots of handy solid rocks and plants to hold onto as he made it the rest of the way down.

He concentrated hard on the climb. Hand. Foot. Hand. Hand. Foot – no, other foot. Foot. _Don't think of anything else but Hand Hand Foot… Don't think of anything else, like where my hand has just been…_

Once safely in the bottom of the gully, Harry realised he could still hear the buzzing in his ears. At first he thought it was the tree, but then he looked down at his hands and noticed they were shaking. He lifted one to his face.

This hand had… it had… there was…

He doubled over, heaving, but nothing more came up.

Still choking on the bile burning in his throat and the clinging memory of foul magic tickling his skin, Harry stumbled to the small creek. It wouldn't even be that in a few weeks, not unless there was a lot of rain, but it was enough. Harry scrubbed and scrubbed at his hands and arms, using dock leaves and rough-fronded ferns until his skin began to speckle with scratches. Then he lay down on his stomach and drank from the stream. It probably wasn't a wise idea – this was farming country and the water hadn't come from some sanitary city supply – but it tasted fine, a little loamy and with the mineral taste of rock under the mildly bitter tang of fallen leaves, moss, gorse and heather; it washed out the bile from his mouth and the morning chill of it brought him back to himself. Harry rinsed and spat, rinsed and spat until he could only taste the water.

The smell… the smell seemed lodged in his nostrils. Even when he buried his face in the ferns and breathed deeply, knowing that the wind was carrying away any reek of death, his imagination kept the smell alive.

But he didn't have enough time to stop and worry about death. Not unless he wanted to achieve that unhappy state himself without achieving anything productive along the way. He got up.

Time to battle evil again.

_Work, work, work._

"Right. Let's see you, tree."

He was pretty sure he knew where the tree was, but he charmed a small stone to pulse soft light and threw it.

_Crack._

Yes, there it was. Right where he'd thought it would be. The ground was bare, as if something grew in the area and took up the light and the nutrients. Smaller plants crouched away from it.

Harry took out the darts.

Best to aim low. The main thing was to hit something woody. Even bark would do – Elmsworthy said the darts were sharp and heavy enough to penetrate bark and get far enough into a branch or trunk to apply the potion – the further in the better, but even sprinkling the potion on the tree should do the trick. A leaf would work, yes, but slowly. Possibly so slowly it missed the time window. And there was the possibility of Voldemort coming along and doing a spot of pruning before it got to the heart of the tree. The surest chance of success lay in getting the potion beneath the bark of the trunk. From there it should travel laterally, jumping from grain to grain once it was past this initial defence.

Theoretically.

Harry aimed and threw.

_Crack!_

The dart whistled back over his head. It rattled against the stones.

_Bugger,_ he thought, smoothing his hair with one hand. That tree had better aim than he did – he'd felt it part his hair. But at least he'd been given a better idea of the actual tree. He was sure that one sweep of bitter light had been a branch twisting to bat aside the dart. Did the tree have some sort of consciousness or self-preservation ethic? None of them had considered that before.

_Interesting. And potentially very troublesome._

But Draco or Ron must have succeeded – why else would the barrier have sent that ripple around it? – so that meant Harry was in with a chance.

Right. One down, three to go.

Two darts later, Harry was getting very worried. The tree had batted away the second and third darts. He had no idea where they'd landed.

_Last chance…_

He stuck his tongue between his teeth and took a deep breath.

He threw.

The tree crackled and the dart was tossed somewhere a long way away.

Harry stood up. He didn't swear. Apart from this sick cold feeling in his gut he felt as numb as he'd been after the realisation he'd fallen on a corpse.

He'd failed. He'd been so sure he was the one – the chosen one – meant to come through the barrier, but Dumbledore had been right. If Dumbledore and Flitwick had been here they'd have figured out some clever way of bypassing a stroppy tree.

He blinked and wiped at his eyes savagely. Did it matter if he lost the unicorn's protection? He was so tired. If Voldemort showed up now at least it would be an end to it. He squeezed his eyes shut against the tears. Self pity? Probably. Realism or self pity, it made no difference. At the end of the day the world would still turn and the stars didn't give a shit if one more human life carried on into the next day or guttered out.

Oddly enough, this made him feel better.

Harry took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. He opened his eyes.

He must have turned, because he suddenly noticed something glittering in the stones on the other side of the creek. He jumped across the creek, skidding on the loose stones which had been left by the snowmelt of spring, and picked it up. It was the first dart, and a scratch on the metal had brought out the shine. The point was bent, of course, but the rest looked sound. Harry touched his wand to it to measure the potion still inside, and found that it hadn't leaked. Not a drop was gone as far as he could tell. It couldn't have penetrated the tree, in that case.

_Damn, damn, damn._

Harry tried to straighten the point with his fingers.

He'd expected it to resist or maybe even scratch his fingers. He certainly hadn't expected it to bend like butter. It was the work of a couple of seconds to get it back to normal.

His fingers had a silvery gleam to them. But what –?

_The unicorn blood._

He'd touched his eyes. The unicorn blood had flaked onto his fingers. And now the tip of the dart gleamed with it. It was almost transparent now – he could even see the injection spell Hermione had put on the point.

Harry held it up to his ear. Yes – there was the faintest hum, as if the mistletoe potion inside the dart was interacting with the unicorn blood.

He took one last breath to calm himself and told himself it couldn't possibly work – hope was too dangerous right now – and threw the dart.

_Thunk._

The world took a deep, crimson breath.

Black emptiness erupted in front of him as the tree groaned and shook and shattered its bonds. Something screamed – silently, in Harry's mind, ringing its pain and rage within his skull.

Voldemort.

Harry was thrown backwards. He landed on his back. Instinct made him throw an arm across his face, and he took it down just in time to see the fireball rise up and disappear in the clouds. He lay there stunned, watching it go, unable to believe he'd actually done it, he'd actually broken the –

A mind reached for Harry's.

Harry closed his eyes and thought hard of the countryside to the south of Hogsmeade – picturing a farm he'd seen once from the Hogwarts Express, thinking of it so hard he could almost feel himself there. He added a few sheep and let himself wonder at the oddity of the distant fireball far, far to the north.

Voldemort snarled in pain and rage.

_South? South all this time? But I have found you now, Harry…_

Harry let himself feel frightened _(oh no Voldemort's found me whatever shall I do, Auror Moody and the twenty other Aurors with me?)_, then blanked his mind with thoughts of the perfect Wronski Feint and statistics from the last Chudley Canons game he'd got results for.

There was a slight twang and the welcome sensation his head was his own again. Voldemort was gone. To the south, if Harry's bluff worked.

_Don't forget your tanning lotion._

Harry grinned and opened his eyes again, looking at the blackened ruin that had been a barrier tree. His grin faded.

If Draco had had that reaction from his tree, why hadn't Harry seen it? Must have been Ron's tree earlier, he decided as he rolled to his hands and knees and scrambled to his feet. He couldn't see the barrier very well from the gully, only the more transparent heights of it, but he fancied he could see two stripes of pewter still running away in opposite directions from the closest point to him.

The oak was a mess. Blackened branches trembled as the last of the spell left the tree in scribbles of light. One fragment of spell reached out for Harry and he lifted his hand at the last minute to ward it off.

It snarled as it evaporated.

Harry let out a breath. He could have sworn it was aiming itself at his scar.

That fireball must have been seen miles away. Even if someone wasn't coming to check the tree after the ripples from Ron's tree, Voldemort would be an idiot to ignore this new development. Wherever he thought Harry might or might not be, Harry wouldn't be surprised if the Dark Lord showed up in person to briefly survey the damage. And he'd be in a very bad mood, no doubt.

Harry told himself that it would be a good thing if Voldemort suddenly appeared – it meant he'd have a chance to hit him with the anti-Voldie potion. But the deeper primordial part of his brain, the part that dealt with threats and fear, wasn't listening. It was telling him to get the hell away from here as fast as Simon could –

Hell. He'd left Simon up there alone. A horse bridled and saddled right next to the gully containing the destroyed barrier tree was a target for any Death Eater flying reconnaissance.

Harry leaped across the creek and started up the slope with as much momentum as he could. The run took him up the lower parts quickly but petered out as he hit a patch of scree and went down on his knees. The denim stopped scraping but the sharp pain let him know there would be bruises tomorrow. And he wouldn't have a tomorrow if he went screaming around like a Kneazle on catnip. Slower but with as much determination as ever, he tackled the steeper sections using plants to hold him up where he couldn't get decent footholds. It was hard going and his arms were aching by the time he reached the ledge he'd fallen onto – the one with the corpse. He kept his eyes on the job rather than letting them seek out the pitiful sight again.

Left hand, right hand, left hand, right hand, check the left foot… He hissed through his teeth as a stone dig into his shin. His sneakers scrabbled at loose rock, but the plants he was using seemed deep-rooted enough. When he ignored the dirt and the mess and the occasional spider (not an Acromantula) he scared out of the rocks, he guessed he was making good time. Maybe he wasn't going as fast up as he'd come down, but he didn't mind. It was better than breaking his neck.

There was an odd rushing noise. Harry had never seen the sea, but the noise was like what he imagined waves would sound like. It grew louder and louder, although never rising above a whisper. He turned his head just in time to see the two vertical pewter ripples coming back around the barrier. They collided where they'd begun, winking out.

The barrier was definitely beginning to react now. Odd spots blossomed and grew and then evaporated back into the eye-watering pearlescence.

Voldemort would _definitely_ be wanting to investigate this one. After remembering at the last moment that wiping the sweat out of his eyes would get rid of the unicorn blood (and that would be a bad thing), Harry blinked hard instead and set to the climb again.

It seemed an age before he reached the top. He'd started thinking about his own safety halfway up: it wouldn't do anything to help Simon if he himself was captured. But it seemed that nobody had come to investigate the northern tree just yet. Was that good or bad? It was certainly good in the short run.

Harry worked his way along the rocky face – there was the hint of a path, although not one used by people. But it gave him a bit more of a toehold than he would have had if he'd gone straight up. Finally he came to a thick stand of some sort of plant they'd never studied in Herbology (which was probably a good sign, come to think of it), and he heaved himself up the last of the way and flopped onto his stomach in the middle of the heather he'd tied Simon to.

The horse whinnied softly. Wheezing and gasping for the oxygen the clouds seemed to have stolen along with the light, Harry rolled over onto his back and looked up and into a large pair of nostrils.

"Good boy, Simon," he croaked. And laughed. Because Simon wasn't dead and neither was he (no matter how dirty and sweaty he was), and at least two of the three trees had had the spell lifted off them. "You're alright. Er, well," he amended, as he sat up and got a better look at the horse's expression, because any relief that Harry had returned had been swept aside by the horse's prior concerns which, going by the fossilised sneer of distaste characteristic to horses and camels, were major and life threatening, "well, you're not in pain or dead. But what's wrong? Steady, now…"

Harry got to his feet. It was harder than it should have been: his knees were dissolving and he'd left his balance halfway down the cliff. He rested his hand on Simon's nose for balance.

"Hey there, Simon. Oh. Oh dear…"

It was lucky the wind wasn't a chilly one, because it was tangling through the mane and forelock and sending it flickering like black flames, and the horse had been standing still long enough to have been chilled if it had been a few degrees lower. Simon wasn't shivering. If he'd been human he would have been steaming – metaphorically speaking.

Simon's expression was indescribable. The closest Harry had ever seen to it had been that time at the start of second year when Snape had been sure Harry and Ron would be booted out of Hogwarts for flying a car into the Whomping Willow… that time right when Dumbledore said they couldn't possibly be expelled for a mistake made before the start of school.

Snape had looked like that.

And now Simon was giving Harry that look along with an extra dollop of resentment, like it was all Harry's fault that he was here surrounded by brazen insolence.

The cows liked Simon.

More than that, the cows positively worshipped the tall dark stranger in their midst.

One cow was licking Simon's shoulder. One, a particularly stocky individual who only came up to the horse's elbow, was wrapping its long tongue around a stirrup. It had pulled it down from where Harry had left it slid up on the stirrup leather, letting the iron bump against Simon's side. The bell cow chewed dreamily on a rein. On the plus side, they were very careful not to poke him with their horns, even the one scratching its head on Simon's rump. Maybe it was the salt from the sweat that they liked, because there was another one snuffling about behind the saddle.

One seemed to be – of, for Merlin's sake, it _was_ – chewing his tail.

"Shoo," said Harry, trying not to laugh. Horses mightn't laugh but Harry was positive Simon would understand being laughed _at; _moreover he wouldn't take kindly to any slights to his dignity. So Harry swallowed the laugh and when he smiled he tried to keep it out of his voice.

He waved his arms and the cows moved back. They gave him great big liquid-eyed looks of supreme suffering. It would have melted his heart if their eyes weren't glowing green. It was still creepy, although the effect was diminishing. The unicorn-sight was definitely wearing off.

"I'm away for ten minutes and you've got a throng of worshippers," he scolded the horse with that smile he found he couldn't hold back now, ruffling Simon's forelock, pleased the horse was still here and hadn't run off out of horror of the cattle. Or the fireball, for that matter – pretty amazing the horse had stayed after _that,_ Harry considered gratefully. "Well, at least you would've been warm in the glow of their adoration."

Simon didn't seem to think this was funny. The green at the back of _his_ eyes flickered with annoyance. He wrinkled his muzzle and scratched his head against Harry's shoulder with more force than usual, nearly knocking Harry down.

Harry didn't bother to take offence. He grabbed a handful of bracken and used it to briskly wipe off the worst of the spit the cows had left on Simon's neck and shoulder. "There. Much better." The coat wasn't at its shiniest but it was smooth again. Not that Simon seemed to appreciate this. "Well, we don't have time to groom you properly," Harry told the horse. "We've got to find Draco. He should be waiting for us by the stile. If he's finished his tree off, of course. He mightn't have, but –"

As if on cue, the ring squeezed his finger. "Well, maybe he has and I missed the fireball. Although wouldn't the barrier be down if… ah. Maybe it takes time. That was two squeezes. Back to the stile – no, hang on." The ring was squeezing his finger again. "Let's make that the bridge. Three squeezes." Strange Draco had changed his mind – maybe he'd forgotten the code for a moment. He squeezed the ring to let Draco know he'd got the message. "There we go."

Harry checked the girth and brought the un-licked stirrup down from its resting place. Then he remembered –

"Oh, bugger. I forgot to say the password. Hope Malfoy's not too worried…"

Harry spoke the password and squeezed the ring three times to confirm. There was a pause, then another three squeezes rather sharper than the earlier trio – Draco had got the reply but wasn't happy about the wait. Harry wasn't sure if he was meant to reconfirm from his end, but decided that if he did Draco might just think he'd forgotten the code. Best not to have Draco think he was uncertain – Draco tended to panic under stress. He'd been stressed enough when Harry had last seen him and having to wait for Harry to confirm the bridge probably had him yanking at his blond hair.

What if Draco panicked under the stress of Death Eater interrogation? Would he betray Harry?

Maybe. But Harry doubted he'd betray Harry _and_ Simon.

Not unless someone had a wand to his father or mother's throat…

Bad thoughts. Harry shook his head, trying to dispel them.

Simon, temper marginally improved by increased distance from the cows, turned to see if Harry had found some peppermints down in the ravine, effectively breaking Harry's negative train of thought.

Harry gave an amused snort. "Sorry, Simon. Apples when we get back to Hogwarts, okay?"

Simon condescended to have his nose stroked as a form of appeasement by Harry for the lack of apples and peppermints brought back from the exploding tree.

With his hand still resting his hand on the horse's nose, Harry looked around. He breathed through his clenched teeth.

There was one last thing he had to do before he left here.

He picked up the upside-down Algiz stone. It clung to the heather and came away with a faint sucking noise. The fake path wavered and disappeared. Now no more people should be tricked (although Harry had strong suspicions that the farmer's body had lain down there since the barrier was set up… and how exactly _did _Voldemort set it up? Blood sacrifice? It'd be his style). Harry bit his lip and put the runestone on the top of the cairn. There was the smallest tingle in his fingers as the wards reset themselves. "There we go," he said. "I'm sorry." He couldn't think of anything else to say, and the farmer (if it was him, and it wasn't likely someone else had fallen down that cliff – Muggle hikers were discouraged with spells from coming anywhere near magical livestock, Hagrid had told him) was long dead. Maybe Harry would look for his family later. Providing there was a later, of course – and providing finding them wouldn't put them into danger. But someone needed to keep an eye on the cows. Domestic animals couldn't just be abandoned. At least they had water, but he wasn't sure how long the spring flush of grass would last. The cows watched him with large, trusting eyes. Harry was almost becoming fond of them. So far they'd been the most normal part of his night. Morning. They hadn't done anything more worrying than chew Simon's tail, and despite the long horns they'd been quite gentle. "Don't worry, cows. I'll try and let someone know you need attention. Don't want you running out of food."

Harry gave the horse a pat on the neck as he put the reins back over Simon's ears and remounted.

He gave the gully one last lookover. The blackened oak seemed inert from this distance: a victim of lightning. And the barrier still stood far away, cloaking Hogwarts with rippling waves of magic; standing between him and his home. Between him and Ron and Hermione. Between him and Luna.

"Come on, Simon."

Once Harry had wrestled the gate back into place and the horse and rider were away down the road, the cow with the bell around her neck shook her head and turned to the cow next to her. "So that was Harry Pu'er."

"Always thought he'd be taller," said the second cow. "Yon wizard's a skinny, paukit(1) thing."

"It's nae size that counts, it's intent," the bell cow said stoutly. "And did ye hear him? Telling us he'd find someone to check we had food. Fair melted mah heart, he did." Her dark eyes filled with compassion. "Puur wee lad. Auld Nick hisself in his shadow, snapping at his heels..."

The second cow flicked an ear. "Och. He's no' a bairn," she told her friend pragmatically. "And he's got auld Langshanks minding him."

"Huh. Hisself wha disnae ken hisself, ye mean?"

"Aye, true. But he's got the magic – it wis coming aff him like rain."

"Delicious, it wis – Ah saw ye chewin' on his tail, ye cheeky besom. Shame he wouldnae let us lick his chest. Ah could've reset that spell wi' only mah tongue –"

"Now, Gladys, ye know it would've bin wrang," the second cow told her sternly.

"Och, Ah ken reet well what's needed," the bell cow said huffily. She paused to chew cud before adding doggedly, "Ah still say we should ha' tellt Harry."

"Tellt Harry aboot Langshanks? Dinnae be daft. Lad'd only be fasht. It'd gie him the skitters, ye ken, knowing he needs tae lose his darlin' cuddy as weel as hae a stooshie wi' auld Snakeface. We couldnae ha' tellt him. Ye saw how peely-wally he was when he cam back wi' the smell o' Angus' death on his claes and how the very secht o' his horse cheered him. Nae, Gladys – wee Harry Po'er's got enough tae be goin' on with wi'out us lot gieing him grief. Besides, if he'd wanted tae ken aboot a'thing he would hae asked us direct instead o' shooing us awa' like he did."

"Aye. Ye're right. An' we helped him wi' them tattie bogles." She gestured with a horn uphill to where – if viewed carefully enough – ragged robes with enough scabrous limbs for nearly five Dementors could be seen trampled into the mud where they must have been cornered in a bend in the hedgerow. "He didnae even say thanks for the helpin' horns an' hooves," she grumbled in a quick shift of mood. "Where's manners in the youth o' today, Ah ask ye?"

The second cow sighed. Not for the first time, it occurred to her that it was never the one with brains who got to be the leader. _But oor Angus was a good 'un as wizards go, and didnae deserve tae be sacrificed to mak that wall o' jobby magic. Avenge the death o' oor wizard for us. Luck tae ye, Harry, luck tae ye an' the horse ye rade in on._

ooOOoo

A/N: I made a heavy raid on the Scottish Vernacular Dictionary at firstfoot dot com for the conversing cows, as well as dim memories of Billy Connolly and various Scottish co-workers over the years. Extra special thanks go to Whitehound for ironing out the creases and adding several more terms. Any mistakes are, however, mine.

(1) For anyone unfamiliar with the Scottish dialect (like me), here are a few rough translations by a kiwi making feeble attempts to learn Chinese (yeah, because that really helps matters…):  
Auld Nick – the devil  
bairn – child  
claes – clothes  
cuddy – I loved how it can refer to a small horse or possibly a donkey and then having the cows use it for Simon. Poor auld Langshanks – er, the long-legged horse aka Simon, that should be…  
fasht – upset  
hae a stooshie – have a fight  
paukit – too small  
peely-wally – pale  
puur wee – poor little  
secht – sight  
skitters – bad digestion, to put it delicately.  
tellt – told  
tae ken – to know ('hisself wha disnae ken hisself' 'himself who doesn't know himself')  
tattie boggle – scarecrow, here used to refer to a Dementor

ooOOoo


	89. Chapter 89

Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to JK Rowling and Warner people. Ha! I scorn money! (As a matter of fact I _don't_, but as I can't make money from this story I will plead the defence of sour grapes.) The smiling happy faces of my readers are my reward. (Yeah, okay, I'll just have to imagine those smiling happy faces.)

ooOOoo

Chapter 89

The wind skimmed the tops of hedges and the occasional stone wall, toying with the hood Harry kept up to shield his features from any passing enemy. It ruffled the silky mane already rippling as Simon trotted along at an even pace, to all intents and purposes unperturbed by the formerly oleaginous road, which implied that the unicorn blood on the horse's eyes was wearing off as Harry's was, because to Harry's eyes the road looked almost normal. The silver shoes would have rung out merrily in an alert to any and all interested Death Eaters in the area, but the silencing charm hadn't been affected by anything so far, not the Forest, not the barrier, not the Barricade fence they'd jumped nor the road Simon had galloped down or the Buggeroff Hex by the gate in the paddock. (Not even cow saliva, because Harry was sure he'd seen one of the cows licking Simon's hoof. But then the cows had seemed pretty ordinary, so they were probably safe on that score.) Simon had had a nice rest while Harry dealt to the barrier tree and now, refreshed, was striding out with a long, loose stride. Harry had the feeling the horse could keep it up for the better part of a day, although he didn't think his own backside could. Already his lower back was starting to ache. This was the longest stretch he'd ridden for, even counting all the breaks when he'd dismounted to wrestle with gates, shoo away cows, and climb up and down cliffs to break barrier spells (_mustn't forget that bit – arms still aching from that_).

He'd passed the stile. The ring on his little finger tingled unexpectedly as it sensed its point of origin. Simon, sensing his interest, had slowed. But Harry had urged him on with some regret, wishing there was some way to turn the notice-me-not spell portable. It took a while to get to the next spot of interest, but then he'd been travelling at quite a speed along that stretch of road so it was understandable if he'd neglected to notice the dark shadows under the hedgerows and next to the road where drains lay open to the sullen, ruddy sky. Simon was getting more and more skittish, and it took Harry a while to realise that it wasn't the threat of monsters that Simon was getting upset over, it was _Harry's_ worry over the threat of monsters Simon was reacting to. By stopping himself staring into every shadow, forcing himself to relax instead and let his senses expand without a focus, letting Simon take care of the immediate road, Harry found he calmed the horse down again.

This worked well for the next few minutes, but then there was some problem with the road near the picnic table – Simon had issues about being attacked by slavering monsters, it would seem – but the area was clear of centaurs and three-headed dogs, although the long grass on the other side of the Barricade fence was trampled into odd tufts and flattened whorls until it was the lawn equivalent of Harry's hair. It gleamed. The light drizzle that came and went sporadically had left the world dampened just enough to catch the light of a sunrise weaker than the third cup of tea made from one teabag.

There were no bodies. Or blood, as far as he could see. Harry stood up in the stirrups to try and get a better view, but Simon took exception to this and spun around with every intention of galloping back along the road to his adoring crowd of cows and Harry unbalanced and nearly fell off.

"No you don't, Simon…" Not that he could blame the horse – Harry should have known better than to stare at something the horse already saw as a threat. Staring was bad. The stared-at must either be or contain monsters.

Snorting and prancing on the diagonal, Simon allowed himself to be coaxed past. Harry needed to be a bit firmer with the reins just past the picnic site, insisting Simon keep to a trot rather than a canter. But as Harry wasn't staring at potential threats any more, Simon's nervousness vanished fairly quickly and soon the horse was back in his ground-covering trot, jet-intake nostrils twitching interestedly to take in all the fascinating smells of the outside world.

Harry gave the horse a smug pat on the neck.

"I think you're enjoying your day out," he murmured. "Must get a bit boring for you – paddock to field for longeing and riding lessons and then back to paddock again."

Simon's ears flicked back at his words, then resumed their normal position. They weren't moving in agitation and they weren't aimed at anything in particular. Simon's head wasn't being carried high and his neck wasn't arched. His stride wasn't choppy or uneven (if it was a little like being on a ship at sea for his rider) and showed no sign of tiring. In short, Simon was giving every sign of enjoying the outing. Harry smiled despite the gloomy day.

It was a good fifteen minutes before they reached the bridge. A pair of starlings and several thrushes chased each other in the petty way of long-term-on-bad-terms neighbours, flying with deft stokes of their wings through the branches of the half-dozen large trees fluttering their leaves in the breeze either side of the stream. And Draco was nowhere in sight. Despite his determined efforts to stay calm and not alarm Simon, Harry's tension was beginning to seep through and Simon was taking exception to shadows and birds, of which there were an increasing number. The horse flared its nostrils at the bridge and balked when it looked like Harry wanted to ride over it.

"Down here."

Simon shied so violently at the sudden voice that Harry lost his balance. He slid out of the saddle and would have hit the road on his back if he hadn't flung his arms around the horse's neck; his legs clung to Simon's shoulders, one ankle hooked over the withers. Simon danced a moment, then realised who'd startled him and that he wasn't under attack.

Draco climbed up the bank from where he'd been hiding under the bridge. "Well. This is a new method. Not in any book I've ever read on horse riding."

From where he was hanging under Simon's neck Harry swore at him. The chattering birds flew off to bicker on the other side of the stream.

"You're only saying that because he can't bite you right now," Draco pointed out smugly. He rested his broom on the ground.

Harry didn't bother pointing out that if anyone was going to get bitten it was Draco for having frightened Simon. "Simon… put your head up, boy…"

Simon did not. He stretched his neck down further and shifted his forefeet to try and compensate for the odd weightshift of having his rider in this new position.

Harry sighed. Well, at least he hadn't taken a tumble and broken something. He unhooked his ankle and dropped less than gracefully to the ground.

Simon lifted his head at the strange antics of his rider.

"Oh, _now_ you put your head up…" Harry got to his feet and wiped off his backside. The road was wet and a little sticky. He wrinkled his nose. There was a faint odour of cows and sheep. Best not to look too carefully at what he'd been sitting in, he decided. "Get your tree?" he asked Draco.

Draco jerked his head at the grassy slope leading down to the stream. "We can't get him under the bridge but we can get him in the shadow under the trees. They're horse chestnuts. Appropriate, don't you think?"

"Mm." Nice thick leafy trees. Harry didn't care what species they were, but getting Simon under cover, now _that_ made sense. Draco seemed even twitchier than usual as Harry led Simon down the hill; probably glad not to be waiting on his own anymore, although it wouldn't reassure him if Harry pointed out that being in the company of the Boy Who Lived automatically turned him into a target. The horse appeared happy to have a break in all the roadwork, and immediately put his head down to graze on whatever grass sprouted up in the shade of the trees, snorting without rancour as the stems of dandelions tickled his nose. Simon considered his options and then tucked into the leafiest of the dandelions, apparently relishing the lush dark greens. "Is that going to be poisonous?" Harry asked, wondering if he should pull Simon's head up.

"Nah. Although Luna says that if he eats too much of a different thing he might get colic. A few dandelion plants won't hurt him. Hey! What happened to his tail?"

"Cows."

"Because cows are always the reason for a bad hair day…"

"You've been running into a few cows of your own, have you?" Up close, Draco looked terrible. There were dark shadows around his eyes and his hair stuck up in tufts. Harry felt much the same way, and expected his hair was even worse.

"In a sense. You look terrible. Did you fall off Simon again?"

Harry looked down at himself. His knuckles were skinned and his jeans, cloak and top were as filthy down the front as they felt to be down the back. There were dull pains under his jeans in the knee and shin regions – while the denim wasn't ripped, his skin mightn't have fared so well underneath. "No – well, that is to say I didn't fall off _Simon…_" He gave Draco the condensed version of his adventures in rock climbing. Draco frowned over the cows, nodded in quick satisfaction over the tree, and even winced and pulled a face when Harry told him about falling on the body.

"I didn't find any dead bodies, just a couple of Death Eaters…"

"How'd you get past them? Anyone I know?"

"Funny you should ask…"

ooOOoo

Draco didn't look back at Harry and Simon down by the stile as he headed up into the clouds. There was the potential for lightning, of course, but he hadn't seen any so far and it was less likely than being hexed. Possibly less fatal, too.

He didn't bother ducking out to check for landmarks on the way – he was trusting in the pebble Elmsworthy had made, and he kept one eye on the golden speck as he zipped through the clouds. The visibility was virtually nil – it was like walking through the thickest pea souper, except for the bit where he was travelling at close to fifty miles an hour. He slitted his eyes when they began to dry – he wasn't used to travelling in straight directions for so long (metaphorically speaking, it was a matter of Slytherin pride rather than the more literal considerations of Snitch-catching). Blinking faster and harder helped, too. He kept his focus on the stone.

It was easier than thinking of what else was around this morning.

_Hello, Father. Fancy meeting you here. Cursed tree? Really? You don't say. Me? Oh, I'm just… on my way to kill that red-eyed Halfblood hypocrite you've been bowing and scraping to – same old, same old, really. How's Mother?_

Come to think of it, that 'hypocrite' sentence wouldn't be the smartest to say to Lucius. Or even think about. Voldemort was meant to be an expert Legilimens. He already knew Potter was through the barrier – he'd be getting all his abilities limbered up. Mobilising evil allies, et cetera. Maybe he had some spy things flying around in the clouds. Maybe –

Draco realised at this point he was getting paranoid.

"You're getting paranoid, Malfoy. Any second now you'll start talking to yourself."

Four or five hard blinks later, he added:

"See?"

He might have started an argument at this point (right now with his pulse high and the adrenaline not so much flowing as ripping into his bloodstream in sudden spurts, he was edgy enough to argue with himself), but the little light in the stone shifted suddenly to the right and Draco swerved to follow it.

Left – right – left… _And why isn't this crazy stone giving me the straightest path? _Right again. And then the stone grew heavier for a brief second and _then_ the spot was pointing behind him.

"What the –?"

The stone was broken. The stone was broken and he was lost and they were all going to die.

_Hang on a minute…_

Draco aimed his broom up and into a vertical loop, rolling at the top so that he was now flying back the way he'd come.

_Yes._

He'd flown over the tree. Draco's heartrate slowed from frantic to racing.

By a little judicious circling, holding the stone at an angle when it got heavier so the golden speck was pointing straight down, he came to hover in what he judged was the area above the tree. It took a bit of jockeying because the wind was blowing quite strongly now, making it seem like he was flying through the clouds, but he managed to hold his position relative to what the stone was telling him was the southern barrier tree.

Very, very slowly, he descended.

The wind was up. Clouds whispered past him in damp fronds, touching him with damp and leaving speckles of dew on his skin and cloak. And then there was a gap in the clouds and Draco was exposed and right below him was: nothing.

Absolutely nothing, unless you counted a big plantless circle in the middle of a lightly forested area on top of a hill as something. Negative nothing, then. The ground itself rippled softly when Draco squinted hard, trying to make out something. He shivered with the vestigial fear of being thumped senseless by the same magic, and made sure he didn't get any lower. Who knew how high the tree reached? He really, really, _really_ didn't want to get every last bone in his body powdered by another barrier tree in a snit.

Oh, and it'd be kind of convenient if he didn't get those aforementioned bones ground into powder by Death Eaters. Like the two currently lurking in a half-hearted way by some bushes. Huh. They might be hidden from the ground, but they were totally exposed to the grey eyes-in-the-sky. One was smoking, his mask lifted into his hood, the lit end of his fag a glowing beacon in the fog. From this height Draco couldn't quite make out the features, but the big rounded shoulders and heavy stance were definitely those of a Crabbe or a Goyle. Probably one of the fathers, although the mothers were also Death Eaters as far as Draco knew.

Cannier than his companion, the other Death Eater tilted his head back to check the sky.

Draco quickly zoomed back into cloud cover. The clouds were reddening but not bright enough to give him away, although he wouldn't like to risk it in another half hour, certainly not if the clouds lifted any higher into the sky; it was a stroke of luck that the tree was on top of this hill where the clouds flowed around the top in streams of mist that coalesced into fleeces thick enough to conceal him only a score of yards higher. He counted to twenty before he lost some altitude again. It was dangerous coming down so low, but he needed to be sure of those between him and the tree. One Death Eater was not the same as another Death Eater.

Yes, the two Death Eaters were still there. They didn't seem upset, although they might just be good actors.

_Nah._

That big chap was definitely Mr Crabbe. The hood shielded the mask and the mask was, of course, something to screen the face, but only Mr Crabbe scratched his backside in public like that. It drove Lucius mad.

The other man was slender with rangy shoulders, the midnight folds of his cloak draping a figure that looked wiry even from above. His energy was apparent in the way he kept looking around, his wand ready in his hand, feet shifting on the bare ground with the toes of his boots scratching at the earth, flicking at the wards. Draco squinted, trying to make out the type of magic there. It looked from the twisting ribbons of olive and bronze like some sort of tracer spell, but he'd never seen one that could spread out over the ground like a net, lapping around a bare patch of rock and burrowing into the grass and heather. It didn't seem as aggressively hostile as Lucius' floating binding ribbons, but a tattle-tail didn't have to knife you in the back to be your enemy. The thin Death Eater kicked at the spell again, and hissed something at Crabbe, who put out his cigarette.

The slender figure looked up again and Draco caught his breath in surprise, shocked to see someone he not only recognised but held some respect for.

Draco ascended back into the clouds. He needed to think.

That had been weird. He was sure the Death Eater hadn't seen him, but the unicorn blood had a few new tricks for him to learn – for example, the ability to see through masks. In that moment before he'd hidden in the clouds Draco had seen through that mask as if it was rippling glass over the familiar features of Mr Nott. Theo's father.

God – did this mean he might have to duel Theo's dad?

What if he killed him? How would he explain that to Theo?

Or, worse, what if Theo's dad killed him? No explaining necessary on Draco's part – that was a bonus – but the downside was being dead.

Draco would just have to lie, he decided, giving a firm nod to the indifferent clouds sifting around him. He could do that with a straight face well enough, although his father and Snape (and probably Dumbledore, although Draco hadn't had enough contact with the Headmaster to have tested out his skills in counter-deception) had never been fooled. But he could fool most of the students without too much difficulty (he didn't count Crabbe or Goyle – deceiving them was like hexing Crups in a kennel).

But the trouble was that not only was he averse to hurting someone who came over for dinner occasionally (and had never talked down to or sucked up to the young Malfoy, thus proving a welcome rarity in his circles), he didn't _want_ to lie to Comrade Theo.

_Not wanting to kill someone is fair enough. But now I don't want to lie to someone? What's wrong with me?_

Draco had the horrible thought that he was getting a conscience – the shock of it nearly knocked him off his broom. But then he reasoned he'd just been hanging around Gryffindors too long. One could pick up all sorts of bad habits from them, like Looking without Leaping, and Fighting by Queensbury Rules. He wasn't getting something so inconvenient as a sense of fair play after all – it was just the Gryffindors, just the Gryffindors….

Whew. That'd been a nasty four seconds.

Reinvigorated by the sense of being Slytherin (and thus a winner in the Game of Life) and a Malfoy (a winner with style and cultural distinction which included a well-stocked wine cellar and a couple of Picassos as well as a Renoir and scores of works by other, albeit lesser, masters of the Wizarding art world gracing the walls), Draco proceeded to scheme.

He needed three things in the next ten minutes or so:

1. To get past two Death Eaters, preferably without killing and definitely without being killed.

2. To hit the tree with the dart.

3. To make his exit without getting caught.

One was problematic: although Draco was pretty sure he could hex both of them using the advantage of surprise, having Nott stay hexed might be an issue as he was a tricky bastard rumoured to be able to free himself from certain undisclosed binding spells using raw magic rather than his wand. Crabbe might survive having an anvil dropped on his head, but it would annoy him and he could cast a mean Cruciatus.

As for two, Draco really needed to get up and close without getting so close the tree decapitated him. That wouldn't be fun.

Number three was the most important bit. He –

Someone was speaking. Crabbe. Complaining in his dull way. Draco dropped down to listen more closely.

"Mulciber's late."

Nott ignored him.

"He's late."

"I heard you."

There was a pause in the scintillating conversation when a sharp gust of wind buffeted the long black robes and tried to rip the hoods away. Draco jockeyed his broom back into position – the wind had nearly swept him away. It also made it hard to hear and if any thin patches of cloud blew past Draco could be exposed to view, plus there was the added danger of flying into an invisible tree with an anger management problem. But Crabbe's complaints weren't voiced quietly. It wasn't a problem to stay high enough to keep out of sight and still hear the bulk of the conversation. But it could be extremely unfortunate if there was a break in the clouds when someone was looking up. Despite his joking with Potter about claiming to be under the Imperius curse, Draco knew that if he got caught with an anti-Voldemort potion as well as the barrier-breaking potion things would get very, very nasty.

He didn't want to think about that right now. Much easier to think about getting back to the castle, because it had been a long time since dinner, and –

Draco shook his head. Was he just tired, or had the barrier scrambled his brain? He was so distractable now. Had it been as bad the first time he came through the barrier –?

He forced himself to concentrate.

He sighed. If only Death Eater conversation wasn't so banal… He was going to fall asleep in a moment.

Crabbe was still grumbling. "He's late. I'm hungry."

"Shut up, will you?"

There was a pause. Then: "Got any food?"

"Wasn't smoking the last of my fags enough for you? Shut up before the Dark Lord comes back. No – on second thought, tell him you're hungry and want a bacon sarnie."

There was a break in the clouds that allowed Draco to see that Crabbe hunched his shoulders in that way his son did when Vince was sure someone had just taken the piss and he wasn't allowed to thump them for it.

It might have been funny, but all the hairs down Draco's neck prickled. Voldemort had been here. And maybe he was coming back. Soon.

He retreated into his clouds. They seemed to be lowering. Or thickening. The mistiness was seeping through his cloak, too, leaving his skin clammy. Or maybe that was just the fear. Needing a distraction, he reached for the darts. And his fingers found some other things he'd forgotten about what with all the kerfuffle of getting through the barrier and being chased by hell-hounds – Elmsworthy's little bottles of distilled tricks.

Draco took one out and sighed. Fat lot of good they were – Elmsworthy had shoved them at Draco as if he expected some sort of Slytherin solidarity in the form of telepathy between comrades and Draco would know what they contained. Huh. As if anyone could work out what Elmsworthy was on about even when he used words of less than four syllables. Draco studied the bottles in case he'd missed something. The type of phial could often tell a lot about its contents. This one, for example, was all glass. It had a twist-lid with a special channel carved into it to allow the potion to come out in drops when you turned it twenty degrees, but other than that there wasn't much clue as to whether it should be applied to your own skin or an enemy's voodoo figurine, only that you shouldn't apply it to rubber or metal.

Huh. Stupid unlabelled things…

Or maybe not. There seemed to be something stamped into the lid.

Draco squinted.

Suddenly seized with unexpected hope, he licked the tips of his right forefinger and thumb and touched them together to make a circle. It was a crude scry-spell Lucius had taught him for reading the fine print on goblin contracts, but perhaps Elmsworthy liked the old and simple spells of their ancestors as much as he enjoyed frolicking through the intellectualism of modern potions, because when seen through the ring of finger and thumb the top of the bottle sprouted little letters like mushrooms. They read:

_18gInvisibility_

Draco's pulse thrummed with a burst of hope. Was it the same as the short-term potion he'd given Trudi? The bottle had the same applicator type.

Trying to make haste without making waste, Draco tucked it back in his pocket and pulled out four more glass tubes.

_32u.?Smokescreen12m.diam_

22pWorseBSM

12d.batch2SmallFish

What the hell? thought Draco, turning the latter cylinder around. The label here wasn't on the lid, which had an eyedropper built into it, but on the side. Small Fish? Why not Big Fish? Probably Geekspeak for something obscure.

He turned his attention to the next, a thin phial sealed with wax. One-time only use.

_6jTreeBoom_

Draco smirked. _Excellent_!

There was a similar phial, this one even thinner and more delicate. When he scried it a little skull and crossbones popped up along with the writing:

_16rBigBigBoom_

_And he gave me this because he's _helping _me?_ Draco went cold as the realisation of how dangerous simply falling off Simon could have been.

But that smokescreen one could be good, especially if that '12mdiam' thing meant it had a twelve meter diameter. A meter was about the same length as a yard, wasn't it? That was a good size area. Shame there weren't any instructions, but the wax seal implied the smokescreen was a one-time-use potion. So what about Invisibility? Draco tried to remember what had happened with Trudi and the short-term Invisibility Potion… oh, that's right – three drops to the back of the hand. Luckily the little bottle of Invisibility Potion seemed to be the same as the one he'd seen Elmsworthy using, and it was far from empty.

Better and better. Despite the threat of Voldemort's return, Draco took his time to examine the rest of Elmsworthy's potions. Finally he selected one, and sank back down through the clouds.

Weird how he'd seen through the Death Eater masks, he mused. It must be the unicorn blood. Speaking of which, would it let him see through a smokescreen?

He crept slower and slower down through the billowing damp, getting a nasty shock when the wind suddenly opened up a great big pocket around him and left him in plain sight of anyone looking up from the ground. Not that anyone was – Crabbe was watching Nott, who was gripping his forearm, hunching over in pain. The Dark Mark – it wasn't a stretch of the imagination to know the Dark Lord was contacting Nott.

Nott straightened with a thinly exhaled breath of relief at the end of communication.

"He's coming," he said to Crabbe.

"So do I get my sandwich?"

There was a muffled bark of laughter from Nott. "Thick as a brick sandwich, aren't we."

Crabbe senior didn't take offence. Probably didn't understand he'd just been insulted.

Voldemort was coming. And coming soon.

Draco panicked.

He threw the Smokescreen Potion – it made a lovely silent explosion of inky darkness that swallowed up not only all the light but the noises of dismay from Nott and Crabbe.

Draco dove like a falcon and landed lightly on a patch of bare rock.

Amazing.

He could see in the darkness but not beyond. Everything inside the black cloud was threaded through with silver strands that glowed to his eyes. Crabbe and Nott as they lumbered about waving their wands, Nott telling Crabbe to calm down when it was obvious he was just as panicked as his comrade, they both glowed. The grasses and the ferns and the gorse and the moss and even the rocks sparkled with life force; the spell spread across the ground coruscated.

There was a hole to his left. A tall, wide-branching hole.

The tree.

It was a darkness within the darkness, finally made visible by the life that was smothered inside it. Branches, leaves, twigs and trunk, they all stood crisply midnight against the sparkling cosmos unveiled by unicorn blood.

It seemed to be reaching towards him, the very ground at his feet sucking and sticking to his shoes. Draco cringed back automatically, then had to dodge Crabbe, who'd been worked into a panic by Nott's exhortations that they had to stay calm at all costs…

Hell. Even Draco knew better than to run around shouting 'don't panic!' in the tones of some End of the World mystic. Crabbe was getting as scared as Simon would have been. (Draco wrinkled his nose at putting Simon and a Crabbe in mental proximity.)

He only realised he'd stepped off the rock when he felt the tickle of magic around his ankles. Definitely a tracer spell, he thought, almost dizzy with the relief of not being eviscerated. The spell only curled around his feet in a curious way, teasing at the laces of his boots.

"Stand still, Crabbe!" shouted Nott. "_Lumos! Nox dispersium! _Uh – _Nox evanesco!"_

The Lumos was swallowed. None of his counter-spells were going to work against a potion.

But Draco didn't have time to be smug. He pulled out the darts, hurried as close as he dared, and crouched down to get a better shot at the tree trunk. The ground here was so sticky it must have some extra detection spells on it other than the twinkly one now tapping at his knees and calves where he knelt on it, suggesting the roots of the tree were so thickly compromised with magic it was rising up out of the ground from them; some of those branches were growing unnaturally low – the Dark Lord must have been combining Bonsai spells with his defensive charms. Amazing. Draco had to admit that as Dark Lords went, Voldemort was imaginative. If a Ginsu Slicing Charm was incorporated that could make the tree branches lethal and lethally fast. Hopefully Potter and Weasley would take that into account when they threw their darts, because the branches shivered with barely contained energy.

Draco had hoped to hit a thick branch with a dart but from the trembling darkness it was obvious the barrier spell was designed to protect itself in much the same way that the Whomping Willow did.

He needed to get a good, solid hit to the trunk.

Draco squinted at the lattice of anti-light, took aim at what he guessed to be a gap in the branches, and threw.

It was almost anti-climactic. The dart flew between the branches and hit the trunk. The entire tree seemed to groan and twist on itself, and there was a soft rippling pop as the spells all lifted from the base down through the roots and up through the branches, evaporating with a sigh.

It was replaced by a slowly growing lacework of silver light shot through with red, a deep crimson that woke into a sullen life and sent out waves of heat.

The tree was back in the world.

Draco didn't stop to pat himself on the back. He ran back to the bare rock he'd landed on (didn't need those detection spells telling anyone he'd arrived by air!), leaped on his broom and sped up into the safety of the damp, reddish, unmagical clouds above.

Not a second to spare. Down below he heard a hiss and a roar and he looked down just in time to glimpse the tree burning itself into charcoal, and as he climbed through the air there was the distinctive pop-pop-pop of Apparating wizards.

A moment after that there was a scream of rage and his blood ran cold – Voldemort? No – the scream had been female.

"You stupid fucking morons!" There was a ferocious sniff, like a killer hedgehog out looking for revenge. "Look what you did to my beautiful tree!" she screeched, her reedy voice almost piercing Draco's eardrums. "Wait until our Lord finds out! But until then… _Crucio! Crucio, Crucio, Crucio!_"

A livid female. A very, very, very livid female, and one not shy of expressing herself. There were screams, screams that could only belong to Crabbe and Nott as the witch expressed her displeasure.

Draco urged his broom faster.

He was above the clouds, taking great breaths of the cold air and squinting into the unhampered sunrise when he thought:

_I could find out where they're going next._

Yes. All he had to do was sink back down through the clouds and cast an Audiear Charm. What a brilliant idea!

_What a fucking stupid idea! When did I turn suicidal? I should fly out of here as fast as I can._

…So why am I flying back down again?

I've been around Gryffindors too long. There really is no hope for me.

Wonder if Father will show?

ooOOoo

"So did he?"

"My story, my pace, okay?"

"Yeah, whatever… Comrade Gryffindor…"

"Shut up, Potter, you arse. No – Simon – whoa – don't bite… _he_ was the one who called me a Gryffindor…"

"Simon's a Gryffindor horse. He's defending his honour."

"You want the rest of this story or not?"

"You going to finish it this year?"

"Maybe… What's the rush, by the way? See any Aurors on the horizon?"

"When were they meant to be arriving? Nice brooch, by the way. Fashion statement?"

"What would you know about fashion, Potter? And for your information this is a genuine dragon horn cameo brooch. Uh, look, my cloak's getting soggy. Can we get down out of the rain?"

"Simon won't fit under the bridge."

"So long as we do, that's the main thing. Don't want Travers seeing us."

"Who?"

"One-eyed maniac Death Eater. Don't want to meet up with him."

"Or your father?"

"…Yeah…"

ooOOoo


	90. Chapter 90

Disclaimer: Hogwarts and imaginary byproducts of denizens and environs belong to JK Rowling and her retinue. With some luck she'll remember that and write another novel or seven about them.

ooOOoo

Chapter 90

It was a clench, a physical pain in his diaphragm, this need to hear Lucius' voice.

Well, maybe he'd find some good information about where the Death Eaters were going to be. That way Draco could make sure he was a long way from that unhappy spot. And he'd make sure Simon was out of range, too. _Guess I'll have to drag Potty along just to stop Simon from getting cheesed off._

(Plus he might hear Lucius' voice.)

He sighed as he cast the charm, directing the glassy funnel hanging from his wand downwards. It would act as a catchall for sound coming from below. He could fine-tune the spell by twiddling his wand, but already it was picking up voices. He threaded the end into one ear and then it was almost as if he were down there himself…

"…Wrong way. Look – footprints. Too close to the tree. Came from… came from… those rocks there. Bastard's probably off down the hill by now, Disapparated as soon as he was out of the range of the Dark Mark area, no doubt."

Some man he didn't know. Draco smiled, pleased he'd thought to get away from the footstep spell before remounting his broom. He didn't need people aiming hexes up into the clouds at this very moment.

"Damn inky muck… at least the wind is getting rid of it. Potion, you think?" That rumbling voice sounded very familiar. Mr Mulciber? "Doone? You were the last one checking the other tree. Anything off?"

"The northern tree is better guarded," said Doone, who was some breathy-voiced woman he didn't know, but who sounded rather taken with the attention she was getting. She continued in a mollifying tone, her voice coming in a slightly different direction as if she'd turned her head to address someone else, "Staines, you set up the boundary spell to stop anyone coming by foot."

"Yes, Staines," said the rumbling voice tiredly. "Good point from the brains of our outfit: Doone. Except – and I realise you might have been out of the loop on this one, Stainy old girl – brooms have been invented that fly now."

Draco had to smile – that was undoubtedly Mr Mulciber, who had a good line in sarcasm. Hopefully he didn't start to wonder if someone had arrived at _this_ tree by broom.

"There's a cloaking spell on it, not to mention the fact it's invisible," a reedy-voiced witch told them huffily. It sounded like the livid woman had calmed down a little, but she was still breathing hard. "My poor tree," she moaned, then gave an indignant sniff. "But at least the other two don't have thick-headed Muggle-discards like Crabbe and Nott standing pointing them out to our enemies."

"Dementors up north…"

"Huh. Hardly necessary," she sneered, her reedy voice cutting through the prickling sensation creeping up Draco's spine at the thought of Simon _(oh, and Potter)_ heading into a knot of Dementors. "As if they're needed." The witch sniffed. "My cloaking spells are the best, not to mention _his_ own –"

"Hmm. Like the one you put on this lump of charcoal?" asked the first voice as Draco's spine prickled at Staines' heavy and awe-laden emphasis on the 'his'. "Fat lot of good that did. Really think you might want to be off checking the situations vacant column in _the Quibbler_, Staines." There was a nasty chuckle.

There was another angry sniff from the witch Staines. Maybe she had a cold.

Fun and games in Death Eater land… Draco rolled his eyes. Why couldn't his father consort with a better class of lackeys?

Mulciber grunted, a man bending down and standing up again. "Look – glass. Hmm. Staines – now you're our resident greasy Potions swot why don't you see if you can get an idea of the maker."

Draco went cold. Shit. Had he just condemned Elmsworthy?

The Cruciatus witch was speaking now, her reedy voice lower as she concentrated: "…with a Moonshade Base" – _sniff_ – "I expect from the smell. Simple but effective. Damn them." There was a soft, non-magical curse and another sniff.

"Aurors, you think?" Mulciber asked.

_Sniff._ "Someone who knows what's what with an experiment."

"Snape's really dead, isn't he?" asked the breathy witch, Doone.

"According to Malfoy," replied As Yet Unnamed Wizard.

"Hmm." Mulciber could have been feeling anything from joy to regret to curiosity over his grocery list.

"Lucius wouldn't lie – not about that," Doone told them. "He is our Lord's shining servant."

Oh, God no, thought Draco, groaning with silent embarrassment on behalf of his father. _And as for you, you silly cow, don't get too keen on Father when Mother is around with a wand in her hand._

"For fuck's sake, Doone, you sound like Bella. You'll start foaming at the mouth soon," the unidentified wizard spat.

"Have we word from Hogsmeade yet?" Mulciber asked before war could be declared. "Who are we waiting on?"

"Wasn't Pettigrew meant to be here?" someone grunted with cautious displeasure. Draco couldn't make out which speaker it was, or if it was someone speaking for the first time.

"Isn't he busy planting the Helios Potion under the sweet shop?" said Doone, the breathy, sweet-on-Lucius witch.

There was a chorus of groans.

"Shut yer gob," growled Mulciber, far from joking now. "You never know but what someone's out there…"

They would hex first and ask questions later. Draco didn't doubt it. He hovered, keeping his broom pointed into the wind and his attention as firmly on the hints of movement down below as possible.

There was a lengthy silence. Draco wondered if Voldemort was down there, or if it was just a few Death Eaters – at least one of them who happened to be a friend of his father's. Because if they caught him Draco could claim to have followed that disgrace-to-the-name-of-Wizarding-kind-Potter-hah!-I-spit-at-his-name out through the barrier (not to forget the good old I-was-Imperio'd excuse) and would they mind dreadfully calling his parents?

There were three soft pops –

"Welcome back, my –"

– followed by a sharper crack – it sounded like a total of four people had just Apparated in, the fourth messily. Draco hissed through teeth and yanked the spell out of his ear. Bloody hell! Didn't that last person have any respect for finesse – not to mention the eardrums of eavesdroppers?

He shook his head until the pain was almost gone and put the spell back in place.

"… long gone."

"I checked the area myself. Er… along with Mulciber of course."

"The perpetrator would have scarpered if they knew what was good for them."

There was a groan that might have come from Crabbe or Nott – it sounded like someone getting over a Crucio'ing might – followed by a high-pitched giggle.

"Oo, they're moving again. They have recovered enough… for more games, perhaps?" More eagerly, this new voice implored, "Will you allow me, my Lord? I could make them wriggle like the aurora borealis for you – for the hurt you suffered…"

Draco froze. That voice, though coarsened by years in Azkaban, echoed his mother's should his mother ever stand on the edge of the Canyon of Insanity and cast her voice into it.

Already chilled by the unknowing presence of his aunt, Draco felt ice in his bones at the next speaker's voice hissing like the susurration of scales through dry grass, a whisper so quiet his spell barely caught it:

"They are punished enough. For now. In the meantime we" – deep breath – "have to find Mister Potter – he's too young to be out alone."

Bellatrix sighed. "Poor baby. He needs an adult's guiding hand. Wand. Yours, my Lord, would teach him so much about the error of his ways."

"Why thank you, Bella," Voldemort replied, amusement tinting the underlying scorn of a Dark Lord addressing a follower. He breathed out slowly, a Dark Lord regaining his breath after recent strenuous activity. Draco had the uncomfortable thought that the barrier tree falling might have affected Vol- the Dark Lord. If so, he'd have an even more personal reason for hunting down the one responsible for his discomfort. He wiped his sweaty hands one-by-one on his thighs, not daring to let go of the Auriear spell and lose a single jot of information. Voldemort's whisper rose again (and could that be a smile in his voice?) as he said, "I always like to say that children are dear to my heart."

"Madam LeStrange loves children, don't you, Bella?" Mulciber could have been joking.

"I do indeed. They're delicious." There was a tinkling laugh. "Fried in butter with new mushrooms…"

Thank God she'd been in prison and unavailable for babysitting duty… Dead silence gripped the unseen knot of people below, finally broken by Voldemort's rusty laugh. "Dear Bella… what plans you hold in your delightful mind."

Encouraged by the praise, Bellatrix spoke rapidly and eagerly: "Speaking of children, there are some in Hogsmeade who might be waking up soon. Especially if their parents' screams are loud. Wouldn't it be fun if I was there to show them Mummy and Daddy's last moments? I could make it…" she breathed in pleasurably "…memorable for them…"

"Ah. I know you would. But you are needed at my side, my lovely Bella."

Which made it sound like Voldemort _(the Dark Lord, the Dark Lord… don't even _think_ his name when you're so close!)_ wasn't going to Hogsmeade after all, even if Pettigrew was planning on blowing up the sweet shop.

Sounded like Hogsmeade could be a very good place to be providing you weren't anywhere near Honeydukes. Or maybe somewhere just outside of it. The Shrieking Shack? Draco knew it was haunted, but ghosts were generally pleasant enough people when you ignored the issues of their dripping ectoplasm and turning you to ice because they couldn't be bothered gliding around you – oh, and the whole ick-factor of them being dead.

_Rather them than me._

Then he remembered Harry telling him about that time he'd rescued Teenage Snape from Teenage Werewolf Lupin. The Shrieking Shack wasn't haunted after all. That was promising. He could probably hide out there after all.

He drummed his fingers on the handle of his broom.

_Bugger it. I can't let Honeydukes get blown up. It's miles and miles between Hogwarts and Simon's bloody peppermints… plus I owe Milli' some liquorice and Trudi deserves a box of chocolates._  
_  
Here I go again, saving the day. Why can't it save itself? Why'm I not smart enough to go and hide now I've done my bit with the tree?_

_Eh – Death Eaters are probably staking out the Shrieking Shack._

He sighed. Time to go. He'd been here too long. He –

He'd almost lost count of the four people who'd Apparated in – there had been Bellatrix and Voldemort, of course. That meant two more. Draco went still as a voice down below spoke for the first time: it was light and low and oh-so-familiar. Draco gulped hard against the tears prickling at the backs of his eyes as what felt like a hole in his chest opened up.

"My Lord, perhaps if Travers and I check the northern tree for you…?"

The Dark Lord hissed. "No need. Its guardians are implacable and expert and there are wards set by my own wand. The Aurors haven't found it yet, why would some boy-wizard succeed after their failure? The focus, as you well know, is not the Blockade."

Draco forced his own unravelling mind back to work.

_There's a definite focus of today's exercise? So what is it? It's not Hogsmeade… He wouldn't entrust Hogsmeade to a lackey like Pettigrew. Oh, right. Potter. Always thinks he's so special… Huh – as if having the Dark Lord after your blood makes you special. Stupid Scarhead. Hope he's looking after my horse…_

As if picking up Draco's need for confirmation, Voldemort's voice added, "…Let him chase around the countryside in his futility, his death-throes. Let him wear himself out as I unravel the edges of his mind. I want you at my side, Lucius, helping me tighten the net to snare our boy hero."

"As you say, my Lord."

Draco could picture his father sketching a quarter bow. He bit his lip.

"Travers – you also. I need your sight."

"My Lord…" another voice murmured, this one husky as if it had spent too many years screaming. Draco thought it might be Travers. Not good. Very not good. Travers was an old school friend of his parents', but after losing an eye to the Aurors in the first uprising he'd become a little unstable. The Aurors _(good guys? Ha!)_ had had him under the Cruciatus, apparently, and that had lost him a portion of his mind along with the eye. Hex first, ask questions later, that was his motto. He was a good Death Eater, loyal first to Voldemort and then Lucius, having no family of his own. Rumour had it that he'd killed and eaten them after they (wanting to keep their social standing) had ostentatiously disowned him for being a Death Eater.

He was over for dinner far more often than Draco was comfortable with.

"Don't fuss so, Travers. There will be blood. You will be able to rinse your itching hands in it all you wish. I promise you that."

"Thank you, my Lord," the harsh voice said respectfully. "But I was going to say that I sense someone not of our number… someone… close."

Travers had an eyepatch that was the equal of Moody's eye. Could it see through cloud?

Before this question could be answered, there was a scream and a thump – had someone been hit by a spell or just fallen over?

Another voice – Aunty Bella's – cried out, "My Lord! What is it?!"

Far away came a booming noise. It swept through the clouds from all directions, seeming to resound from the horizon. Draco vanished the eavesdropping spell and urged his broom up so fast his ears popped several times. He got to the top of the lower cloud layer just in time to see a fireball rise and burst like some great red flower.

Could it be Potter's tree? he wondered as he held his nose and worked his jaw, trying to get his ears acclimatised to the thinner air glittering with the day that hadn't yet materialised on the ground. The pressure differential could lead to magical inner ear imbalance, which was lethal when you were on a broom, and it was insane that no spell yet had been invented to stop that uncomfortable shift in pressure you got from changes in altitude. Still grimacing and breathing very carefully into his sinuses _(damn it, it just gets worse every time) _Draco stared in the direction of the explosion. If Draco squinted hard, he could almost see the clouds flowing around what must be the barrier. Above the lower layer was another, clouds stretching across the heavens like badly felted wool. That, too, was going around the Hogwarts area like a river around a jutting boulder. The area where the explosion had happened had been relatively cloud free but in the space of a few seconds it was swamped. The view towards where Hogwarts ought to be was blotted out in the blink of an eye. Draco rubbed at the frown line between his eyes. Merlin's beard – if the barrier tree had gone up like that Harry could have been killed.

More to the point, _Draco_ could have been killed if his tree had done that.

He swallowed hard and his ears popped. _Thank Merlin for small mercies. _ Without the distraction, he could almost think straight again – not that he'd been feeling all that clever since the barrier.

It wasn't comfortable out in the open, even if the open space was the middle of the sky.

Should he go and see if Potter was all right? he wondered as he dived back down into the clouds. But quick on the heels of that thought came one much more Slytherin: it came down to numbers – Hogsmeade needed to be warned about the Helios Potion. It wouldn't take much to destroy a house. He'd even heard of it being painted on walls and then triggered with a hammer and a nail magi-plated with erumpet spit… He had to go to Hogsmeade… and hope nobody hexed him for having pale hair and a dark cloak.

Down below came a roar of rage so loud it penetrated the clouds and Draco fancied it echoed off the sky itself.

"NO!! IT WAS NOT HIM!"

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Draco brushed a hand across his scalp in an effort to get rid of the feeling that his hair was trying to stand on end.

"SOUTH! ALL THIS TIME HE WAS SOUTH OF HERE! SURROUNDED BY AURORS!" Voldemort howled. "FOOLS! HOW COULD YOU HAVE MISSED SEEING HIM?"

Who was south? Harry? And surrounded by Aurors? No he wasn't. What was going on?

Draco was poised to go lower and investigate, but on the heels of Voldemort's bellow of rage came the fainter but more numerous screams of pain – the Dark Lord was undoubtedly unleashing his fury on his followers.

Draco wasn't going to stay to find out exactly what was going on, even if Lucius' life was at risk. There was nothing he could do to save his father now. He bit his lip and pushed his broom into full speed through the clouds and didn't stop until he was somewhere else and he could pretend that he was shaking because of the cold upper air. He sniffed and carefully wiped his eyes on his sleeve, trying not to wipe off the unicorn blood. Rather than spending any extra time dwelling on things he couldn't change, he uncapped the bottle of Invisibility Potion and put three drops on his hand. It seemed to do the trick, transmitting itself to his broom.

That was handy, Draco thought with a rush of relief that pushed the mixed bag of emotions still churning from hearing his father's voice to the back of his mind. It explained why Trudi hadn't appeared as a set of empty robes.

He dived back down again only realising invisible didn't mean invulnerable when leaves whipped against his boots. As luck would have it, not only had he just flown between two tall trees rather than _through _them, but he was close to Hogsmeade. Yes – there were the tracks for the Hogwarts Express! He only had to follow them around the curve of that hill, and he'd be in Hogsmeade.

Draco fumed as he rounded the bend and pulled his broom into a circle above the sweet shop. _Pettigrew! Damn the man. Why did he have to choose Honeydukes?_

With a heavy sigh and much looking around at shadows, Draco landed on the steep, tiled roof of Honeydukes _(what's with making a house look like it was whittled from gingerbread, anyway?)_, carefully not dismounting until he was sure of his footing. How much time did he have?

It was scary leaving his broom, but the window was a narrow affair he could barely fit his shoulders through, and he'd need both hands to stop himself falling. It wasn't worth risking it with a broom. He left it out of sight behind a gable, bristles resting in the gutter.

How strange to be breaking into someone's house like this. Hopefully he wouldn't be cursed for it – nothing beyond 'daft bloody boy', anyway.

The attic had a trapdoor and a little drop-ladder going down to a narrow hall. Draco lowered it and climbed down. The potion had barely lasted two minutes – he was flickering on and off like Christmas lights. The periods he was visible were getting longer.

"Mr Flume?" he whispered, standing at the base of the ladder ready to shoot up it again and leap out the window. _"Mr Flume."_

His breath hiccuped in his throat.

There was a wand poking into the back of his neck. It took all Draco's self-possession not to jump or scream like a first-year witch.

"Hey, cuz."

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. "Tonks."

It was.

Her eyes could be any colour she chose, but right now they reflected the light of unicorns. She was dressed in ugly but practical leather robes oily with protective spells, an even uglier cameo brooch pinned to the front, and her hair was currently in bird's nest mode, but Draco was so relieved by the sight of her that he would have hugged her if that wouldn't have been be an un-Malfoy thing to do.

"Er… can you see me okay?"

She stared at him. "Did you try some of those little blue and yellow toadstools on your way out of Hogwarts?"

"What? No, I tried a short-term potion." There was a brief triple-flicker when Draco went visible then invisible in quick succession. Tonks' eyes went very wide. "Er, but I think it's mostly run its course now."

Tonks didn't look reassured. She gave the now solidly-visible Draco a mechanical 'family or no family don't give me any trouble' smile and ushered him into a small sitting room that had suffered a horrific invasion of lace. A flame flickered to life within the pink glass of a table lamp, illuminating the room in shades of candyfloss.

Tonks gave him a gentle push between the shoulder blades when he balked. "Yeah, I know. Just… try not to look at the cushions on the sofa. Wait here. And – look, just wait here, all right?"

"All right. But I don't have much time," said Draco, keeping his eyes averted from the sofa.

"None of us do today." And on that cryptic comment, she closed the door softly behind her. There was the distinctive click of a key in the door.

In the silence that followed, Draco fancied he could hear his own heartbeat. He wasn't sure it was meant to be this fast.

Still attempting not to look at the sofa, Draco sank into an armchair and raised an eyebrow at a portrait of a very fat man dressed in white baker's robes. The man had a white, pointy hat staunchly vertical atop his curly brown hair, his moustaches were so thickly waxed that the ends stuck out in spikes past his cheeks. The portrait sniffed and twisted the end of his moustache as he looked down his impressive nose at the young man lounging below him. Despite the moustache twirling he didn't look evil, although he could have been French. Some of Draco's ancestors were French, but then so were the religious nutters who'd driven them out of France. Draco favoured the portrait with a cold stare and turned to study the rest of the room. There was a fireplace, but his practised eye could tell the difference between one hooked up to the Floo and one that wasn't, and this one didn't have the right scorch marks around the hearth. The single sash window was sealed – to his augmented eyesight the shimmer of wards could be made out through the fluffy swathe of net curtains that had been draped across it by a feminine hand, a hand of the same school responsible for that ghastly Puddifoot woman's teashop just down the street, but the ruddy light outside (a red ripped from the battered palette of some primordial god of stags and oaks and musk and blood and rain had nothing in common with some lamp's flimsy attempt at summarising civilisation) suggested the sun hadn't made any progress in the last two minutes.

Apart from the tick-tock of the clock on the wall, the world was muffled silent. (That clock, a cat with a pendulum tail and eyes that swivelled left and right, was, according to unicorn-sight, utterly magicless. It was also quite possibly the ugliest thing Draco had seen outside Hagrid's classes, those jars in Snape's office, or even Madam Puddifoot's, and it was going to have an accident soon if someone didn't come back and deflect Draco's attention from it.) Draco tapped his foot. He chewed his lip, then his finger (now faithfully back in the visible world, for the potion seemed to have worn off after that last triple gasp) and considered the lightening sky. It seemed like an infinity and yet no time at all since he'd sat in another small room with a portrait keeping him company, wondering when the tension of inactivity would end. But he'd been Obliviated then. Now there was only a pane of warded glass between him and warning Potter that the Death Eaters were out in force hunting for him, and that would smash easily if he stood on a chair and kicked it out with his dragonhide boots. (Of course then he'd have the problem of reaching his broom again, but a quick _Accio _ should take care of that… no – Lucius might sense Draco's wand being used. Draco would just have to climb. And leave the Flumes and Tonks to their incandescent fate…)

Funny how being Obliviated took away your options just as neatly as the more usual human condition of not knowing what to do. Draco drummed his fingers on his knee and considered kicking the glass out just to make a point.

The attack was meant to happen at four or four thirty. The clock said it was four twenty-two.

If there was an attack going on, shouldn't he be hearing something? Screams? Explosions?

Possibly even an explosion in this very building to herald the beginning?

Maybe the clock was fast. Or slow.

Maybe the time had been changed.

Maybe there wasn't going to be an attack.

No – Draco had heard with his own ears that there was going to be _something _nasty happening. Aunt Bella had been drooling over the prospect.

Draco pulled at his lower lip. Bloody Voldemort. Why, with Draco bravely listening in, hadn't he given away all the details of his dastardly plot like a decent Dark Lord ought? It was like he'd never been given the Dark Lord script.

Stupid Dark Lord.

Stupid Tonks. What was she doing?

As for that stupid ticking cat, Draco was going to do it some serious damage in a moment…

Oh, hell. He'd just looked left at the sofa. It was decorated with knitted cushions shaped into cats, complete with lacy bows around their necks. Buttons gleamed with insane joy at the sight of Draco.

"… Oh, for fuck's sake… if Umbridge shows up I'm turning myself in to the Dark Lord…"

The portrait sniffed. Draco jumped, thinking it was Staines the Cruciatus witch coming through the wall.

After what seemed like the better part of a week but objectively speaking was only three minutes sliced up by the cat clock's swinging tail, the lock clicked.

"Here we are. Nice cup of tea for my baby cousin," Tonks said, a grin splitting her face. The comforting sight of the cup of tea she was holding contrasted with her heavy-duty duelling robes and the pulsing cameo brooch. Draco was sure its one carved eye was watching him. What sort of ivory shimmered like that? Coming on her heels through the door were Flume, nightcap still on his head and a candlestick in hand to give the effect of a very fat rather than wee Willie Winkie, and – _oh, for Merlin's sake _– not one, not two, but (wait, there's more!) _three_ Weasleys. The twins and an older, stockier version. All had that faint echo of silver light in their eyes, but where in Tonks it was a beacon, in the eyes of the twins it was a warning kin to that from a lighthouse on a rocky crag. Weasley the Elder also wore faint shiny patches on his face and leather robes suggested he'd done some work with fire spells at some point. Or possibly dragons, going by the scorch patterns on his heavy robes.

The exotic hint of dragons or not, Draco was appalled. "You took time out to make _tea?"_

"Nothing like a cup of tea for what ails you."

"Sends Dark Lords to hell, does it?" Draco said acidly.

One of the twins snorted, trying not to laugh.

Tonks tilted her head to the side. Her hair rippled in crimson and maroon waves and curled itself into ringlets. "…And I needed to get Ambrosius up and these three through the Floo undetected…"

"Where's Moody? Or some Aurors? I'm not here for tea and bikkies. And did you get the owl? White owl – quite distinctive… carrying a note warning of imminent attack… is that clock fast, because the attack was meant to happen some time between four and four thirty…" Draco was babbling. He shut up and took the cup with one hand. It rattled in its saucer until he used the other to steady it.

"I didn't think so. It's only tea, anyway. Wartime rationing. And as for your last question, yes, we got the owl with Harry's note, and we know about the attack." She smiled. "If I'd known you were coming I'd have got you some ginger nuts."

"Sugar's at a premium on the black market," Mr Flume growled, just as Draco was wondering how Tonks knew what his favourite biscuit was (and was an inch away from making a crack about being in the same room as three ginger nuts as it was). His voice could have been sleepy-hoarse, but Draco fancied he was just cross, as befitted a confectioner dealing with black marketeers. He sat down in a dusty moss green armchair, springs twanging as he settled.

"Want to tell us why you're here?" the older ginger nu- the older Weasley said, redeeming himself slightly thanks to this refreshingly straight-to-the-point approach to random Malfoys coming in through the attic window. He'd taken a seat on the sofa next to Tonks. A twin perched on the arm next to him, trickster eyes glittering with something that wasn't quite malice but undoubtedly wasn't a joke Draco could enjoy, bouncing one of the cat cushions in his lap like a baby.

"I'm here to warn you that Peter Pettigrew is – possibly at this moment – priming this establishment with Helios Potion."

Sudden silence. The cushion stilled.

Flume cleared his throat. His voice was a little higher as he said, "Helios Potion?"

"Yes."

"Here?"

"Mm-hmm."

Flume frowned. "Bugger," he said with feeling. He looked like someone who'd only had the thinnest slice of sleep more than Draco. He rubbed his palm over his face, stubble skritching. The moustachioed portrait sniffed but looked sympathetic.

The cushion-holding twin gave the knitted cat to his older brother, who set it down behind Tonks with a grimace. The other twin was crouching, busy setting something up on the coffee table. A Sneakoscope. Draco had seen them in books, but not used one personally. It spun gently. "Background nastiness," the twin said. "Probably Malfoy." His smile wasn't nice.

The twin sitting on the arm of the sofa shook his head. "That's the Animagus one. It's got a bit of a wobble on it – a cant to the east." He flicked his finger in the direction he was reading from the Sneakoscope. "Pettigrew's in the building, but he's not close."

Tonks leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees. Her eyes fastened on Draco's face and he lifted his tea automatically to shield his expression. "Where's Harry?" she asked.

"Good question." Draco lied, wishing they'd deal with Pettigrew before something blew up. Why were they worrying about Potter when the building could explode? He touched his cup to his lips but didn't drink. Tonks was maternally a Black. She could have spiked his drink with Veritaserum. Unicorn-sight didn't divine the presence or absence of a potion in the tea, but…. "He's on this side of the Blockade, yes, but as to his exact whereabouts I couldn't say. I'm meant to meet him, but when I undid the barrier charm on the south tree I overheard some Death Eaters talking, so I decided to come here first…" He quickly recapped what he'd heard, along with the names and descriptions of the Death Eaters present (with one notable absence, of course: there was no way Draco would drop his father in it). He also told his three listeners word for word as well as he could remember of what Voldemort had said.

"So Harry is the real target?"

"I'd say so, yes. Although the Dark Lord could have been, um, camouflaging his real intentions from his followers."

"True." Tonks gave him an assessing look. "How'd you feel about having some Aurors follow you back and escort you and Harry to safety?"

Draco raised his eyebrows. "I'd feel pretty happy about it. Got any handy?"

"They're a tad busy at the moment, and will be even more so now that Hogsmeade is going to be attacked. Moody managed to trap the Carrows…" She shook her head, signalling she couldn't give any more information.

But Draco was nodding. He knew the Carrows, a brother and sister team. They made up for any deficiencies in intelligence by an imaginative nastiness which outdid Auntie Bella's. It was anyone's guess how high up in the echelon they were, but if they'd been caught it was probable they were closer to cannon fodder than Inner Circle. "Diversion?"

"Evidently. But they told us the attack is going to happen at five on the dot. So Pettigrew won't be flambéing us for another half an hour or so."

She didn't say how they'd been convinced to give this information, but he didn't care what the Aurors did so long as it wasn't to anyone from his family. Fingers crossed Lucius would keep his head down. Ironically, proximity to the Dark Lord might be his best defence for now. Draco nodded and breathed out. He'd been well aware that the attack would be this morning, but now they had an extra half an hour to what he'd been expecting.

"As a diversion," said Charlie sourly.

"Yes. I for one don't find the idea of Hogsmeade people being massacred as a diversion very diverting." Tonks' eyes glittered with the prelude of battle and her hair coiled and uncoiled, suggesting a mind hard at work. "What did you mean about You-know-who trying to unravel Harry's mind, Draco?"

Draco shook his head. "I'm not sure."

"He could be trying to plant illusions like he did last year," the twin still bent over the Sneakoscope put in. "Tried to trap Harry in the Ministry by telling him his dad was there. Nearly worked, too."

Draco frowned. "This have anything to do with his scar?"

"Yeah. Watch for any sudden behaviour changes, okay?"

Draco nodded, although he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with a possessed Potter. Run away?

"We – wait…" The cameo brooch seemed to be moving. Tonks covered it with her hand and stood, bumping the coffee table with her knee and sending the Sneakoscope wobbling across it. "Just a tick."

She shot out the door. Draco strained his ears, but all he could hear was the low murmur of her voice in the hallway… rising in a question, falling in a series of short confirmations. A final question, a short, less-than-pleased farewell.

Draco tried to avoid eye contact with any Weasley. Having regained its balance, the Sneakoscope spun gently in the middle of the coffee table. A small china dog wagged its tail and sniffed around it creakily, the myriad cracks in the glaze suggesting great age. Draco's eyes narrowed – it looked very much like bone porcelain made by the wizard Heylyn, and if so was worth more than the house and business combined. Flume lifted it out of the way, giving Draco a hard look.

Well, maybe Draco _had_ been drooling. But not much.

Tonks came straight back into the sitting room, lifting the awkward silence. She gave Draco an apologetic look. "Aurors are tied up. We'll need all the able-spelled wands we can get." She looked over at Flume.

"Wife should be dressed by now," the shopkeeper said, standing as creakily as the china dog to place the ornament on the shelf under the clock. The little dog barked silently up at the cat's swinging tail. "We'll go rouse… some others. The, er, special floo, don't worry." Draco had been wondering how they'd circumvented the Death Eater's block on the floo system Tonks had told him about last time he'd been in Hogsmeade. But Flume wasn't going to say anything about it in front of Draco. "Don't let my shop get destroyed, will you." Obviously he didn't want to give too much information away in front of Draco. With a final nod to Tonks and the Weasleys, he left, hopefully to alert some other people to their danger. Draco felt some of the tension in his shoulders ease. Tonks – a Black – was firmly in charge.

"What about Pettigrew?" Draco asked nervously, aware they could be in a building a spark short of an inferno. Those wooden beams looked like they'd been dry for centuries, and was Flume so befuddled by his early wakeup that he'd decided to trust Weasleys with the safety of his livelihood? More to the point, if all the Aurors were busy, who was going to escort him? Tonks?

There was a pause during which the Weasleys exchanged glances. Maybe they were a family of Legilimens, although Draco doubted the odd mind-reading abilities extended beyond what the twins shared with each other. The idea of Ron being able to pick up on private schem- ideas was particularly repugnant.

Tonks broke the silence, her voice ominously low. Draco had heard that tone a few times in his mother, and it was never a good sign. "Pettigrew is a rat Animagus. He could get in with a small bottle…"

"…And paint it somewhere we can't access." The older Weasley was grim.

"We don't need him alive, but it's imperative we keep his body intact," Tonks said.

The older Weasley blinked. Draco wasn't surprised – Tonks was a Black at heart. That made you very pragmatic about your enemies' usefulness, although he wasn't sure why she was so intent on keeping the body of – oh, of course: she wanted to prove cousin Sirius hadn't murdered Pettigrew and those Muggles.

The twins looked at each other.

"Leave it to us," said one. "We'll get him alive and with a nice pink bow around his neck, just for you, Tonks old girl." He smiled reminiscently. "Scabbers can relive those tea-parties Ginny made him sit through."

The other twin narrowed his eyes at Draco. "How'd you get through the barrier?"

"Same old, same old," Draco said cagily, not wanting to let this new Weasley know about Simon. "But Potter came with me this time and I brought my broom. I've just taken the curse off the tree anchoring the southern point of the barrier spell, and I believe Potter's just lifted the northern one."

"Heard an explosion earlier," a twin said.

"Potter's tree, I think." Draco didn't add that he was worried Simon (and Potter by extension) might have been caught in the backlash. Had Potter sprung some sort of trap? "Your brother's going to try tackling the last tree, the one on the Hogwarts side of the barrier."

The twins looked alarmed. "Ickle Ronniekins? Fighting evil trees?"

"He's got Granger helping him. Oh, and Elmsworthy…"

"What, Slytherin Elmsworthy?" said the arm-perched twin.

"Only one current at Hogwarts."

The twins exchanged a glance, then shrugged as one. "Did he perfect that Invisibility Potion? We were going to offer him some money for that."

That little phial in his pocket was suddenly a great deal heavier. "I don't know." Elmsworthy would kill Draco if he went around blabbing secrets given in trust. That was beyond the pale in diplomatic ideology. "You'll have to ask him when the barrier's down. Which should be very soon. Mind you, if you're dead because of sudden explosions, that kind of renders any question up to 'is there an afterlife?' moot. Why isn't anyone out trying to catch Pettigrew?"

"On it now," said a twin. "Come on, Fred."

"Right you are," said the other twin.

"Charlie? Can you help us with… something?" asked who-had-to-be-by-deduction-George.

"Tonks? Can you spare me?"

She inclined her head. "Be careful, you three."

"I'll keep these two under control. You…" Charlie trailed off with a soft cough before he could say what he was thinking, something Draco didn't need to be a Legilimens to know would be insulting to one Draco Malfoy.

Tonks produced a smile. Narcissa used the exact same one when dealing with ministers' wives. A sudden wave of homesickness hit Draco. Hard. "I'll see Draco out," he heard Tonks say as he concentrated on getting his breathing back under control.

The older Weasley nodded and followed his brothers from the room.

Tonks watched the door close and turned back to Draco. "How did he know Harry was through the Blockade?"

Draco, now having pushed unhelpful longings aside for the moment, frowned slightly. "Not sure. There was some problem when we got through the barrier – Potter reckoned his scar had alerted him. Probably did. Any idea how much You-know-who put of himself into the barrier spell?"

Tonks shook her head. Her hair took the chance to turn a thoughtful amber shot through with dark purple-brown.

"Well, he gave quite a scream when the second tree went down," Draco said. "I think it's safe to say he's integrated his powers to a fair degree." He shivered. If Voldemort found out Draco had disabled the southern tree Draco's final moments might be painfully long ones.

Tonks leaned forward and patted his knee. "We'd better see to getting you and Harry somewhere safe. Ready to go?"

Draco nodded and put down the tea. It hadn't had time to cool, but he was too jumpy for extra caffeine. "What about those Aurors you mentioned?"

"Busy."

"So… you're coming with me?"

"Nope."

What was she doing, getting his hopes up and then dashing them like this? "So I'm on my own, is that it? And you're happy Potter's out there wandering around without protection when the Dark Lord is out for his blood?"

"Sort of, no, and come on."

Out of the corner of his eye he fancied her cameo gave him a suspicious look. Draco returned it, but it had gone inert, like a portrait pretending to sleep.

"Look, you'll just have to go ahead and meet up with Harry. Keep him out of sight until we can mobilise the troops, sort of thing. We want to get it right, right? And right now it's best to either go out in full force or as a sneaky scout. You can do sneaky, can't you?"

Draco lifted his chin. "Excuse me? Slytherin, thank you very much."

"There you are then. You'll be fine on your tod."

Well, Draco had walked into that one. Resigned, he followed her out of the room.

The corridor smelt musty. It was so quiet he could hear the clock in the small sitting room on the other side of the thick wooden door, and there seemed to be some sort of scuffle going on downstairs.

"I think they've found Pettigrew," Tonks said. Her smile was becoming transparent. Draco could tell she was worried.

Best to be going. Being around people fighting over Helios Potion was considered a bad idea in survivor circles.

"After you," she said, gallantly sweeping her arm towards the attic ladder.

She followed him up and walked silently behind him to the window. The sky outside was still as gloomy as when he'd left it, and rain misted down from clouds now so low they'd come down the hillsides and tangled in the branches of pine trees lowering in densest green shagginess across the rooftops. Visibility was comfortingly close to nil; only the closest houses stood out, and not even the gleaming slickness of clinging moisture added to their definition. Not a light was on. Not a soul stirred in the street, even to his enhanced sight.

Draco folded himself carefully through the window, crouching next to his broom to shield himself from view and hexing, wondering as he looked back at Tonks at the strange expression on her face. "What?"

"I saw you once. In Diagon Alley. You were a tiny thing then. And now look at you – my baby cousin, all grown up so tall and lanky he's got to perform yoga when he climbs through windows on his way to fight Dark wizards…" Her hair went candyfloss pink and her grin was so wide it tickled her ears.

Draco rolled his eyes. "D'you think this day needs to be made worse by you extracting the urine?" he whispered.

"Sorry. Baby cuz."

He knew when he was in a losing battle. Time to tell Potter where to meet up. Hogsmeade wasn't quite as safe as he'd hoped, not with lunatics running around painting buildings with Helios. Simon would be frightened by the loud noises. They could meet at the stile and make a run for it back to Hogwarts if Aurors weren't forthcoming.

"We can meet Potter – er, I don't know the place. It's in a hedge… Stop looking at me like that!" he hissed.

"Like what?" She tilted her head and blinked innocently.

"Like Potter and I hide out in hedges regularly. It's a – oh." Draco's eyes widened. Hell. Travers. He'd be able to see through such a rudimentary cloaking charm as the one on the stile, even if Voldemort couldn't (and Voldemort probably could). "Not the stile."

The bridge. Not even Travers or Moody could look through solid stone.

He whispered: "Simon says." The invisible ring tingled on his finger. He gave it a couple of squeezes. _Bugger. Wasn't it three squeezes?_ It was. He was sure of it. Draco crouched as low as he could _(why the hell didn't I have the sense to do this when I was inside?)_, waited a moment then respoke the password, gave the ring three more squeezes and held his breath, his heartbeat suddenly doubling. What if Potter didn't answer? Had that explosion killed him? Had it killed Simon, and was Potter now hiding out in some bothy rather than face the wrath of Draco and Luna?

Cold sweat prickled on his skin as the wait dragged out. What the hell was that idiot Potter playing at?

He wasn't dead, was he?

Was he?

Draco scrubbed at an eye with one finger, unicorn blood be damned.

At the other end of infinity his finger received a three-squeeze reply. Unaccountably relieved by this sign of life, Draco's breath whooshed out.

"You're glad your friend's okay, then?"

Draco gave her what he hoped was his best haughty look. "My friend? He's got something of mine I don't want the Death Eaters getting their hands on. And I've had a long, stressful day. Stupid Potter can take care of himself."

"Hmm. More fibre might help with that stressful day. You look kind of constipated."

He glared at her, but she simply smiled back, immune to glares. Perhaps her mother (a Black even if she'd been disinherited) had hardened her – and what were the chances of Draco ever meeting this mysterious aunt of his whose foray into madness had seen her married off to a Mudblood? Slim to none, should his parents have their way, and for the first time it annoyed Draco that they should select – dictate – his social circle. He spoke the password and sent confirmation. "Okay, now he knows the meeting place. We can hope. He's not the brightest spark from the wand."

Tonks, thankfully, did not make any comment beyond that of her hair suddenly turning short, black and messy.

"You know Tanner's Bridge?" he whispered.

She nodded, unpinning the brooch from her robes. "Nice, shady place to hide… solid stone construction… horse chestnut trees… lovely picnic spot."

Draco smiled. She was reading his mind. Except for the picnic bit. "I can meet you there. How sneaky can you be?" God, his legs were seizing up crouching on the roof like this… why wasn't he gone already?

"I'll send Moody. Here – hold still…" She leaned across the sill and pinned the brooch to Draco's chest.

"It's not quite that Order of Merlin, first class, I was after."

"Hush. It's dragon horn. It'll help Moody find you." She patted him on the cheek.

Draco wasn't fond of being patted on the cheek, and he was even less fond of having that one-eyed maniac – Moody, not Travers – purportedly on his side without some form of leverage in the form of reliable blackmail material. He also didn't harbour fond memories of being bounced around as a ferret. But it hadn't been Moody himself who'd Transfigured Draco. Moody wasn't a friend to Dark wizards, not by a long shot – rumour said that while he hadn't cast the Cruciatus, he was responsible for giving the order that had left Travers with a unique take on dinner parties – but Draco had worked with him before, and if he was with Harry that should deflect some of the old bastard's paranoia. He threw a mean Patronus. That was a huge asset when Dementors were on the loose. The trick would be keeping him away from Simon – Simon with that strange charm in his chest and the words of a portrait hanging over him: the price of breaking the barrier was to lose Simon.

Great-grandmama Malfoy had gone for years without paying her robesmaker's bills. Maybe Draco could take a leaf from her book. But that would mean hiding a large black horse from the Aurors and although Simon was sneaky he sulked when he was left tied to the same post for more than twenty minutes. He probably wouldn't take being stuffed into the secret room in the basement with good grace, even if Draco could get him inside the house.

"Okay," he said. "But I'd better warn Potter not to make any cracks about 'keeping an eye out for him'. You know what a social incompetent Potter is." Draco was only being nasty on autopilot, cudgelling his brain madly in an effort to come up with a plan to circumvent that yellow portrait's prophecy of losing Simon. Draco wouldn't lose Simon. He was a Slytherin. He could hide one horse. Possibly behind the shining light of Potter's fame if need be. "Moody'll do, I guess," he said, half his mind trying to remember something important. He nearly had it… was it about hiding Simon? No… it was something… something about… it was… it was on the tip of his forebrain, when Tonks distracted him away from hiding horses and being turned into a ferret.

She lifted one corner of her full mouth in a smile. "I'm sure he'd be pleased to know he rates better than a flat no." She bit her lip. "Er… before you go… just… at Hogwarts. Er. Is Remus Lupin still there…?"

Draco tilted his head. "The werewolf?"

Tonks' face went blank.

Ah. That was interesting. Draco tried looking at Tonks' question from a different angle. Was the werewolf a secret Auror spy? "He's doing quite well, for a Gryffindor. Getting quite popular with some of the younger students. Younger Slytherin students. Can you believe it?" he added affably, as if it was a curiosity rather than an offence. He shifted around the window to get to his broom, taking care not to slip on the wet tiles, which creaked and groaned under his weight.

Tonks seemed to glow. She leaned across the sill and gave Draco a friendly punch to the arm that nearly lost him his footing. "Go do your thing, you hero, you."

Once sure he wasn't going to fall Draco relaxed his grip on his broom and snorted a la Simon. "Pur-lease. Don't start thinking I'm turning into a Gryffindor."

Tonks withdrew back into the attic. "Wouldn't dream of it, cuz. Besides, you need to aim higher if you want to end up in the best House – that'd be Hufflepuff." She grinned at Draco's soft guffaw of scorn, her teeth shockingly white in the dawn. Some noise from inside the house made her turn her head. She looked back at him with a far more serious expression and a whispered "Good luck", and closed the window with a snick of the latch, then taking out her wand and tapping it on the sill. Small lights fizzled around the edges of the window. Draco was careful not to touch any of them.

Draco pulled up his hood as she pulled the curtain across the window, wishing his memory would work better. There was something… something… maybe it was just that he was worried about Simon. Potter was probably galloping him over roads again, wrecking Simon's legs and –

– And then he realised the first thing he wanted to kick himself for.

Tonks was in love with the werewolf.

SHIIIIIT! They could have a _werewolf_ in the family.

Narcissa would faint.

What if they had children?

Lucius would faint.

Cubs?

Draco would faint.

Breathe, he told himself, trying to dispel the image of the Malfoy family lying on the floor in one mutual coma in the drawing room, the owl which had brought the news ruffling its feathers as it waited impatiently for its payment. Breathe in, breathe out… Focus… focus on the here and now… focus on staying alive and defeating the Dark Lord…

He was on his broom, ready to fly, when he realised the second thing so obvious it hit him like a Stun.

He still had the anti-Voldie potion on him.

Draco slapped his forehead. Twice. Hard. He deserved it. He should have given Tonks the phial of anti-Voldie potion. If anyone could have used it to kill Voldemort it would have been Moody. Or even Tonks herself, who seemed strangely competent today, not having tripped over anything in the last five minutes. Or _(damn it damn it damn it)_ used it himself when he'd been right overhead Voldemort with a phial of Invisibility Potion in his pocket.

_Breathe in, breathe out…_

Too late now.

Fuming, Draco kicked off harder than necessary and his broom shot up so fast he had to stop and do the ear-clearing routine again.

ooOOoo


	91. Chapter 91

Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to JK Rowling and Warner. Still. Sigh.

ooOOoo

Chapter 91

"… And because of Travers and his bloody eye-patch I didn't really want to be anywhere exposed, so I thought the bridge…"

"… Where you could hide and leap out like a troll as soon as Simon and I came trip-trapping across it."

"Trolls don't hide under bridges."

Telling Draco about the Three Billy Goats Gruff could wait for another day.

"So how did you get past the guards on your tree?" Draco asked.

Harry shrugged. "Only illusions and the tree itself." Funny – he'd have thought Voldemort could have spared at least a handful of Dementors…

Draco looked miffed. "There were meant to be some there, from what I heard."

"Well, maybe they were off having a cuppa and a smoke."

"Huh. _I_ battled Death Eaters." Draco lifted his empty wand hand, miming out the spells. "I zoomed down, I cast a little hex here, I cast a little curse there; I dodged, I dived, I –"

Harry shot him a sideways look. "You blinded them with smoke. That Elmsworthy gave you."

Draco's hand fell to his knee and he raked Harry with a scornful glare. "Same thing, just sneakier. The clever people – meaning everyone who isn't a Gryffindor – don't stand up with swords saying 'ha ha ha here I am now come and meet your doom', because that's usually followed up by 'argh argh argh you sneaky bugger your minion stabbed me in the back'," Draco informed him with apparent sincerity in his annoyance at Harry's dogmatically Gryffindorish nature.

But for once Harry didn't rise to the jibe of Gryffindor inferiority. "Speaking of clever, do you feel like your brain's only working at half speed?"

Draco lifted an eyebrow. "Come to think of it, yeah. I'd forgotten, but I was badly knocked the first time I went through the barrier. I might have, um, panicked at bit at one stage back then… but in my defence I was startled by Weasleys…"

"Fred and George? They can be a bit startling."

"Hmm. Well, I think they've forgiven me for startling George's nose and Fred's knee that time. But it's even worse this time. Maybe it was the Obliviate we got last night, because…. Um. Yeah." His face took on a particularly haughty look as his voice trailed off.

Harry was familiar with this look; it meant Draco had done something stupid and was feeling like a prat but would die rather than admit to it. "Okay, what happened?"

"Well, I could have put that Anti-Voldie potion on the Dark Lord when I had the chance. Or given it to Tonks. But I kind of… didn't think of it at the time."

Harry nodded. "Yeah. It's like your good ideas scatter into the winds."

Draco appeared relieved. "Exactly." He smirked, perking up despite the shadowed eyes and pale complexion.

"So was it this bad last time?"

"Ummm… no, I don't think it was, actually. Do you think You-know-who put some extra spell on the barrier to, uh, make anyone going through it extra stupid?"

"I don't think so. I think it was the Obliviate. Hope Ron and Hermione are okay…"

"Granger could stand to lose a few score IQ points. Nobody would notice Weasley getting stupid…er."

Harry shook his head, mildly annoyed on Ron's behalf. Ron wasn't half as stupid as people tended to think he was, but if he said anything like that to Draco, the response would be something along the lines of: Yeah, maybe, but that doesn't mean he's not two-thirds as stupid as people think he is, which still leaves him a bit of a moron, Potter. "He'll be fine. Besides, I didn't feel stupid until _after_ I'd gone through the barrier."

Draco hesitated, then gave a grudging nod. "Yeah, that's true. So. Speaking of stupid, while we wait for the Aurors what was _your_ good idea you didn't follow through on?"

Harry rolled his eyes, but Arrogant Draco was easier to deal with than Defensive Draco. "Nothing major. I forgot to use the password before confirming meeting at the bridge –"

"Nothing major? I nearly had a heart-attack!"

"– And I keep getting distracted by things. Like birds. And shadows."

Draco muttered something that sounded like 'werewolves… family… Tonks… cubs…'

"What?"

"Hm? Oh. Er. Nothing important. Not compared to hhhowww ooouuur brainssss aaaare _dyyyy_ying." Draco pulled his hood up to shade his face and waved his arms in his best Dementor impression. Simon gave him a puzzled look and then went back to attacking a particularly crisp dandelion.

Harry snorted, not wanting to laugh out loud, although Simon's munching was almost as loud as the stream burbling just downslope from them, the hollow sounds of water echoing off the bridge acting as a muffling cover for any of their noises, providing they kept their voices down and didn't get into a screaming match. "Please. That's so third year," Harry replied, not wanting to calculate the chances of a Gryffindor and a Slytherin not getting into a screaming match. "Never mind about forgetting to give Tonks the potion – we can give it to Moody when he comes to get us, and he can deal with You-know-who."

Draco dropped his hands and the Dementor act. "True." He fingered the brooch, not altogether happily even though Harry would have thought he'd be delighted at the prospect of an army of Aurors led by Moody showing up to act as body guard. "Get a bloody move on, will you?" Draco said to it.

The eye rolled in annoyance.

Harry shrugged. "Eh. So long as we stay out of sight… But I did have one good idea – when you were listening in, did you hear You-know-who mention where he was going next?"

"Er… weirdest thing. From what he said it sounded like you were down south. Watching the fireball from a great distance. With… er… Aurors guarding you?"

Harry grinned. "Hah! Brilliant! That'll teach the snake-faced git to rummage through my head."

"So what was that about?"

Harry folded his arms across his knees, not letting go of the leadrope for a second. Simon was tugging harder on it, wanting to reach grass further out of the shadow of the bridge and chestnut tree covering them. There wasn't a good selection under their tree and he was beginning to resent Harry keeping him away from the more succulent buffet of grasses and weeds out in the open. Knowing it was against good horsemanship rules, Harry wrapped the rope around his wrist. It wasn't as if it was his wand hand. "When my tree broke, I felt his pain and, Merlin, was he mad… he dug into my thoughts. So I kind of imagined I was near that stretch of railway south of Hogsmeade. You know – the old shed with that roof that sags in the middle?"

Draco's eyes gleamed under the hood with more light than the unicorn blood could account for. "I think he bought it. Hah! And that shed used to be a piggery. Hope he has fun investigating it with a magnifying spell!" He sobered. "But getting back to our cottage-cheese brains, what happens if our judgement gets really bad?"

Harry had just been wondering this. "Got a luck potion on you?"

Draco snorted. "Never heard of such a thing. Although… hmm… Let's have a look." He pushed back the hood and pulled out the potions phials one by one and placed them gently in his lap. Simon looked up at the clink of glass. Harry leaned forward and reached for one of the sparklier bottles. Draco shook his head. "Careful… I think that one's Elmsworthy's explosion pozion." He paused, ran his tongue around his teeth, and tried again. "Explosion po_shun_ that should have been." He shook his head. "I think the Obliviate really did scramble my brain. But have a look – at the bottles, not my mind – they're actually labelled." He scowled. "Still talking about the bottles here, Potter."

"Hey, I'm not laughing…" It was taking some effort to keep a straight face, but he wasn't laughing.

"Huh. See if I show you the reading charm…"

"Sorry." Harry tried to look penitent, but being able to share a joke while waiting for the Aurors to come and tackle Voldemort for him was making him feel better than he'd felt since Luna had said goodbye with a kiss. He held the phial in the hand along with the leadrope – not so difficult now Simon had regained interest in what Harry and Draco were up to. "Go on, show me."

"No. Oh, all right. Lick your finger like this. Now… finger to thumb… got it? Almost… yeah. That's it. Now have a look at this phial…"

"Are you having me on? That's never going to w- …oh." Harry's first feeling of astonishment at the sight of the miniature label quickly shifted to disgust (via a quick detour through excitement at the potential uses of the potion in his hand). "But that's the simplest thing ever! How come we don't learn this at school?"

Draco shrugged, not interested in issues of a modern Wizarding curriculum. "That's the Invisibility Potion. Take a look at some others. Some of the names are pretty obvious, even when you've got post-barrier-stress, but some of them would be obscure to anyone other than a level eight Potions geek. Like this one – what in Merlin's name would 'small fish' refer t-. Hey!"

That last exclamation was aimed at Simon. The horse wanted to investigate by smell.

Draco lifted an eyebrow at Harry, but held the bottle steady.

Simon curled back his upper lip and sniffed carefully, ears twitching back and forth as the equine brain deciphered chemical mysteries and passed judgement.

"I didn't realise they were all that stinky," said Draco, eyeing Simon's still-curled lip. "Although… hang on… what do you think of this one, Simon?" He picked out one phial and held it up to the horse's nose.

Simon subjected it to a careful sniff.

The head jerked back. There was an explosive noise. Harry and Draco jumped, less from the noise as from the accompanying spray of snot.

"Ow…" said Harry, who had hit his head against the stones.

"Disgusting!" Draco muttered, wiping his face with his sleeve.

Harry followed suit. His head hurt from where he'd whacked it, a different kind of throb to the one in his scar, which seemed to be more or less permanent on this side of the barrier. When he rubbed at his hair his hand came away sticky. He sniffed at it carefully, but it wasn't blood. "Merlin… that's straight into the bath with me when I get home. Er, to Hogwarts, I mean." Hopefully Draco hadn't noticed his slip – the last thing he wanted was pity from a Malfoy. "You've been saving that snort up for a while now, haven't you, Simon?" He took off his glasses, huffing on them and buffing them clean on his T-shirt. He held them up – a few faint smears, but nothing to impair vision.

Simon gave Draco a wounded glare.

"Sorry, boy," said Draco. "But could you please not snort quite so loudly? Most of the Death Eaters have gone south for the battle season, but there might be the odd one in earshot. Ah… Potter…" he began warningly.

But Harry, who was sitting closer to Simon, had already seen the danger. Simon was wrinkling his nostrils into tight corrugations again, ears tilted back as the horse decided what to do about the lingering scent of potion in his sinuses. Harry shoved the long nose away just in time.

This time there was a series of snorts, all, thankfully, directed away from the boys, as Simon cleared his nose of what must have been a particularly offensive smell.

"What the hell is in that?" Harry snatched the phial from Draco. He gave it a careful sniff. There was the faint hint of something unpleasant, but nothing that should have warranted such a reaction from Simon, who had backed off and was now scratching his muzzle against a foreleg. "I didn't realise horses had such sensitive noses." He curled forefinger to thumb and read the label. "Twenty-two-p worse BSM?"

"I think twenty-two-p refers to batch number. What's BSM?"

"Merlin knows."

Draco lifted one corner of his mouth. "Probably not even him."

"Mind if I keep it?"

"Not at all. You want the Big Big Boom one?"

"Er… should I?"

"Rather your pocket than mine…"

"I don't want something like that near Simon."

"Oh, fair enough. I wouldn't want you scaring my horse…"

Harry did not hit Draco. Calmly, he said, "I'll keep the BSM one. That sounds scary without the noise. How about the small fish?"

Draco shrugged. "Okay. Let me know what it does."

"If Simon and I disappear, have Elmsworthy come and unchange us from small fish."

"I'll try and fit you into my busy schedule," Draco promised loftily.

They examined the bottles as they waited for the Aurors. The sun was probably over the horizon by now, but somewhere between the sky and the ground the light had been mugged, throttled, and had its body of photons thrown in the sea of clouds. The clouds themselves were still so low they were flowing down the sides of the hills and the occasional foggy wisp trailed under the bridge like a stolen secret. It was as if the two trees had been holding them at bay and now the clouds had free roam across the land.

"That third tree should have been nullified by now," Draco said eventually. His attention had drifted from the bottles to Simon and the occasional bird hopping around the bank and through the branches of the tree.

"Yeah."

Draco tapped his foot. He pressed a finger against the cameo. Not even the eye moved to show there was any magic present. "Nothing. What if they've forgotten us?"

"They won't have."

"Well, they won't have forgotten the _Gryffindor._ But I might have slipped their minds. Or whatever passes for their minds."

"I doubt it."

"Huh. You weren't the one left in a barn, blind and helpless for the monsters to come and harass."

"Simon harassed that Vrikolaki quite effectively on your behalf."

"Yeah, but how is he against a mob of Dementors? None too hot, as I recall. His only defence is speed. Although he did kick one of them… huh. That was pretty cool." His smile vanished almost immediately. "What about Death Eaters? His Glare of Death might just get him recruited by the enemy, and then where would we be?" Draco fingered the cameo again. "But you're right: they won't have forgotten us."

"Of course not."

"So they're probably all dead."

Harry put his head in his hands. There was a definite headache emanating from his scar. "They're not all d-! – They're not all dead, all right?" he said, needing to catch his temper back. Simon looked up in concern. "Come here, boy." Harry reeled in the leadrope so he could pat Simon's knee. But Draco had a point. They couldn't stay here all day in hopes that Voldemort would overlook them. Bloody Voldemort. What the hell gave Voldemort the right to think he could chase Harry all around the damn place? Harry glared around at the trees and dark water and the stupid wisps of fog streaming under the stones of the bridge, leaving it dripping with moisture. Voldemort could damn well go and stick his wand up his –

There was a shot of pain through his scar and Draco was blathering on about something. Probably something irrelevant, knowing Malfoy. But Harry blinked, squinted, rubbed his scar until the pain faded, and forced himself to concentrate on the Slytherin's words. Slytherin. Like Voldemort. Harry shivered. Best not to even think about Voldemort right now. He had a way of insinuating himself into Harry's thoughts that was uncanny. Harry suspected he'd just been trying now, but Harry had been distracted just in time. He hoped.

"You okay?" Draco asked, possibly not for the first time. "You looked a bit… funny there for a moment."

Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his free hand, remembering too late about the unicorn blood. But when he put his glasses back on again Draco's eyes still had vestiges of the unsettling silvery glow to them, so he hadn't removed the unicorn's blessing completely, and it had been wearing off anyway. Simon tugged at the leadrope wrapped around the other wrist, wanting to investigate a promising grassy area just a little further down towards the water. "Yeah. Just tired. Simon – don't go down there. Don't want you falling over the bank, boy."

Simon ignored him, ripping up the grass in enthusiastic mouthfuls. Harry's stomach growled at the sight. It felt like a long time since he'd eaten, although it was only a few hours.

"I don't think he's dumb enough to jump into the water," Draco pointed out.

Harry put his glasses back on. His head, tired and with grainy eyes, felt very much his own. He thought about how good it would be to have the Aurors looking out for him for a change. It would give Simon a break from bodyguard duty. He titled his head, considering the horse which was grazing very close to the edge of the bank now. "What if something startles him?"

Draco snatched the leadrope from Harry with a scowl and yanked on it. "Come back up here, Simon."

Simon obeyed sulkily.

"Where are those stupid Aurors," Draco grumbled. He held the leadrope in both hands, twisting it between them as if he were slowly wringing out water. "I mean, how long have we been waiting now?"

Harry didn't have a watch, so he couldn't really comment. He didn't want to guess.

Draco's foot was jiggling with nervous energy. "We've been here a long time."

We've been here ten minutes maximum," Harry countered, although subjectively it felt like it had been much longer.

Draco's lip curled, but not in a sneer. Harry frowned. The Slytherin was getting really worked up.

"They'll come for us soon. We just have to wait."

Draco's foot didn't stop jiggling. His eyes fastened on Simon and a line drew between them. "Two of us on this broom could travel far and fast," Draco said seriously.

"I'm not leaving Simon." Harry hunched over, resting his arms over his knees and his shoulder against the damp stone of the bridge. It wasn't like his cloak couldn't get any dirtier. And what the hell was wrong with Malfoy, suggesting they leave Simon behind? "We're a team."

Draco glared at him. "I'm not suggesting we're not. But Simon wouldn't be a target by himself. Only if he was with a wizard."

"Or a Muggle. Or by himself in the middle of a field, simply because someone wants target practice."

Draco inclined his head. "We could leave him in one of these fields with the sheep. No alpacas."

It wasn't really the time to be discussing these things, but Harry was nervous, probably because Malfoy's twitchiness was contagious. "You know, maybe we could put some of that Invisibility Potion on Simon, ride out of here and hide him with Luna's uncle. I'm amazed I never asked her for his name."

Draco's mouth curled in a grim smile beneath the shadow of his hood. There was absolutely no humour involved, and it was closer to an expression of pain. Harry didn't understand. He understood even less when Draco continued, "First of all, I don't know how that Potion would react to the shoes, especially in light of what Luna's efforts did. Remember your ride on the roof? Secondly and more importantly, her uncle's dead. I'm astonished about her uncle having a horse, for that matter. He never seemed the type."

Harry blinked and then realised his jaw had dropped. He snapped his mouth shut before demanding, "What? He's dead? When? And you know who her uncle is? Yes – you mentioned that when we were leaving Hogwarts, didn't you. Why haven't you ever said anything before? Who _is_ he?" he finished crossly. His eyes darted around – his voice had been too loud for the last sentence. How dare bloody Malfoy know all this stuff about Luna? Did Luna trust him now she couldn't trust Harry?

There was a stabbing jolt to his scar. Harry took a deep breath and thought of all the Aurors surrounding him…

Draco shrugged. "Yes, he's dead. I have it on good authority – well, that's a bit of an oxymoron, but I trust the source of the information not to lie to me. Not on this." He scowled. "And it wasn't so hard to work out. She was always banging on about him, so I thought I'd go and have a look in the genealogy part of the Library to see if it was anyone we needed to worry about."

"And was it?" Putting aside the fact that Harry hadn't known until now that there _was_ a genealogy section.

"No."

That was very final. Draco wasn't about to name names, not with that set expression to his jaw. And now wasn't a good time to gossip about friends' families. Not when a lot of their 'friends'' families might be out here waiting for them.

Harry took back the leadrope. "I'm not leaving Simon behind."

Draco must have sensed that this was Harry's last word on the subject. He nodded. After a few minutes sitting in silence filled only by the rustling of leaves in the wind, the liquid gurgle of the stream and the slightly-less-than-contended munching of Simon who periodically tested the leadrope to see if it hadn't suddenly grown long enough to allow him access to grass further up the bank, Draco said in a conciliatory tone, "Want me to put on some Invisibility Potion and go for a quick dekko?"

It'd shut him up, and Malfoy's twitchy foot was really getting on Harry's wick now. How much caffeine had Tonks given him? "Okay."

Draco sat on his broom, hovering under the tree next to Simon, and put three drops of the potion on his hand. He winked out with a suddenness that made Harry blink and Simon jerk his head back and sniff carefully at the space where Draco had been. The horse's eyes bulged as his forelock was ruffled by an invisible hand, then the horse relaxed again. Just another working day for Simon.

"Wow," said Harry.

"Good, isn't it?" The smirk was audible.

"Yeah. But seriously, we might have to use it on Simon as a last resort."

"Hmm. Let's hope we don't have to find out. Wish me luck."

There was a rustling of branches and a shower of droplets from the sodden leaves before Harry could open his mouth to do so, and Draco, presumably, was gone. Harry sighed to himself, wiped the water off his face, and went back to hide under the bridge, just in case someone nasty came trip-trapping across it.

A minute later Harry head a small pop followed by a louder crack. Had Draco come back and hit the bridge too hard? Simon looked up, ears twitching suspiciously, forelock shading his eyes. He didn't seem alarmed, simply suspicious; more like he'd been when Draco disappeared than when Fluffy had been lurking in the bushes. Harry got up to see if Draco had reappeared. So to speak.

Too late, he noticed Simon's eyes and ears were firmly fixed on one point. And that the sounds had been from two people Apparating. Harry took out his wand.

Tonks? Aurors? Harry's heart lifted with the dawn of relief. Finally! He backed up under the tree to get a better view of the bridge, patting Simon as he passed under the horse's neck. Simon shook his head and moved so he was uphill. Harry grinned – how would he explain to Tonks that his bodyguard wanted breakfast and –

– and Simon wasn't interested in grass. The horse's tension hadn't eased by Harry's relief at the prospect of Auror aid, instead Simon's whole stance was one of wariness. The skin on his withers shivered, shaking off invisible flies.

"Hello, Harry."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. He looked up and into the chilly madness that was Bellatrix LeStrange's eyes and his hope turned into a block of ice under his heart.

Her wand was aimed between his eyes.

ooOOoo


	92. Chapter 92

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his friends (and enemies) belong to JK Rowling and her associated business partnerish people. Especially Voldemort and Bellatrix LeStrange. I really wouldn't want them.

A/N: This chapter will probably have a few holes, but what with me having been sick the past long time and then trying to align up all the different fiddly bits and pieces of this story it's long past time for a chapter update. So…

Lights!

Turn on the sound effects!

Action!

ooOOoo

Chapter 92

Harry's first thought was: _She'll kill me if I move._

He froze, very carefully not doing anything threatening with his wand. Bellatrix had him cold and she wasn't alone. Someone else had Apparated in with her.

His second thought was: _Draco betrayed me._

Bile rose up in his chest and he nearly choked on his fury. _I'll kill Malfoy. I'll rip his heart out and fill his chest with burning coals… _In his ears he could almost hear a cold, high voice laughing.

Like a bucket of cold water came the realisation: _It wasn't Draco. It was me. Voldemort found us because of me. My hate. My anger._

The anger and self-hatred nearly frothed over then, but he couldn't let it. It would only feed strength to Voldemort, already hovering on the edges of thought: malice waiting to take pale form. He took a deep breath and thought of Simon at his shoulder waiting to react to any distress of Harry's. Harry absolutely would not let Simon become target practice. _What would Robert Python do? He'd… Well, first of all he'd not have been dumb enough to get caught out in the open like this. Bugger it._

Bellatrix LeStrange leaned over the stone railing and propped her chin on her free hand. She twirled her wand idly, but Harry wasn't fooled: he'd seen her in action and she was cat-quick. "So," she purred in what was for her a conversational manner. "I heard you were in the neighbourhood. Just thought I'd pop by for a spot of torture."

"Oh no. Going to read me those poems you wrote in Azkaban?" he sneered, gripping the leadrope hard. If he lifted his wand she'd kill him where he stood. Damn – he shouldn't have taunted her. His brain really wasn't working this morning. He had less chance of escaping Bellatrix if he was still twitching from Cruciatus.

She only smiled. "I thought I'd carve them into your twitching flesh. I expect your skin is lovely and pale. Blood will stand out all the better."

"I do hope you're not going to be writing out a saga," a familiar voice drawled. Those smooth tones could only belong to one person: Lucius Malfoy. "We don't have all day."

Harry's skin itched at his voice. Damn it – wasn't the man meant to be in Azkaban? Draco had suggested his father might be involved but not actually stated it as such, and Harry had let the topic lie rather than get an already twitchy Draco's back up. The school motto of not tickling sleeping dragons might have been written with Draco in mind. There must have been a mass-breakout from the prison, because it wasn't likely Lucius Malfoy would have been released so early for good behaviour.

A tall, black-robed figure strolled around from the side of the bridge, onto the road and into Harry's view. Unlike Bellatrix, whose cold pale features were alive with malice and whose black hair flew in the wind like a banshee's, Lucius was masked and hooded. The mask was patchily transparent – hadn't Draco mentioned something about being able to see through them thanks to the unicorn blood? – and gave away the lean, proud face that was an older mirror of Draco's. Just how far away was Draco? Harry wouldn't put it past Lucius Malfoy to murder his only child.

Simon flicked his head and snorted – it might have been the mask, however Harry knew Simon well enough now that he could tell that the horse was not merely confused by being presented with a human in a hood and mask but was on his guard at the wand pointed at Harry. The horse had pinned its attention on Malfoy. For some reason private to Simon, Lucius' wand was more annoying than Bellatrix's, even though if Harry had to make a choice he'd throw himself on the mercy of Malfoy over Bellatrix.

Did Malfoy notice something about the horse? His wand swung to cover Simon, and although Harry couldn't quite make out the finer details of the man's expression behind the mask, the tilt of the head was an exact match for Draco's when Draco was intrigued by something new but couldn't quite make up his mind if he was going to hate it, love it, or ignore it because it wasn't useful.

Simon's ears were back but Lucius was uphill and out of immediate reach. Harry might have reached over to scratch the horse's neck and coax that nervous tension out of the quivering muscles which had just tensed up all the way down Simon's neck and were undoubtedly gathering beneath saddle and down to haunches, readying the horse for battle or rapid retreat, but to move now would be to invite a hex. He didn't even dare whisper something soothing. Bellatrix would torture the horse if she thought Harry was fond of it.

Stay calm, Simon, he willed. _One move from you that Malfoy doesn't like and you'll be eviscerated._

The first drop of cold sweat trickled down Harry's spine. Simon's nostrils twitched and a malevolent flicker sparked in the stallion's eye. There was a slight shift of weight closer to Harry; a certain lowering of the head and arch of the neck as the horse focussed strength into its shoulders and haunches, Simon growing larger in the corner of Harry's eye. Damn, Harry thought: Simon was smelling his fear. It was ironic, since so much of that fear was on Simon's behalf.

Harry considered putting himself between Simon and Malfoy, but in the next second knew that this would be the worst thing he could do: Simon, defender of idiot colts against werewolves and vrikolaki, and currently showing no sign of wanting to run away, would react violently to the scenario of a member of his herd in harm's way.

"Sagas? Oh, nothing so complicated. I thought I'd make do with a couple of haiku," Bellatrix smirked, and her heavy eyelids flickered. "Our Lord will be intent on his own pleasure, and I doubt he can spare me as much time to play with Harry as he and I would like."

"He'll be here soon enough. Ask him then. You never know when he will be in a magnanimous mood, and, after all, you _did_ capture him."

Bellatrix drew her wand along her lips. "True." She shivered with pleasure. "I can feel him. He's calling our family… coming for the feast…"

Behind his mask, Lucius looked far from pleased. He must have been secure in the privacy offered by his mask because it was an honest expression he wouldn't have shown if he'd known Harry could see it.

So Lucius wasn't as happy playing lap-dog to a maniac as Bellatrix. There should have been some way of exploiting that, but the knowledge Voldemort was on his way had shattered the last chances of logical thought.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck. I'm going to die. Fuck. I don't want to die. _

Somewhere there was laughter. It wasn't from anyone anywhere near Harry and neither Death Eater reacted to it, but Harry felt it.

Voldemort sensed his fear and was pleased.

There was a swish of Simon's tail, and the stallion tossed his mane and stamped his forefeet.

_Steady, Simon._ With some effort, Harry forced his shoulders to relax and turned a fraction so he wasn't standing square to either Death Eater. Shame he couldn't ask them to adopt the same non-threatening posture, although Bellatrix was swinging her shoulders from side to side playfully. She was probably the most dangerous, but Simon's attention was firmly on the wand-pointing Malfoy. Something about Bellatrix wasn't as alarming to the horse as Lucius Malfoy – which went to show that even horse instincts could be wrong. There was an air of angry concentration to Simon: the horse seemed to be trying to work something out in its head, and the conclusion he was fast working towards was going to set him off like a volcano. They were downhill and downwind of Malfoy. Harry could smell his cologne. Could Simon smell the sire of Draco?

Perhaps Simon was aware of Malfoy as a competing stallion. The gleam in Simon's eye was changing, shifting in degree of menace from the general, familiar malevolence of Simon weighing up his chances of getting away with kicking Snuffles when Harry was around to get cross and tell Simon off, to that glittering hatred the stallion developed when Remus was near Harry or any of the other students Simon regarded as his personal property.

Poor Remus – it was unfair to have any similarity between Lucius Malfoy and himself pointed out.

Bellatrix giggled again. Harry's silence was amusing her. "You do want to play with me, don't you Harry?" She twirled a lock of hair around one finger.

Malfoy's mood was less whimsical, and Simon's glares were unnerving him. His pale eyes flicked back and forth between Harry and the horse. Cold and to the point, taking in the potential threat Harry posed, he ordered in a clipped voice, "Throw me your wand, Potter."

Harry bit his lip but he didn't have a lot of options – he threw his wand, trying to look like it was costing him his soul. Not far from the truth: a Death Eater with his wand was anathema. Lucius _Accio_'d it out of the air and under the mask the thin mouth curled in triumph and scorn.

(It had been such satisfaction breaking his nose, Harry remembered.)

"Now he's not going to give me a decent fight." Bellatrix pouted.

"Come up here," Malfoy said curtly, ignoring his sister-in-law.

Harry dropped the rope, hoping Simon would take the hint and wander off down the stream. But Simon plodded after him up the bank, sharp hooves digging into the damp soil, only stopping when he trod on the leadrope.

"Pick that – that rope up," commanded Lucius. His voice was distant, as if he deemed Harry to be less than human.

_Like you'd know what it means to be human, you inbred git._

But Harry obeyed without comment. He just had to keep his temper and hope Moody and a billion Aurors showed up before Voldemort.

_If wishes were horses…_

Bellatrix skipped down the bridge, her laughter jangling like cracked silver bells as Harry reached the road and stood before the two Death Eaters. He kept the leadrope short. Withers and nostrils a-twitch, Simon was close to boiling point. But it was Bellatrix who defused the horse as she clasped her wand in both hands behind her back and showed ever sign of delight at the meeting.

Simon's ears came forward with reluctance as he carefully sniffed at the air. The ears twitched; back, forward… back again…

The woman was baffling the horse – it was as obvious as the aching scar on Harry's head that she was so far off her trolley that she wouldn't be able to touch it was a ten-foot staff, yet Simon didn't know if she was a threat or a friend. Simon hadn't been Obliviated before going through the barrier, so what was _his_ excuse for stupidity?

Harry had the brief but alarming image of Simon seeing the coquettish Bellatrix as a mare in season.

"That was quite clever, Harry-warry," she cooed. "You had everyone thinking you were _such_ a long, long way away. Shame you didn't have the sense to realise that the Dark Lord is quite capable of finding you at any time. Oo-oo-_ooo_…" she sang as she drew a lightning bolt above her eyes with a forefinger and winked. Her smile showed a flash of sharp white incisor, but the real hunger lay in her eyes.

Harry forced himself not to react or to hold her gaze. He'd already guessed from the sudden temper-flashes earlier that this must have been when Voldemort had pin-pointed his location. No point getting upset now… and the oddest line floated through his mind – Robert Python had written on page 65 that one of the most important things a Mutterer could do was keep his or her cool when everything around them was going to pieces.

Harry took a slow breath and let it out.

"He's com-ming," she sang.

Harry took another slow breath. It caught in his throat: was that the smell of figs? No. Just his imagination. He kept his face impassive and breathed out.

Bellatrix frowned.

Malfoy shifted uneasily then stilled, but his belief in the privacy of his mask betrayed him. He wouldn't have wanted Harry to see the furrowed brow and narrowing eyes of a worried man. "Your Aurors aren't coming, Potter."

Harry nodded. You didn't go arguing with your enemy when he was pointing a wand at you. Harry was trying to break that habit. Oddly enough it managed to lift his hopes: if Malfoy felt it necessary to say something like that, maybe it was a deliberate lie designed to break the last of Harry's spirits. Dimly, Harry realised this wasn't the most logical reason for hope, but it made him feel better and that was the important thing. "Okay."

Bellatrix stopped smiling. "They're off trying to stop Hogsmeade from burning to the ground."

Harry flicked a glance towards where Hogsmeade must be. The ruddy clouds weren't lit from that direction. "So I see."

Bellatrix's brow blackened. "The rabble are in charge of keeping them busy. They are setting fires even as I speak."

"So they'll be setting the fires soon, then."

"They are setting them now!"

"Okay." Harry counted to twenty and then counted down again. Lucius and Bellatrix were giving him funny looks now and neither one was smiling. Harry couldn't help himself ask, "Are we talking before or after lunch?"

Bellatrix breathed out hard through her nose, and Simon gave her a look as if he was beginning to think that, mare in season or not, she mightn't be quite so harmless as he'd first supposed. She bared her teeth. The intention might have been to appear friendly, but it made Harry shudder. It took all his self-possession to hide his reaction.

"Silly Harry," she growled. "So impatient for the party to begin. But don't worry – we don't need the spell-fodder witches and wizards, those wanting to prove themselves or those Imperio'd into following the correct way, _they_ are the distraction for the Aurors. The _real_ Death Eaters are coming here. To watch your death. To see our Lord triumph in his mastery of death." She'd lost that coquettish air and fractured madness jumped and twitched on her fishhook smile.

Harry gave a faint nod. "That makes sense." At his shoulder, Simon seemed to be settling down. Harry had fooled him.

His calm air seemed to be fooling Lucius and Bellatrix, too. He wasn't sure if this was a bonus or not.

Lucius shot a quick glance at Bellatrix. She nodded in return.

_Not a bonus._

Harry wouldn't have been quick enough to dodge, but as soon as the wands lifted and spat red spells Simon reared and plunged forward, ripping the leadrope out of his hand and knocking him down. Harry stumbled to his knees, the spells whistling over his shoulders and popping wetly as they hit solid flesh. Stunners – he knew they had to be Stupefy spells from the colour and the peculiar hum, although they set off a crackling, buzzing noise when they hit what had to be Simon. Had the spell in Simon's chest reacted to them? But no more spells were coming, which implied Lucius and Bellatrix thought they'd hit Harry, so when Harry hit the road he stayed there.

_Simon?_

He sensed the horse behind him. There hadn't been the thump of a falling body or a scream of pain, and that snaky thing hanging over Harry's shoulder had to be the leadrope. It was rough and he'd have smelt the blood if it'd been intestines. Harry desperately wanted to turn his head and look, but then there was a sudden volley of pops and cracks which shocked his ears. They didn't make the leadrope twitch. Had Simon been turned to stone?

Aurors?

Harry cracked an eye open and saw with dismay the black cloaks and pale masks of a swarm of Death Eaters. He hadn't realised there were so many. He let his hands flop open at his sides as he knelt, pretending for all he was worth that the spells had truly hit him. A small movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention for a split second – a hoof: Simon was still standing and capable of a little movement – before someone bounced a pebble off his head.

Loud laughter, even louder when Harry didn't flinch.

"You've got him on his knees!" someone howled, one voice among many. "Malfoy, LeStrange – well done!"

That was the verdict from several of the masked figures, their faces shifting eerily under the partially-transparent masks, mouths shifting as they echoed those words. Looking up through his eyelashes, letting the wan morning light and his glasses shield his eyes, Harry thought he recognised several but couldn't name more than three. Those in his limited view didn't include Narcissa, but he thought that must be Greg Goyle's dad slapping Malfoy on the shoulder. The bristly hair line running down a sloping forehead until it almost reached the heavy eyebrows was a dead giveaway. Lucius rocked under the blows, and only Harry saw the scornful distaste he shot at the massive Death Eater. Nobody was stupid enough to congratulate Bellatrix in any way other than with respectful words, which she lapped up like a cat over a saucer of cream, her eyes slitting happily.

"Nice horse," a man grunted. "Wonder if that's how he got through the Blockade." Harry was aware of someone with a rolling, bow-legged stride coming in from the side to take Simon's leadrope.

"Make sure it's not under any spell to make it attack us," Malfoy said. "I swear it was about to get violent when we Stunned Potter. Some of the residue might have affected it." He almost managed to hide the nervousness in his voice. If Harry hadn't got to know Draco so well he wouldn't have noticed it. So. Malfoy was scared of horses, was he?

The Death Eater holding Simon muttered something over the excited babble of the others. "Hmm. Definitely some Stun here. But it's diffuse. I'd say your spells hit Potter and echoed through contact."

Harry had distinctly heard two spells hit Simon. How many did it take to knock a horse out?

"The beast was touching him –"

"Ah. That'll be it. Aye… Some other spells… something high up and deep in the foreleg – see here just by the chestnut? – that's kind of familiar… and here – eh-up, this looks like some sort of anti-theft charm, although the spin on it is decidedly iffy." A wand appeared in the corner of Harry's vision, and seemed to be reaching above him to tap Simon's chest. The voice got closer to Harry's ear and then farther away as the man bent to examine the spell before straightening with a grunt of approval. "Docile beast. Perhaps the charm's broken. Could have yourself a new mode of transport, Malfoy." There was the sound of a hand patting the horse's neck and a disdainful sniff from Malfoy. "Let's get these reins back into order… might have something out of this lark for myself," the man continued happily to himself.

Had the man actually touched a wand to that anti-theft charm? And was still alive to talk about it?

Protective charm in his chest or no, Simon must have taken both Stuns.

"Those spells might be – oh, stop fiddling with the harness, man. I do hope you're not planning on riding the beast," Lucius sighed irritably. "You never know where it's been."

The Death Eater holding Simon muttered something Harry could barely hear, something about pearls cast before inbred swine.

One silver shoe dragged slowly and soundlessly over the road. Out of the corner of his eye Harry watched it move; Simon slowly realigning balance in the quicksand world of the Stunned, putting one hoof after another in the direction of Harry until the horse was standing with its forelegs almost bracketing the young wizard. The Death Eater told Simon to whoa, but Simon seemed to be ready to stop at this point anyway. Harry hoped the horse wouldn't fall over, but Simon's instinct seemed to be keeping him upright. For what that was worth in the circumstances. Harry wished desperately something would happen to startle the horse and send it galloping away into the dim morning, to go somewhere out of danger. And while happy luck was at it, Draco and a bunch of Aurors swooping down to rescue him would also be welcomed.

Because Harry himself was up a waterway without a propulsion device – or, as Robert Python had put it when comparing a wandless (and brainless) wizard who'd entered a kicking contest with a mule, up shit creek without a paddle. There were Death Eaters all around… there was no way he could escape… why hadn't he learned to Disapparate in the relative safety of the Forest…? he thought furiously, as the Death Eater holding Simon extolled the virtues of edge-creatures like horses to an unimpressed Malfoy.

Great. He'd found a fellow horse-lover, and it just happened to be a Death Eater. He'd be whipping out a bottle of liniment any second now just to prove he was better than Harry at looking after –

Harry caught his breath. Yes, he was far, far up the upper reaches of Shit Creek, but he wasn't as paddle-less as he'd supposed.

"Never mind the animal. _Snurff! _Why's the brat still alive?" a woman with bad sinuses asked petulantly.

"He lives or dies on our Lord's pleasure, Stainsy," Bellatrix snapped at the snuffly woman. "You twat," she added, just in case her contempt wasn't quite clear.

There was an offended sniff.

"Ladies…" someone interjected tremulously. Harry recognised that obsequious, nervous voice from the one word, even before his eyes cut sideways and he saw through the mask of the hunch-shouldered man to his right, or had Bellatrix round on the man with –

"Oh, shut up, Wormtail you incompetent bungler. Wormy, Wormy Wormtail; can't even use a paintbrush," she added in her girlish sing-song.

Behind his mask Pettigrew flushed dark. "They knew I was coming… twins had this sticky stuff… even a rat can't go that fast with a bottle tied around its neck… twins… no place to transform… dust… a really big spider… who'd've known the twins would use foaming sherbet?… there was a _huge _cat…" he whined.

"Wormy, Wormy, Wormtail; outwitted by halfwit Blood Traitors…"

His scowl at Bellatrix dripped with resentment but, again, only Harry saw it. The hair down the back of Harry's neck prickled with the sheer force of the hatred he felt for the man – hatred that dwarfed whatever Pettigrew might feel for Bellatrix.

Something twitched, a little maggoty wriggle, deep behind the now-constant pain in his scar.

Maybe they would have a fight and let Harry escape in the melee. Maybe he could do some damage on the way out. _Yeah. _That little wriggle in his scar was a small thrill at the thought of maiming Bellatrix or Malfoy… and the wriggle grew stronger, setting off an echoing curl deep in his belly when he weighed up his chances of killing Wormtail.

The wriggle bloomed into agony.

_Harry…_ It was a voice on the wind, high and disdainful and hungry, and only Harry heard it.

He tried to focus. The pain in his scar was growing strong enough to make his eyelid twitch.

The pain spiked and Harry bit his tongue, then it lowered to a pain he could manage.

He was sweating again from the pain and trying to control his breathing before it gave him away. All he could do was play for time by pretending he was helpless. Harry deliberately blanked his mind and gave in to gravity; he leaned back as if his body was beyond his control and slid down against Simon's leg.

His thoughts evaporated. For a brief moment there was: _the comforting smell of horse, and the dusty resin of trees and old leaves that must be coming from the chestnut trees. The moist earthy smell of the soil dug up by Simon's hooves downslope was almost as good as a warm blanket and a mug of hot chocolate on a cold night. A word – a _good_ word – tickled in his throat.  
_  
But the comfort was an illusion and Harry forced his thoughts back into order. Letting his mind drift into nothing was a serious mistake. He only realised he'd compounded his danger when he was on the ground: if Simon's thinking was more seriously compromised than Harry's – a given after two Stunning spells – Simon might stand on him.

But it was worth the risk… Harry's hand was by his pocket… it slipped in….

Unfortunately he wasn't the only one concerned by the possibility of being trodden on; either that or he wasn't being displayed to his best advantage: as a low, respectful murmur ran through the Death Eaters, someone strode forward (shining boots suggesting a thinly-veiled cringe as the someone got close to the scary big horse) and a hand grabbed him by his collar, dragging him up to his feet and away from Simon, knocking his hand out of his pocket, the inconsiderate bastard. There was a spell in there somehow, something like a diffuse unspoken _Mobilicorpus _lightening Harry. He was jerked back until he was resting against the chest of one of the Death Eaters.

_Don't fight… not just yet…_ Harry ordered himself._ Stay calm. Wait for it…_

"Here he is, my Lord," purred a voice in his ear. Malfoy, although Harry had already guessed from the sharp cologne. Harry kept his eyes almost shut, trying to look barely conscious, and saw Voldemort stepping forward, his red eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

Harry felt dizzy and for a moment it was Lucius rather than his own knees keeping him upright. _Bloody hell. I didn't even hear him Apparate in. _ He was out of time, but not totally out of options. Harry willed himself calm – not easy with Voldemort stalking towards him and his heart hammering in his throat.

_Wait for it…_

Lucius gave Harry a little shake.

_Wait for it…_

"You see?" Malfoy sneered, but respectfully given his master's presence. "Stunned and read-"

_NOW! _Harry jerked his head back. There was a crunch and a muffled scream. He wrenched free and twisted just in time for the edifying sight of Lucius reeling back, his mask cracked and awry, blood already dripping through his fingers as he clutched at his nose and swore like a Hag.

It was the second time Harry Potter had broken the nose of Lucius Malfoy.

He'd have to celebrate his success later, Harry thought grimly, moving like lightning to stay out of grabbing range of the nearest Death Eaters. A silver hand clawed at him and he dropped and rolled, landing a solid kick on Wormtail's shin that had the little man hopping backwards and emitting staccato yelps.

Harry cursed. He'd hoped to use Malfoy as a human (well, human-_ish_) shield and maybe even get his wand back, but there wasn't the chance to grab him _and_ a bottle from his pocket, and Harry was after a weapon.

Luck: the first shape his fingers found was the one firmest in memory. They clenched around it.

Death Eaters lifted wands. Simon couldn't have been Stunned too powerfully – either that or the spells wore off faster on edge creatures – because the horse snorted at the sight and swung its rump around as if it had just woken up and found itself in a nightmare and was still deciding who to kick. The Death Eater holding him tightened his grip on the headcollar and leadrope, moving smartly as he anticipated each movement of Simon's and keeping the horse too far off balance to kick anyone – unfortunately there had to be _one_ Death Eater who knew something about horses.

_Give me half a second, Simon then we're out of here. _Harry leaped up and threw the violet bottle as hard as he could, straight for Voldemort's pale face and exposed neck.

Voldemort reared back and threw up his arm, and the phial smashed against his shoulder. There was a sound like a harp string breaking and tiny shards of glass twinkled in a silvery mist of potion droplets that hummed and glittered and settled in a fine powder over his black robes. It looked like the hairless Dark Lord had an unlikely and unusually pretty case of dandruff.

But Harry didn't laugh.

There was nothing funny about the potion failing.

The Dark Lord was not impressed. His red eyes flashed and Harry's scar burned down to the bone of his skull. He hissed, swearing in Parseltongue, then stepped forward and struck. Not with magic but with the back of his hand, so fast Harry hardly saw him move. He hit Harry hard across the cheek, knocking him down to the ground.

"Unkh…" Not wanting to give Voldemort the satisfaction of his pain, Harry gritted his teeth but couldn't help making a small noise. Harry was down on his hands and knees again, this time trying to control the blossoming agony in his cheek. Was it broken? He moved his tongue experimentally, probing to see if anything moved from the inside.

"Harry Potter…" The words hissed around him and through his scar, trickling into his mind like poison.

Chilled to the bone on this warm morning, Harry looked up and into the mad red eyes of Voldemort and was chilled even further until he felt like he'd never be warm again.

Voldemort leaned down and plucked Harry up by the scruff of his neck. He was stronger than humanly possible and Harry's toes barely touched the road. The clasp of his cloak threatened to strangle him, and Harry swallowed against the constriction. This close, he could see how the tiny droplets of anti-Vivicus potion hovered millimetres above Voldemort's skin, held static by the wards the Dark Lord wore as a second skin. The droplets flickered. They split the ruddy light and around the edges of Voldemort was that shade of blue Harry had seen when falling through infinity.

Could he be looking at time?

Ironic, really, when Harry had run out of it.

"Well, well," Voldemort breathed, and there was a small, excited shiver in his voice that hinted at the rage and fear and triumph Harry could sense more solidly through the scar. _Fear? He's scared?_ Harry stilled his mind as much as he could, trying to find the source of the fear. But with the thicket of wands pointing at him Harry didn't dare so much as blink in a threatening way. He hung limp in the Dark Lord's hold, trying his best to do a rabbit-under-the-gaze-of-a-snake impression. It seemed to work – Voldemort's grimaced smile widened to show the points of his teeth. "Little Harry Potter. My, how you've grown."

"The Aurors are coming," Harry said, putting a tremble into his voice.

There was laughter: a forced whimpering whinny from Wormtail, rubbing his shin, some throaty chuckles, and a few hungry gasps from Death Eaters Harry didn't recognise, several guffaws, and a high cackle from Bellatrix. They were all laughing at him now.

Good.

"Perhaps not so grown after all," purred Voldemort. "I'm sure they'll be along one day. But they're a little tied up this morning. Problems with Hogsmeade burning down around their ears, perhaps? Hmm?" He seemed strangely interested in Harry's reaction to this news.

"No thanks to Wormtail," grumbled Bellatrix. "Never send an idiot to do a woman's work."

Harry didn't dare look towards Hogsmeade. There hadn't been a glow through the murk earlier, but Voldemort sounded so _sure._ Voldemort, sensing Harry's dismay, licked where his lips should have been with a pale tongue as dead and slimy as a Dementor's hand. Or his own soul.

"Quite right. Narcissa will do us proud, no doubt," the Dark Lord murmured, but it was clear his interests didn't lie in Hogsmeade. Harry quashed the small flicker of hope that came to life in his chest at the prospect of someone who could help the village. Any hint, the merest twitch or sparkle in Harry's eye at Narcissa's name, and Draco's mother would die. Voldemort's eyes narrowed. It was condescending and proud and hate-filled, but it was perhaps the only genuine smile anyone would ever get from the Dark Lord. And it was all Harry's. _Oh, yay._ "You did know about Hogsmeade, didn't you?"

Was Voldemort finally as insane as Bellatrix? Why was he so interested in Harry's thoughts on Hogsmeade? Harry didn't need to fake being bewildered.

"Hm. Yes. Well, either way, consider your Auror friends' time taken for the remainder of the day. Not that your life will be as long." Another smile, this one indulgent and for the benefit of the surrounding Death Eaters, and his voice lifted: "And he thought his feeble spells could touch _me_?" He laughed, high-pitched and joyless. He flicked his wand and the glass twinkling on his robes vanished, leaving only the gleam of the impotent potion behind.

"My Lord, you are as strong as ever," Wormtail oiled through gritted teeth. That kick must have really hurt.

Voldemort gave him a cold smile while other Death Eaters rolled their eyes behind the privacy of their masks. "Yes. Some of you might have noticed my reaction to the two trees being deactivated, but I have since distanced myself from the barrier spells." He turned his smile back on Harry. "I suppose you were hoping that bringing down the third tree would strike me down with agony."

Harry had, yes, but now wasn't really the time to admit to it. He felt the cold tendrils of Voldemort's mind ooze over his, and shuddered. That was genuine – he didn't need to fake his horror.

Voldemort chuckled dryly. "And you think that when the barrier comes down, Hogwarts will be free." He nodded. "You are correct. It will be free. Free for the taking."

A few Death Eaters were quick enough off the mark to laugh – others needed an elbow in the ribs to get them up to speed.

"Yes, yes," the Dark Lord snapped. Harry sensed he wasn't the only one who had had a stressful few hours. "Soon. With its wards weakened by my temporal spell, Hogwarts will be ours in a matter of hours. You've done my work for me, Harry. I thank you."

Laughter. Harry gritted his teeth. He was rapidly going from terrified to annoyed by the fact that his enemies were a bunch of idiots who wouldn't know a decent joke if it walked into a bar with a horse and introduced itself.

"…And I shall need something to strike the final spike of fear into the hearts of those who might still be foolish enough to defy me. How about a head? A head to decorate my standard for my triumphant entrance! Yours should do nicely, Harry – after all, your capture _was_ the main point of today's exercise. Now… which spell shall we use to harvest it…?"

A blackbird in the chestnut tree suddenly rose, clattering an alarm call.

Voldemort bared his teeth and swung his head around to see what the threat was.

The Aurors were busy with _something_ at the very least – Harry couldn't doubt Voldemort's surety of that – and Draco was Merlin knew where. The wand was off him for half a second: that was all the chance he could hope for.

Harry twisted free and, as Voldemort lifted his wand to hex him, threw the first bottle that came to hand. Voldemort had been expecting something more and whispered a spell that caused the protective barrier to widen. He was laughing.

His laughter vanished; his smile twisted into a grimace in the next moment.

The bottle smashed on the invisible armour and let out a terrible smell of something along the lines of fermenting skunk doused with vomit – or so Harry imagined, because he hadn't dreamed anything could ever, ever smell so _bad_. The barest traces tingled in Harry's nostrils – Harry had been holding his breath in case the bottle contained poison – but it was enough to make his stomach lurch. Instead of pain, his scar jolted with Voldemort's outrage.

_You… you disgusting… you foul WRETCH!_

Like their master, the Death Eaters hadn't had that happy idea of holding their noses. Wormtail, who'd insinuated himself at his master's elbow, went down on his knees, retching like he was at the end of a pub crawl. It looked particularly nasty coming through the holes in his mask. He wasn't the only one throwing up. Harry was going to be sick himself just from the sight.

Voldemort reeled back with his hand over his mouth and nose. He kicked at Wormtail and nearly skidded over in the vomit. His pale face was tinged with green. It looked almost Christmas-y with his red eyes.

All this mightn't have aided Harry's escape – there were plenty of Death Eaters out of range of the stink, like a highly annoyed Lucius Malfoy still holding his bloodied nose – but the miracle he needed occurred.

In the best tradition of classical miracles, it was heralded by the sound of thunder. The storm still mulling things over off to the north couldn't have made the noise – _this_ sounded like every cloud had collided at once, splitting the sky.

Harry looked around, as did Voldemort and all but those Death Eaters still too busy gagging over their last meal. Across the stream, the blackbird flew out from the tree and away as fast as its wings could carry it, followed by several sparrows and a pair of thrushes, winging their way east as if their lives depended on it.

The noise had come from the west. Hogwarts? Had Elmsworthy finally blown up the castle, or had the barrier somehow eaten away some crucial ward of Hogwarts and left a giant pile of rubble entombing everyone sleeping inside the castle?

Upwind from the stink, Simon bobbed his head and snorted.

The rocking thunder ebbed away to the east, leaving a rushing, rumbling in its wake. To the west and above, the clouds coiled in on themselves and lifted as if they were too frightened to come this close to the ground and disaster, leaving behind them swathes of mist and rain. It was the first time Harry had been able to see so far across the countryside he'd been riding.

Far up the valley towards the north west, to the right and not too far along the downhill road from where Harry had found the paddock with the cows and the dead farmer, he could make out the dim huddle of farm houses. If he'd known he was so close to people he would have gone looking for them after breaking the spell on the barrier tree. Faint through the thin rain and distance could be heard the terrified barks and howls of dogs. And the trees and hedges over where the thunder had come from now trembled and bowed as if a massive, invisible hand brushed over them, a hand sweeping towards the small knot of black-clad figures, leaving little crackling ribbons of energy where it touched warded gates and fences; the sheep across the valley milling in fear then being bowled over by the force of what was approaching; a hedge ripped up by the roots in a long sinewy twist of green ribbon ploughing into the distant group of farm houses…

"My Lord…" The voice was muffled behind a hand holding a nose shut.

Voldemort raised his hand for silence. His own nostrils had pinched themselves closed. His expression was taught with – could it be? – fear. He opened his mouth to speak, and –

A great wind hammered into them. Robes and hair streamed. Twigs and pebbles flew like tiny wasps. Harry dropped to his knees again and squeezed his eyes closed: as grit peppered his skin, he'd never been so grateful for his glasses before. He felt the wind scream through his hair and ears and dig into his skin with an unnatural hunger as it scoured the magic from every inch of exposed skin. People screamed as gravel sprayed them, and then screamed louder as the magic was ripped out of them.

With his hands cupped around his face, Harry opened his eyes again. They widened as they saw the last fragments of the magical ring around his finger unravel and blow away. _What the hell is going on here?_ he thought. _And how am I going to contact Draco now?_

In light the colours of curses and hexes, charms and jinxes – all the colours of spellcraft Harry had ever seen – magic spun from wands and unspun from wizards and witches and was whipped away by the wind.

A witch with a bracelet curling around her wrist shrieked and clawed at it as the metal smoked and the protective charms crackled and broke. Wormtail writhed on the ground as his hand spasmed. Masks and Death Eater robes burst into flames that burned and did not consume, and blew away in sooty rivers. With a yelp, Lucius was picked up by a gust and flung down the slope in a flurry of robes and pale hair. One particularly tall man clawed at his mask as magic ripped from behind it, and Harry was shocked to recognise the ravaged face of Travers, a man he'd last seen as a boy at breakfast twenty-one years ago. Now he wore an eye-patch which had ribbons of purple and green magic ripping from it, blown away on the wind, and the man staggered and threw back his head and howled with pain.

Voldemort was an exploding galaxy as his protective charms fought back against the tempest, and the anti-Vivicus potion swarmed across his skin in clinging ripples of silver.

Silver shoes flashed as Simon pranced. Red streamed from his mane and tail. Spells coiled in his chest and foreleg and flared bright, bright argent from the shoes. Graphite and yellow lines streamed across black hide and the horse seemed to dance against the grey sky. The spell in his chest began to spin faster.

Voldemort shrieked and stumbled to his knees, and the clouds of magic that billowed out from him were ink glittering through with dark stars; his hands scrabbling and clutching at his skull in an agony Harry felt echoing through his scar. Deep in his veins could be seen tarnished silver, and something in Harry recognised it and

_there was the sudden hard focus of roots readying itself for the inexorable breaking of stone._

Voldemort clenched one hand and several Death Eaters screamed, clutching their arms – Harry felt the Dark Lord's sapping all the magic he could get from his supporters, and even Simon squealed, echoing the agony Harry felt through his scar, and the horse thrashed its head and ripped the leadrope from the man holding it.

Simon might have run then, but he was hemmed in by Death Eaters. He curved back towards Harry as if Harry could make sense of chaos. Harry reached up and took the leadrope and Simon dragged him to his feet.

The gale roared through the trees. Would it ever end? It kept ripping away magic, the Death Eaters collapsing where they stood, unable to Disapparate, until only Harry, who was sheltering in the lee of Simon, was the one left standing on two legs.

Was all magic being drained from them?

No, Harry realised: the wind was only snatching superficial magics away from them. While his skin felt like it was being sandpapered, the deeper thrum of magic he'd always felt in his bones was resonating like a struck bell, but it was staying firmly anchored. The angry pulsing ache in Harry's scar peaked and then faded and Harry was astonished to see what looked like smoke swirl from a point just above his eyes.

Finally the gale ebbed and Harry felt Voldemort's rage and remaining power surge back in an answering wave, the anger like a raw wound where his scar should be as the Dark Lord gathered in strength from his followers and focussed it into his fear and loathing of Harry Potter.

Voldemort picked himself up. He turned to face Harry and bared his teeth. _Stay. You will not move._

For a moment, Harry froze, caught in the mad, red eyes; Voldemort's words congealing in his mind. His wand – he should get his –

Lucius had rolled down the slope. There was no way Harry would be able to get to his wand in time. A bottle could –

"Hold him fast," hissed Voldemort, his white hands shaking.

A burly figure snatched at Harry's cloak.

Simon snapped at him. The Death Eater yelped and flung himself backwards.

"Fool!" snapped Voldemort.

Others were getting to their feet, shaking their heads, lifting their wands, lengths of wood gleaming as a gust of wind brought successive waves of warm then cold then warm rain…

Another Death Eater tried his luck – this one was smart enough to grab at Harry from the opposite side to Simon.

Harry kicked out, catching the man in the knee, then tried to swing up onto Simon's back. He missed as the horse skittered sideways.

"Stop him!" shouted the Dark Lord. He seemed to have dropped his wand, Harry realised. Maybe Simon would stand on it…

A hot spell whistled over his head and Simon bucked in terror as it crisped a lock of his mane. The yellow and graphite lines under his skin suddenly sparked to new life, feeding out of the spinning charm in his chest, and making the horse appear brittle; hollow; a thing of paper.

Mental fingers crossed Simon hadn't been hexed or that weird charm in his chest hadn't been damaged by the gale enough to make him disappear, Harry held tight to the leadrope and Simon spun around him in a circle. A few of the Death Eaters still on the ground were unlucky enough to have a hoof land on them – Simon was too distracted to properly worry about his footing, but Harry took every howl of pain from a Death Eater as justice, especially when it happened to be Bellatrix LeStrange's wand hand crushed underhoof.

He stuck his foot in the stirrup and this time made it into the saddle. He yanked hard on the leadrope to stop Simon running down the slope – there was no way the horse could jump that stream and they'd be cornered between the bridge and the trees.

Simon shook his head, pigbucked, and kicked out at another Death Eater in fright, and Harry fell, landing on an anonymous Death Eater, and nearly lost his hold on the leadrope.

Only the horse's white-rimmed eyes rolling back towards in the west in terror warned Harry in time: he picked himself up off the road and clung tight to the halter, giving the Death Eater a kick for good luck.

There was the hiss of gravel and leaves and the hedges bent…

The second battering gale smashed across the land and there was the sound of groans and snaps from the chestnut trees as branches weakened by the first gale bent and broke. A bough ripped free and swung, falling with a rustling crash over Lucius, who was already cursing as he crawled his way back to the road. His voice cut off. Simon was pushed sideways and his shoes skated on the road. The magic crawling under his skin ruffled in grey and yellow waves like the surface of a stormy lake. Any Death Eaters who'd regained their feet were bowled over – only Harry was left standing, and that was simply because he was hanging onto the terrified Simon.

The gale passed, and the wind died back to its former, unmagical level, tossing Simon's mane and sprinkling the road with a wave of rain.

Harry realised three things at once: his wand was out of reach; Voldemort was already picking himself up and _this_ time he had his wand in his hand along with the type of murderous expression on his face that meant he wouldn't be playing time-wasting games to give the Aurors time to arrive; and thirdly that there was no way he'd be able to hold Simon for more than two seconds maximum.

The red of Stun residue streaming from the black mane and tail, the spell in its chest glowing along with one stuck high in the inside of its foreleg, the horse was already swinging away, ears back and eyes rolling so the whites showed, muscles bunching as Simon launched himself from a standing start into a gallop, but Harry used every ounce of strength in his arms and dragged himself up onto Simon's back, fingers skidding on the rain-slick saddle before grappling for a better hold and tangling in the black mane.

"Go, Simon! Go!" he shouted, leaning along the horse's neck. He kicked the horse hard, but it wasn't really necessary; it was only his hands in Simon's mane that kept him aboard the horse because he didn't have his feet in the stirrups and he was very nearly left behind as Simon accelerated, a racehorse in the race of his life.

Simon parted the squealing, shrieking, cursing Death Eaters like straggly rows of corn and bounded over the bridge in awkward, leggy horror, shoes skidding on the slick stone. On the far side he regained some control of his hooves.

The horse flicked its tail, laid back its ears, and flew down the road like a cannonball.

ooOOoo

A/N: BSM = butyl seleno-mercaptan. Look it up. Just don't try buying it on eBay. They might send it to you.

ooOOoo


	93. Chapter 93

Disclaimer: No money is being made from this (alas). Characters and everything recognisably Hoggy or Warty belongs to J K Rowling.

Chapter 93

Simon tore down the road, neck stretched out and legs reaching for every last iota of speed they could find. The hooves hitting the ground resonated through the horse's body, transmitting to Harry as he clung to the saddle and tried not to collapse. His cheek was throbbing in earnest now, another distraction he didn't need, but it was nothing compared to the pain in his scar, which was now back up to pre-gale sensitivity.

Somewhere behind him, Voldemort was enraged.

And still very much alive.

Harry had thrown the anti-Voldie potion at him and he'd survived. He'd thrown stink-potion at him and he hadn't thrown up. Truly, he was not human.

Maybe if Draco and the second bottle of anti-Voldie potion came back they could try again, but while Draco had already destroyed the barrier-sustaining spells on the southern tree, flying down to attack Voldemort wasn't something Harry could expect from him – Draco wasn't one for a face-to-face attack. If only they –

Simon stumbled.

Harry yanked on the leadrope in an effort to keep Simon's head up, not that it was necessary, but he felt the need to do something, to let Simon know that there was someone with him, that Harry wasn't letting Simon face this alone. Simon snorted, surprised as he slowed to a choppy trot; distressed that his own body had betrayed him. The grey and yellow lines of magic radiating out from the charm in Simon's chest flickered stronger. And Harry's heart sank: Simon wasn't just scared of what was behind them now, he was frightened of something much more central to his sense of self – his ability to run. The fear seemed to be setting off that defensive charm, but the magic had been altered enough to give unpredictable results. As Simon shook his head and tried to tear the leadrope out of Harry's hands, a splodge of yellow bloomed and died on Simon's neck, and in its brief heart could be seen a darkness that went beyond the jet coat and delved into nothingness.

Stephanie's words came back to him – _that's the price of breaking the barrier – you must lose Simon_.

What if that mysterious gale had come from the barrier falling? And the magic had done something to Simon? Was that what Stephanie had meant – that the charm in Simon's chest would be altered?

Altered enough to harm the horse?

Death Eaters and Dementors were one thing, but surely Stephanie would have been clearer if Simon's life was endangered by the barrier.

Harry took the pause as a chance to retrieve the reins, which had ridden up Simon's neck. He tried to keep a steady grip on them as he urged the horse back into a gallop. "Come on, Simon, you can do it," he said as cheerfully as he could, but his voice sounded high and frightened and, like Simon's stumble had unnerved the horse, the sound of his voice unnerved Harry. He swallowed and tried again. "Let's get out of here and under cover… and we'll find you an animal Healer. Good boy, Simon."

Simon was still weaving slightly as he set off down the road again, and Harry tried to ride the horse as close as possible to the white lines down the centre of the road rather than risk tripping on something in the verge. The hard road would be worse for Simon's legs in the long term, but the important thing was to _have_ a long term.

Two, three strides later, and Simon was back more or less on an even keel, although there was still something slightly off about the rhythm, and the soundless percussion echoing up through his bony frame jarred. A few last rags of red magic flickering from his mane answered the question before it could be asked: the Stunning spells weren't totally banished. Harry would have cast _Finite incantatum_ if he'd had his wand, but his wand was back on the other side of the bridge, under a tree unless Lucius Malfoy had managed to extricate himself. (Which he probably had – the slithery bastard had wormed his way out of almost every other situation he'd embroiled himself in.)

A hex sizzled past him and exploded in the hedge with the smell of burning bacon. The hedge shrieked and a hole opened up.

Simon shied violently, rearing, trying to rip the reins out of Harry's hands, and plunged, bucking, when Harry, thinking the horse was going to jump over the opposite hedge, fought him for control. They reached a compromise in the next two seconds, sheltering out of sight of the Death Eaters behind a weeping willow that pushed out from a bend in the lane. Simon was still inclined to gallop but the hedges – already badly battered by the gale-force wind until they looked drunk – were lower on this side of the stream and the road curved back into view of anyone across the stream or standing on the bridge: they would be a running target and sooner or later a Death Eater worth Voldemort's trust would prove their worth by hexing horse and rider.

Something skimmed over their heads. Thinking it another curse, Harry ducked, then had to pull Simon around again to keep them behind the tree when Simon interpreted his rider leaning forward as a sign he was meant to go fast again. Cold, wet, waxy leaves clung to his face as Simon did his sideways rocking-horse impression and barged through the dangling willow fronds. Far away came a shriek of rage that sounded much like Bellatrix LeStrange, and Harry took heart from her hurt. Maybe Voldemort had chopped her hand off, he thought with mordant hope. Simon standing on it couldn't have been fun for her. Shame he hadn't trodden Voldemort into the dirt while he was at it.

"Give me half a minute then keep him going, Potter," sang out an invisible but familiar voice, its suddenness making Harry and Simon both jump.

Keeping the reins tight to stop Simon from charging off down the road again, Harry squinted up through the leaves and the raindrops dewing his lenses – then looked towards where he thought the voice had been heading and saw a ripple in the misty rain curving back around towards him, a ripple that looked very much like it could be caused by an invisible rider on an invisible broom.

"I'll try and… and slow them down," came Draco's voice as the ripple drew to a halt and hovered just beyond the drape of willow fronds. He sounded exhausted; his sentences choppy. "Take the next right at the crossroads – that's the road towards Hogsmeade and it's, it's only about a mile, maybe half a mile ahead of you. Go right and keep going, uh, going south as fast as you can. Tonks and, um, the Aurors got bogged down with another… another temporal spell – the Dark Lord experimenting again – don't ask – but they're digging themselves out now. Moody had to make sure a group of junior Death Eaters were rendered harmless. Sent me back to tell you they shouldn't be long. You just have to keep yourself ahead of You-know-who's lot, and they don't have – that is to say, they don't _seem_ to have brooms. They'll need to do sight-Apparition to keep up with, uh, Simon, and that's devilishly tricky."

"Wasn't Hogsmeade meant to be burning?"

"Funny, that. Tonks mentioned something about someone putting a… a spinach in the works. Whatever that means. But this is no time for talking Quidditch and Gobstones."

Harry nodded, keeping up his very tight rein on Simon as the horse shook its head. "Got some more of that Invisibility Potion?"

"You sure you want to try it? Simon already looks a little weird – was he hit by a Stun or something? He's all… yellowy… And what the hell is that spell in his foreleg meant to be?"

There was a brief flicker. Draco on his broom, worn pale and shadow-eyed, looking concerned, in then out of sight. He looked almost as bad as Harry felt.

"Yeah, two Stuns. But they've worn off." _I think._ "The yellow is from the charm in his chest, which is acting up, and Merlin knows what that spell in his foreleg is – _that_ one only just showed up," Harry told him quickly, as impatient as Simon to be moving.

"The potion might –"

"Quick!" They'd be coming over the bridge and down the lane and then as soon as they saw Harry they'd be Apparating to his position.

"Come out from the tree. I'm not risking getting my broom tangled."

Harry tried to ride Simon out from the leaves. The horse, contrary creature that it was, decided it didn't want to run after all and turned so its head was back under the tree. Harry twisted his head around and saw Draco flicker again, still hovering a little way back.

"For Merlin's sake – you can't miss putting potion onto something the size of a horse's arse! Hurry _up_, Malfoy…"

The potion was wearing off, and, his action much like that of dinosaurs in early stop-motion flicks, Draco took out the bottle and dropped three drops onto Simon's rump and then another three on the back of his own hand. Draco vanished. After a slight pause while the magic seemed to creak its way through a morass of yellow and graphite lines, the horse vanished from sight, along with Harry, too, Harry realised when he looked down at himself.

It seemed too easy. "Did it work?"

"Yeah," came Draco's disembodied voice. "Let's hope it doesn't affect the… the silencing charms on the shoes."

There was a distinctive movement under the saddle, one forefoot moving as it did when Simon was running out of patience and wanted to get moving. Never mind the potion – Harry was amazed the magical wind hadn't stripped the spells from the shoes; they could probably cope with anything if they'd stood up to _that._ "Feels like Simon's pawing the ground."

"Can't hear it," Draco said with satisfaction, then adding quickly, "Er… Was Travers at the bridge? He'd be the, um, the big chap in black with an eye-p –"

"Yeah. He was there, all right. But something happened to his eye-patch. There was this – this wind… like a magic storm… twice…"

"I noticed. Luckily I was up high, because I dropped a good hundred meters before the spells on my… my whatsit, my broom started working properly again. And then _again_. Second wave_._ What the hell was that? Third tree, you think?" Draco was gabbling and didn't wait for an answer. "But whatever it was, if it knocked out his eye-patch then that's all to the good. I think he can use it to see through the potion's effect."

Simon was definitely pawing at the ground now, bouncing Harry up and down. Harry had been hungry earlier by the bridge, but thanks to the pain in his scar, the stink-potion and the sight of Pettigrew throwing up through his mask, and now the bouncing, he was fast moving into nauseous territory. And he was exhausted. And his brain was having serious fuzzy problems with that whole thinking business. Which was probably why he made the mistake of upsetting Draco by saying: "Oh, and your dad was there."

Draco's disembodied voice said something quietly: it sounded like a word that would set an extra-stern McGonagall to washing his mouth out with soap. "Is he okay?" Draco asked hesitantly.

Deciding that he'd suffered from enough foot in mouth disease for one day, Harry didn't answer with the first thing that came to mind – 'unfortunately that falling tree didn't crush him to a bloody and well-deserved death' wouldn't help – but said, "Well enough to have stolen my wand, the bastard." Which was still loads nicer than his edited sentence.

"Oh. Well. I'll… I'll just go and see if I can distract everyone while you… you make your getaway. Just in case that eye-patch is working, wait for – for my signal before coming out from behind this tree."

"What's that going to be, then?"

"Er…"

Harry shook his head. "I guess I'll know the distraction when I hear it."

"You should."

Harry also knew a smirk when he heard one.

The misty drizzle curled in on itself in the manner of mist forming around the vacuum of someone suddenly zooming off on a broom.

Even without the wind blowing it into swirls, it probably would have been an uneven trail.

There were voices getting louder from down the road, blowing towards him in the wind; someone wondering if there was a trap being set for them… another, gruffer voice suggesting the first person investigate. There was a scream and a spike of pain in Harry's scar: Voldemort stepping in to stop the bickering and hurry up the hunt for Harry. Harry couldn't hear anyone's voice clearly enough to say it was one he recognised, but none of them were likely to be friendly. He kept the reins tight literally and his fingers crossed mentally, half his attention on what he imagined to be going on down the road, the rest on the agitated horse beneath him. Simon was not in favour of standing still, and was beginning to rear again – no major standing-on-his-hindlegs, but small bounces with his forelegs, swishing Harry through the clammy branches. Harry avoided them as best as he could, but they were dropping leaves down the back of his neck. He sighed. He really didn't want to wrestle the horse into obedience – Simon learned fast and if he got really upset with Harry he'd work out some way of getting rid of him – but if Draco didn't do something fast there would be –

_Pop. Pop._

Two robed and masked figures suddenly appeared next to the tree.

Simon tossed his head and snorted. Alerted by the noise, seeing the waving willow fronds, the Death Eaters turned and pointed their wands and –

BARRRADDDABOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!

The noise was massive.

The Death Eaters shrieked and threw themselves on the ground with their arms over their heads. There was no great gale this time, but the ground jerked and the willow shook its leaves and the water they held rained over Harry and Simon, small droplets seemingly hanging in mid-air to limn a horse and rider in condensation.

Simon rose onto his hind legs when Harry didn't release the reins fast enough for his satisfaction. One powerful shake of his head, and the reins, the leather slippery now with rain, slid between Harry's fingers. Harry ducked his head just in time as Simon's rear became a sideways leap, and instead of losing his glasses (and possibly his head) in the willow, only had the hood of his cloak snagged and wrenched against his already-bruised throat. He very nearly lost his last meal. But then they were out and past the two huddled Death Eaters without touching them and galloping along the road, around the bend, galloping further and further from the bridge, and then there was a _smack_ and Simon made a small noise of surprise and clipped a forefoot with a hindfoot as he lost his stride.

_Bang._

Smack.

Thump-rattle-rattle.

Chunk.

Pitter-patter-pitter.

It was raining stone. Hard rattles of it on the road, softer thumps as it landed in the verge in the grass or on bare earth.

Harry kept his head down over Simon's neck, hunching his shoulders, hoping that the Stun had worn off enough by now for the horse to take care of the terrain, praying no piece of stone fell hard enough to stun the horse by more physical means. (Or stun Harry, because he didn't need any more help with being stupid today, not when he could have asked Draco to use his wand to remove the last traces of the Stupefy spell.)

The stone stopped falling, but there was still an odd metallic noise moving along with them.

Harry looked back: the road had curved around towards the south and was now going uphill (Simon beginning to puff with the effort) and up at the top of the hill he reined Simon in. Here, the road turned back towards what should be the rising sun and there was a good view of the bridge down to the north-west.

Or a good view of where the bridge had been.

Now there was a less-than-scenic pile of rubble blocking the stream. The chestnut trees which had formed a gentle shelter by the stream were leaning like they'd been hitting the firewhisky hard; great pale gashes where leaves and boughs had been.

Simon wanted to get going, but Harry was determined to see what Voldemort was going to do next while he still had the concealment of the potion.

"Whoa, Simon. Just for a moment. Take a look at that, boy. Draco really came through with that distraction…"

Death Eaters were staggering around the ruins, many with hands still over their ears. Voldemort – _I don't believe it. He survived _that_?!_ – was a gleaming pillar of magic across the stream. His baffled rage echoed in Harry's scar. Harry wanted very much to rub his scar, but didn't dare take one hand off the reins, which were vibrating as Simon champed at the bit. Even though Voldemort was perfectly capable of Apparating, it was a relief to have water between himself and the Dark Lord.

Voldemort lifted his hands. From the distance it was impossible to see if he had his wand, but the smoky magic coiling up around him was unmistakable.

Struggling, arms waving and legs kicking, the Death Eaters were lifted into the air. Some stayed where they lay; Harry supposed they were too injured to be of immediate use.

Voldemort brought his pale hands together and then he, too, rose, floating without a broom, and slowly but surely the black-clad group drifted across the stream, landing gently and in an eerie silence on the other side.

Harry's side.

Oh, shit, thought Harry as his heart sank, and felt his scar spike again. He winced and pulled on the reins and Simon pranced, unsure of his rider.

Voldemort turned his face towards him and for a second Harry thought the Invisibility Potion had worn off. He looked down at his hands and realised it hadn't. Voldemort had found him through his scar.

Again.

Instead of swearing, Harry thought of blue skies and fluffy clouds. He thought of the angle of a Wronski Feint, and imagined himself going through each step… the tiniest detail meant the difference between success and crippling failure, and Harry had to put himself into each and every motion…

The anger pushed harder. It reminded him of all the times people had fouled him in Quidditch, the times referees had made bad decisions...

Harry thought of Luna's hand in his. Her lips – soft. He remembered another time in the rain when she kissed him and –

Voldemort was standing down there by the destroyed bridge, but his presence in Harry's mind was diminished, recoiling like Voldemort had recoiled from the stinky potion; only tendrils of frustration remaining behind, cautiously seeking out the cracks in Harry's mind.

Harry thought of unicorns. He thought of their glow. Their near-silent grace. The way they came out like stars at night to guide lost travellers and offer the comfort of the infinite. Was it some sort of connection he'd subconsciously made between them and Luna? He couldn't really say. But the thought of them running alongside him as he rode Simon through the Forest was a peaceful one, like finding a waterfall to meditate by or sitting in silence with Luna and watching the stars come out.

There was an odd shift behind his scar. Voldemort wasn't gone, but he had been driven back.

Probably the best he'd get today, Harry decided.

Down by the bridge, Voldemort held his hands out, palms open. Anyone else would have looked like a man come to humbly petition the sky.

The darkness wrapping itself around him in sinuous waves spiralled up from his hands and speared into the clouds. They shuddered and darkened.

As if the dark magic had hit him rather than the clouds, Harry sucked in a quick, shocked breath. His hands relaxed the reins before his conscious mind had even thought about getting moving again. Simon, like Harry's hands, was wise enough to know when to make a quick exit and needed no further permission than this. He set off at a brisk trot along the road with an even stride that showed the last of the Stunner had worn off. When he sped up into a slow, purposeful gallop, Harry didn't even try to slow him. He would have urged the horse faster, but he didn't know how far they had to go and Simon's sprint was best saved for emergencies.

All he knew, as the ruddy clouds flowing overhead began to darken, was that this was far from over.

ooOOoo

_Chank. Chank. Chank. Chank._

The clouds were almost black now and the rain was too warm to be Scottish. The darkness was spreading out from behind Harry, annexing the sky in soft billowing waves or quick darting assaults like poison from a wound. Harry didn't fool himself that he didn't know its source. He could feel the power behind it pushing away at his scar, always there, always seeking a way in, finding a new worry to exploit.

_Chank. Chank. Chink._

Harry thought of the way he had to move his shoulders _just so_ right before he pulled out of the Feint.

He thought of Luna.

He thought of unicorns.

He thought of figs, and surprised himself into a smile.

_Chock. Chunk. Chank. Chank._

He thought of that bloody shoe…

_Harry… Haaarrryyyy…_

He thought of Luna kissing him again. That helped. Then a bolt of darkness unfurled across the sky in a banner proclaiming the might of his enemy, and Harry thought of red eyes and malice. He forced himself to concentrate on Luna – on Ron and Hermione, on Sirius, on Dumbledore and Flitwick and McGonagall and Remus all waiting for him to come back…

_Chank. Chack. Chink._

… He thought of that bloody loose shoe. It must have been when the rocks were raining down all around them – Simon had tripped, kicking a front hoof with a back hoof – because it was during that gallop along the road that the silent running had become less than so.

_Harry… I'm with you, Harry… with you until the end…_

Fuck off, Voldemort, Harry thought crossly, and steered Simon around a fallen tree. Simon could have jumped it easily, but it was bad enough galloping the horse on the hard tarmac without leaping hurdles on the way. It also gave Harry the satisfaction of knowing he had some control over events.

Laughter on the edge of the world. Harry heard it in his mind instead of his ears because Voldemort was feeling playful: the illusion of laughter was only for Harry, yet it seemed to be following the path of a new seam of black opening up in silence across the sky and poisoning the clouds; more sooty darkness flowing out from it with all the deceptive softness of a tidal wave before it senses land. The crack in the sky– a jet zig-zag – was the same symbol as what Harry saw reversed every morning in his mirror.

Harry didn't have any illusions about coincidence.

_Chink-chock-chip-clock._ Simon trotted around the tree then broke into a canter again.

Simon's shoe was _probably_ a coincidence. They really should have checked those nails before they left, but the shoe might have held up if Simon hadn't been startled into tripping himself up by rocks dropping on his head.

Was this the nail of Elmsworthy's rhyme? The one which when lost damned the kingdom?

Harry reminded himself that the odds of Elmsworthy being psychic were remote. But what if the Slytherin had sensed something while under the clumsy Obliviate? What if –

More laughter. It tingled down his spine. _Fear is truth, Harry. Embrace it._

"Fuck OFF, Voldemort!" Harry gritted out, making the invisible Simon _(shluk!)_ miss a stride. Harry could imagine the horse twitching an ear backwards. "Sorry, boy. Nothing to do with you." And it was stupidity itself to speak Voldemort's name when you were trying to hide from his minions. Probably exactly what Voldemort was trying to goad Harry into.

_Chack. Chink. Chank. Chink._

… Of course a loose shoe could hamper your sneakiness when it meant the silencing charms on it were broken.

Harry considered stopping and trying to stick the shoe on tighter with an adhesive spell. It mightn't be what was needed to salvage the silencing charm, but it would protect Simon's hoof. According to Luna Simon wouldn't get very far trying to gallop unshod on a road. Merlin only knew how wild horses coped, because it was a minor miracle the domestic variety ever managed to trot across a paddock without keeling over from splints, stone-bruises or acute bacterial gastroenteritis. He squinted ahead, hoping to have some tree to hide under while he was dismounted. Best to be undercover in case the potion wore off just as a Death Eater passed overhead. There was a small copse up ahead, nice and lush, but unluckily it was on the other side of the hedge. It was a shame Harry couldn't see over the hedge, but this was rather a tall one, considerably higher than his head even if he were standing on Simon's back.

Hello. What was that?

Harry stuck his toes down and stood up in the stirrups, trying to get a sense of what that change in the hedgerows meant. Was it just another section battered by the magical hurricane, or –

"Yeouch!"

Sensing his sudden fascination with something down the road, Simon slowed to a trot, the shoe making a nasty skidding sound. The change in pace nearly collapsed Harry over the horse's neck. He made an awkward landing in the saddle and, hard on the heels of his relief he hadn't fallen off Simon (or landed in the saddle in that eye-wateringly painful way Sirius had managed) came the even greater relief that Draco hadn't seen that truly dire piece of horsemanship.

"Sorry, boy. But it's all right," whispered Harry. Horses didn't like their riders staring at things: it meant that that thing held something that was a dangerous thing. Like Fluffy. Simon had already had a long, trying day involving three-headed dogs, centaurs, Stunning spells, and exploding bridges. Not to mention meeting Voldemort.

Poor old Simon. Poor old Harry, come to that.

Harry reached down to where he thought the neck was and gave it a reassuring pat when he found it. "Nothing dangerous. We're only coming up to the crossroads."

It was very dark now – Voldemort's uncanny midnight spell had eaten up any hint of the rising sun, but the unicorn blood on his eyes was still working well enough to let him see obstacles, although his depth perception wasn't quite so good now. Harry turned his head from side to side, trying to get an idea of how far away the crossroads was. Quite close. A hundred yards or so, past some straggly adolescent willows and – hang on… Harry thought – what was this?

Behind a wide gate set between old stone posts that might have been erected at the same time as Hogwarts was a row of stone houses. They had been shielded by the trees as well as the angle Harry was riding along relative to the high hedge, but at this point they rose over the battered hedgerow, windows overlooking the road blind with determination not to see what might slide past them on the outside road. They were more like cottages, really, he decided: two-storied, heavy-walled, small-windowed cottages, four of them built joining each other to save on walls. The gate was barred and chained shut and a rutted dirt driveway led from it past the cottages and down the hill to what Harry thought might be a main house, but nobody was stirring on the other side of the gate. He'd have thought farmers would be up and about by now – he'd already seen the cows were up – or some chickens or ducks wandering around the place, but other than a faint growl-whine from a frightened dog that had heard the loose shoe and smelled a horse and strange human on the spell-tainted wind, its blinking eyes twinkling silver in the assumed safety of its dark kennel some way down the drive, there was nothing.

Creepy.

He halted Simon. Simon seemed very interested in what was down the driveway – Harry was looking down there so it had to be important – but disinclined to set a hoof off the road.

No cars. No tractors. No sign of modern machinery. A wizard farm?

Could Harry get help from someone here?

Anyone?

Where was everyone?

Dead like the farmer down the cliff? Or so scared they wouldn't pull their curtains back in case something nasty came their way?

Harry flinched and looked up as another wave of darkness passed overhead in velvety ripples across the clouds. Whatever spell Voldemort had used had already blotted out any hopes the rising sun might have had of finally shedding some light on the day. Somewhere off to the north, thunder rumbled. It was too far away to be connected to Voldemort, but its timing was impeccable. All that was needed now was Voldemort Apparating in and declaring that he was, in fact, a vampire, and needed Harry's blood. (Again.) Another dark wave pulsed overhead and Harry shivered. The power or skill needed for such a spell was both awesome and awful.

But, Harry guessed in a brief moment of clear thinking as the clouds in his own mind parted for a second, that was the point. Voldemort was trying to use psychology on him.

He snorted. Thank Merlin there was no Harry Mutterer book.

Perversely amused by this notion, he peered down the driveway and up into the windows. Perhaps some of the inhabitants were already out early. Harry didn't have a clue where Death Eaters lived when they weren't at Malfoy Manor or out making bloody nuisances of themselves. Some of them – that man who'd held Simon, for instance – had hints of northern or Scottish accents and might live around here.

Harry could go and knock on the door and be turned over quick as a wink to Voldemort by some Death Eater's mum – or he might be given shelter just long enough for Voldemort to come along and burn the house to the ground along with the entire family who'd dared to aid the Boy Who Lived.

There was a faint noise from the road behind him. It wasn't anything loud enough to startle Simon, but Harry turned to see three cloaked and masked figures standing by the fallen tree far back down the road. To unicorn-sight they fluttered with darkness.

Harry watched them, feeling the weight shift beneath him, that particular twist of shoulder and creak of saddle that let him know Simon had bent his neck around to see.

The figures disappeared.

The saddle rocked – Simon putting his head up and down. There were still some aspects of Wizarding life the horse wasn't used to.

Harry realised his heart was racing again. There was a twinge in his scar – the first sting of the dentist's drill. He thought of unicorns and Luna – it was a reflex action now to throw their twined image between himself and evil. Hard on the heels of that, hiding behind the light, came the darker worry over all the people waiting in Hogsmeade. He thought of Hogwarts, and his heart began to speed up again from the possibility of never seeing it again.

He looked up at the dark windows and squinted. There were hints – nothing more than hints even to eyes augmented by unicorn blood – hints of life behind those obsidian panes, life like a snail sheltering in its shell hoping the thrush wouldn't come and knock on its door.

There was no place for him here.

He took a deep breath. The Death Eaters hadn't seen him – the potion was still working and even if Simon had moved they wouldn't have been near enough to hear that shoe over the wind blowing across the battered hedges. They must have been checking out the area on general principle – that was a hopeful sign. Maybe that would give Harry some precious time.

Time he was wasting sitting here.

Harry rode past the houses and didn't look back. The dark windows seemed to be staring after him. He ignored the tickling feeling between his shoulder-blades and trotted Simon along the verge to muffle the loose shoe.

Not far to Hogsmeade now… try as he might, Harry couldn't think of another place he should be going. Moody would have things under control, surely, and if Voldemort was so busy combing the countryside looking for Harry and preparing to invade Hogwarts, Hogsmeade might be a very good place to hide and recover – and with a bit of luck the recovery would involve his foggy brain.

Coming up to the crossroads, Simon picked up on Harry's excitement and put a bit of bounce into his stride, the tall summer grass admonishing them _shush-shush-shush! _as his long legs swung and parted it. The unripe seed-heads of rye-grass bounced off his knees and canon bones and Harry had a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach, because he was starting to enjoy himself…

_Pop. Pop. Bang._

Three Death Eaters Apparated onto the road.

Simon balked at the tree cloaked figures who had appeared almost in front of his nose, and skittered across the road. The Death Eaters turned at the swish of grass as the horse leaped, and then at the sound of the loose shoe they lifted their wands and one flicked and –

BOOM!

A flash of white light hit the hedge Harry had just been riding along and burned a hole into it.

"Idiot!" a large wizard snarled at a thinner one who looked like he'd been left out to dry in the sun for several years. "Alive! We need him alive!" He slashed his wand at the road behind him and a wall of fire lit and roared across the road.

Simon reared, panicking at the flames, and tried to bolt back the way they'd come. The shoe hit the road, clattered, and then suddenly became visible as it spun across the road spitting flecks of dying magic and disappeared into the verge. Simon's naked hoof made an odd, thick clopping sound on the road.

_"Revelo!"_ a high, nervous female voice snapped.

It was a good guess on her part and bad luck on Harry and Simon's. The spell hit Simon broadside and radiated crackling across his ribs in a cascade of competing yellow and purple magics, burning along backbone, up neck, and down long legs.

Harry looked down. He could see Simon, the lines of yellow and graphite magic rippling in waves through his mane and sending minute sparks off the tips of his ears and eyelashes, and he could make out his own hands. They flickered for a second and there was a nasty moment when he saw all the bones, then they became visibly solid. Not good. His hood was up and he tried to keep his face covered. It might get him some time…

The Death Eaters seemed almost certain he was the one they were looking for, but there was still some hesitation.

And they weren't allowed to kill him.

Harry could use that.

He reined Simon around in a tight circle. Could he run them down?

Maybe, but he couldn't jump the fire. Simon was terrified by it. The yellow lines crackled faster over the jet hide as the horse rolled its eyes at the leaping orange and red flames lighting up the artificial night. Standing before the flames, the Death Eaters cast thick, black, unnatural shadows against the silver of unicorn sight.

Simon trotted jerkily across the road, tossing his head up and down and snorting. Harry knew they couldn't run now. He reached into his pocket for the last bottle, but Simon was tugging on the reins, wanting to turn tail and bolt back down the road, and Harry's fingers were stiff from so many hours of keeping Simon on a tight rein, and clumsily kept missing the bottle… Harry's hood slipped back…

There was a sharp sniff from the witch. "It's him," she hissed with sudden eagerness. "Potter."

The two wizards had already come to this conclusion. "Alive," the burlier Death Eater growled. Harry could see through the mask to a familiar face – Macnair, the man who'd once come to Hogwarts to kill Buckbeak. He smiled the hungry smile of someone who has only one use for animals. "Aim for the horse. _Incarcerous."_

Thick ropes of magic snaked out from his wand.

_"Protego!" _an unexpected (but, to Harry's mind, welcome) voice from on high shouted, and the ropes bounced away and dissolved into the oily blackness of the road, hissing like acid on metal.

The thin wizard swore, showing wide gaps between his remaining teeth, and threw a cluster-spell up into the sky where it burst like a skyrocket into nasty stinging hexes.

Most crackled and sparkled harmlessly in the tiny raindrops billowing down from the blackened sky. But a few hit their intended target. There was a yelp that sounded like it came from a certain blond Slytherin (Simon flicked his ears and nickered unhappily), and flames flickered from broom bristles.

The thin wizard cackled with bitter triumph and threw a volley of curses after the smoking sparks of the broom, and the invisible rider zoomed away up into the poisoned sky with a series of purple and orange hexes sputtering after him.

The inky clouds swallowed them.

Harry didn't have time to hope Draco wouldn't be eaten alive by whatever magic Voldemort had set into the clouds. His fingers had finally closed around the bottle.

He swung Simon around as he slid it free from his pocket. His mind must have registered the fact that it was a dropper bottle at some point, because instead of throwing it like a potion-bomb, some impulse took him and made him pop the stopper with his thumb and swing the bottle in a wide arc that encompassed the Death Eaters.

Drops flew with merry little sparkles.

Landed.

Harry threw the bottle at the wizards in case it exploded on general Elmsworthy principle.

The thin wizard shrank back like an offended cat as the bottle bounced off his arm. "Ick," he said. He frowned. Instead of hexing Harry, he complained, "You little bugger, Potter. That's going to come up in a nasty bruise tomorrow."

Macnair shook drops of potion off his hand, lifted his wand and said, _"Cru…"_ He broke off mid curse. Harry, who had flinched back in anticipation of being hit with some serious pain, opened his eyes just in time to see Macnair's wand hand drop to his side.

The witch sniffed and looked around. "What in Merlin's name…?"

"Did you see that?" the older Death Eater complained. "He hit me with the bottle. Honestly, there's no manners in youth of today."

Macnair tsked sympathetically. Then snorted. "But… hit with a bottle? That's kind of…"

There was a moment when the three went very still and frowns crossed their faces.

Even Simon was stumped by this sudden drop in hostilities. His weight shifted forwards and backwards on stiff, surprised legs. Harry felt like he was sitting on top of a platform set on long bamboo poles. Wandless, potionless, he could do nothing but watch as the expressions behind the patchy cloudiness of the masks shifted from angry to puzzled to dazed and back to intent. But this new focus had none of the prior 'must incapacitate Potter and deliver him to our evil overlord' urgency.

Macnair sniggered, and looked down at his chest. "Hello. What's all this, then?"

"Oo – look at the pretty flower!" the thin wizard exclaimed, annoyance at Harry for hitting him with a bottle gone.

Harry had been expecting them to turn into fish and flop on the road. At the back of his mind he had had the vague notion that he could throw them into a pond or something and let them live out their fishy lives until the potion wore off. He _wasn't _expecting anything like what happened when the drops blossomed into big fat daisies that absorbed themselves into the Death Eaters, leaving patterns of petals on hands and robes and, here and there, the occasional flower sitting like a brooch jauntily pinned to the black robes.

The witch tilted her head. She gave a puzzled sniff.

Simon twitched his nostrils and gave one of his rolling 'what-the-hell-is-this? snorts. He seemed to be able to smell the potion. Harry gave a cautious sniff. Something smelt like… could that be candyfloss? It smelt exactly like pink would smell should a colour have a scent.

"Tee-hee-hee!" tittered the woman. She sniffed again. "The horse likes me!"

Macnair sniggered. "You trying to open communications with a horse, Stains?" he asked the woman.

The woman sniffed again. When Simon gave her and the two men a doubtful look, she gave another giggle. "Hee-hee. Potter's got a big bruise on his face."

Well, Harry could see why a Death Eater might think that was funny. They weren't his fanbase, after all. But that didn't explain the witch saying, "Hey – bet I can hit it!" and flicking her wand at him.

Faster than he could dodge, a tiny spark of a spell hit him just below the eye.

Simon shied, and in the second it took for Harry to get him under control again, he realised he wasn't dead. Nor was he in pain. The throbbing in his cheek had gone numb. After a brief feeling of pins and needles, feeling came back. Harry lifted a hand and poked at his cheek where Voldemort had hit him. It felt exactly as it usually did.

The witch had healed him. Should he thank her? He didn't want to. She might change her mind and hex him with boils.

But she was distracted by the next thing to catch her eye. Which was a rock. _ "Sniff!_ That rock looks really rock-like. Just like a, a, er, a rock! And look at the – _snurfl! _– grass. It's green!"

"So it is!" The thin wizard giggled. "Green! Green as grass! Ha-ha!"

The witch stabbed her finger at Harry. Simon gave the finger a suspicious glare, as if it could go off at any moment. He really hadn't liked her sending a spell at Harry, even though it had (short-term) been to Harry's benefit. "Look at Potter! Close your mouth before you catch doxies, young man!"

Harry blinked and closed his mouth with an audible snap. Being taught manners by a Death Eater was even odder than being healed. As the Death Eaters began to chuckle at him, he imagined his own expression was something approximating Simon's, although without the ear-twitches.

The Death Eaters hadn't exploded. They hadn't dissolved. More importantly, they hadn't exploded or dissolved Harry and Simon.

Yet.

Macnair ran a hand across the back of his neck and frowned. "This…" he began, his frown that of a man desperately trying to remember where he'd left his house keys. He brushed at one of the daisies growing from his arm. His fingers went through the petals and a small jet of water went _pssht!_ out from the middle.

He laughed, sounding younger and carefree.

The other two joined in the fun, making water spit from their daisies, trying to squirt each other.

They seemed happily preoccupied. Harry was just about to ride Simon around them as quietly as possible when the witch started as if she'd just noticed him for the first time. She pointed her finger at him again. "Look! _Sniff! _Harry Potter is riding a horse!"

She giggled, and squirted Simon with her daisy.

Simon snorted and backed up, head high, chin tucked against his chest. The horse looked appalled. Being squirted by magical daisies was clearly beyond the bounds of what a dignified stallion was prepared to put up with.

Macnair bent over and slapped his knee. "Ha! Ha! Ha! Harry Potter riding a _horse!"_

"Oops, my daisy – _snrff! _– ran out of water." The witch pouted then grinned. "Hee-hee! No water! Get it? No _water!"_

Macnair was still on a roll with the joke of the century. "Harry… ha, ha! … Potter is …. Heh! … he's riding a… a horse…"

"Tee hee!" tittered the witch. "Harry Potter on a horse!" She gave a sudden loud guffaw that made Simon take another step backwards. "Look! It's a horse!"

The surprised horse was further ammunition for comedy, although by the sour wrinkle of the muzzle Simon was supremely unappreciative of this honour.

"You're right!" the thin wizard exclaimed. "He's on a horse! A horse, I tell you! And… and… and… the horse is… wait for it… it's _black!"_

This fact was screamingly funny for the other two.

_"Black!"_ howled the witch. Tears were streaming down her face. "Bellatrix used to be a Black! So did that stuck-up cow Narcissa! The horse is their sister!"

"Or brother!" hooted Macnair. "It could be a boy horse!"

"A boy horse is Lucius' brother-in-law! Ahahahahahaaa!" the thin wizard cackled. _"A boy horse!"_

"A… a… a _boy_ horse! _Sniff!_"

The three Death Eaters were staggering with laughter now. The possibility of Simon being male was finer comedic material than the connection between him and Bellatrix and Narcissa.

If horses could take points, the Death Eaters would have been out of the running for the House Cup of Evil.

Harry decided he'd seen enough. And Simon was getting annoyed. He'd never been a fan of silliness, even on one of his good days.

The third, thin, wizard pointed at the hedge. "Hey, look! There's a hole in the hedge! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

"Merlin's balls, you're right! It's a hole!" The witch had to sit down because she was laughing so hard. "Hey – hey – hey – guess what? No, _snorfle, _you'll never guess… _You_ put it there!"

"Circe on a broom! I did, didn't I?" The thin wizard collapsed next to her, howling with laughter. "Look! Look!" He pointed. "Look what Potter's doing now! That's the funniest thing I've ever seen!"

"Yes!" screamed Macnair. "He's _riding_ the _horse_ through the hole in the _hedge!_ Ha! Ha! Haaaa!"

The witch pounded the road with a fist. "Now he's getting away! Whoo-hoo-hoo! Gee-up, horsie! _Snrfff!_"

They were finding it hard to breathe. Harry looked back once as Simon stepped delicately over the shattered roots of the hedge.

"Hey… hey… hey… Macnair… guess what else?"

"What else?"

"The… the Dark Lord is going to kill us!" the thin wizard choked out between gasps.

This was even funnier than Harry on a horse. The Death Eaters collapsed against each other, whooping and howling with laughter.

Far down the gently sloping valley was a small stand of trees. It looked more inviting than anything else Harry could see at the moment, and, furthermore, was near a gate that might lead into another field running parallel to the road Harry was meant to be following. The Death Eater had done Harry a favour: Harry could go in the correct direction and not ride Simon on the road, which would have lamed Simon if they'd ridden down it for the whole distance to Hogsmeade without a shoe. He nudged Simon with his heels and Simon broke into his rolling canter, and the laughter died away with distance and the noise of the wind.

Harry decided that whatever Small Fish was, he liked it a lot.

He was far down the hill and just coming into the stretching shadows of the trees when his scar hurt.

He slowed Simon and looked back just in time to see a green flash.

Then another.

Simon shook his mane uneasily and pawed the turf. It was as if the horse sensed what that light meant.

A third green flash.

Harry swallowed. His throat felt dry and somewhat tight. They were Death Eaters. They would have happily killed him. Nevertheless, Harry regretted their deaths.

ooOOoo


	94. Chapter 94

Disclaimer: not only do I not make any money off this, I don't even own the characters. That'll be JK Rowling. Characters will be dusted off and returned to the legal owner soon, most of them in good condition, no spindling or folding involved (may be slightly foxed, especially if we have a post-Horse party).

A/N: Off on holiday so no more updates until I get home and have Internet access again (chance would be a fine thing in NZ). In the meantime, here's what may possibly be the longest chapter I've ever posted. Whoo. Yeah. (fans self to recover from over-excitement)

Warning: Blood. Gore. Mayhem. Bad words. Rated M. Yay!

ooOOoo

Chapter 94

Harry was glad he was under the shelter of the trees, not just because of the rain, which was going through one of its more determined phases. He could hear it on the leaves all around him, making him extra wary because it muffled the sounds of people who might be creeping up on him. Somewhere out there was a very angry Dark Lord, and if he had any sense he'd be investigating the hole in the hedge and any hoofmarks leading away from it. Simon looked around and hunched up his back unhappily as a brief scatter of rain made its way through the leaves and pattered down over them.

There was a rustle from above.

"Hey! Psst!"

Harry and Simon looked up.

Draco was flickering like a strobe light, hovering as best as he could in the trees. The wind wasn't so strong down here in the valley, but the branches were catching in his sleeves. Simon gave him an interested look and sniffed at the bristles of the broom when Draco came down lower.

"Got something for you."

"Portkey big enough for a horse?" asked Harry. You never knew.

Draco frowned. Harry had ruined his good news. "No. You'll just have to settle for second best." He fished something out of his robes. A wand.

It wasn't until he held it out that Harry felt the blood rush in and out of his face and sing in his ears with relief. "My wand. Draco – how did you –"

"It didn't involve patricide. But I'd appreciate it if you never told my father that it was me who gave it back to you."

"Oh. I think I can manage that." Harry grinned. His wand sat in his hand as if it had never left. "Thanks."

They were speaking barely above a whisper. The weather muffled other sounds, but Harry had already been surprised once in the last five minutes by Death Eater scouts.

"You're welcome. But are you going to stay under these trees all night?"

"No, and isn't it meant to be day?"

"Er, I guess so. Day, artificial night… whatever. When I was waiting to find your wand for you I overheard them talking. Someone grumbling that, uh, whatever spell the Dark Lord was using on them to help them see in the darkness was making their… their eyes itch." Draco's own eyes looked a bit red from lack of sleep. "I don't think they can see too far with it, either."

"Any idea why he's made the sky so dark? I mean, if he's hobbling his own troops like that…"

"I think he's worried the Aurors are looking for you. Better a myopic Death Eater than Eagle Eye the Auror."

"He must be counting on finding me through my scar."

"Can he do that?"

"That's how he found me at the bridge."

Draco's nostrils twitched. It might have been the shifting planes of his face, but he seemed to have gone paler. "Sounds like I got out just in time."

Harry sighed, loosening the reins for Simon to put his head down and scratch his nose on his foreleg. Other than dealing with that itch under the bridle, the horse seemed content to stand still. Possibly Simon, who hated getting rained on, was aware that things would be even damper out in the open. "Mm. You did." Draco had been very twitchy leading up to that departure. "Intuition?"

"Merlin knows. But I've never enjoyed sitting still when something odd is going on. And this surely falls under the category of odd." Draco squinted up at the sky, slitting his eyes so any raindrops getting past the leaves didn't hit his eyes. "The spell – the darkness – it's only the unicorn blood that lets me see anything now."

Harry nodded. "But it's worn off. A lot."

Draco looked uneasy. "Yes. And the darkness had a… a disorientation spell incorporated that needs a Dark Mark to navigate around. That's what I surmised, anyway."

Harry would have asked how, but something on Draco's face stalled the question. "Okay. So can we get through it?"

"Yes, thanks to the unicorn blood. It was incredibly easy for me to find you once I stopped fretting about what you were doing to my horse. If you don't think too hard about where you are going," he continued before Harry could object to the possessive, "you can get there just by wanting to –"

"Like how Simon moves in the direction you're looking when you're riding?"

Draco nodded, brightening. "Yes! D'you think horses have some Legilimency business going?"

"No, Luna says they're just really sensitive to changes in the rider's balance."

"Oh." Draco looked disappointed. He bobbed lower on his broom to give Simon a puzzled look. Simon took the opportunity to scratch his head on Draco's knee. "Ouch. Your head's really… bony, Simon." He floated higher. "Well, the trick of it is to keep in mind that you're on the way to Hogsmeade, but not concentrate on it. I think the unicorn blood works on the subconscious level."

"So think about something without thinking about it?"

"Precisely."

"That makes no sense."

"You Gryffindors are so literal. Loosen up. Get intuitive."

"You'll be telling me to tune into Trelawney next."

"I said get intuitive, not get insane." He cleared his throat softly and moved his foot out of the way before Simon could nibble on it. The horse had a thing about shoelaces and had untied them in the past as practice for leadropes. "Simon. Stop it. There's a good boy. The Aurors don't have the advantage of unicorn blood," (he said to Harry) "but I think Tonks might have something supplied by one of the Ministry boffins that will help. Not that she said as much, but…"

"That old Slytherin intuition?"

"Don't mock it. You-know-who thinks he knows everything about magic, and look what happened to him back in eighty-one. Speaking of that particular person, I sincerely doubt he wants you found by anyone other than him – something about a triumphant entrance, they were saying."

"Yes. My head on a pole was what _he_ said."

Draco swallowed and blinked like something was in his eye. "Oh. That's… nice. Well. Yes. Our best bet is to get you to the Aurors in Hogsmeade. Fast as."

He looked a bit ill. Harry took pity on him, touched that a Malfoy was human enough not to want another human's head to be stuck on a pole. "Okay. Do you want to go invisible again?"

"Okay. We've got enough for Simon and me – maybe three or four more doses…"

There was no warning. One moment the tree next to them was moving sap and nutrients in its tree way, and in the next moment it exploded.

There was a muffled cry from Draco, who threw his arm across his face. Simon reared and leaped sideways as shards of wood sprayed him. Harry grabbed at the pommel and managed to stay on Simon's back – just – as the horse bolted.

The horse tore through the trees and the trees tried to tear Harry from its back.

He leaned forward and kept his hands wrapped in Simon's mane, trusting to the horse's ability to run fast without running into anything.

Behind him there was a snapping spell-shot and a yelp. Not Draco's voice in pain – this one sounded like a witch's.

Draco had got a hit in. Good for him.

Harry crouched as low as possible as Simon zig-zagged in a mad dodgem-car ride through the trees and then burst onto a trail. The trail was only a rutted track; if there had been more rain it would have been mud. This morning it was dirt – slick dirt, but not yet churned up.

A black-cloaked figure Apparated down the track from them and lifted his wand.

The track was slippery. With a cry of "Shit!" the Death Eater lost control of his feet, skidded sideways, and then looked up with an expression of sudden terror as Simon, teeth bared and ears back, came cantering down on him.

Simon wasn't about to stop. Harry could feel the horse's anger thrumming through the arched neck as the horse prepared to run the human down.

This morning Simon was prepared to take his chances with standing on squishy things.

There was a pop: just in the nick of time, the wizard Disapparated.

Simon snorted – it sounded to Harry's ears like a sneer – flicked his tail, and sped up.

It seemed like the pace was too fast for the track, but Simon's sharp hooves sliced at the clay and there was just enough moisture to give softness without Simon losing traction. At the base of the valley was a small stream – tributary to the river the blasted bridge had crossed – with a little wooden plank bridge lying across it.

Simon eyed the bridge as if it housed an entire family of trolls, and jumped it rather than risk setting foot on it, and cantered up the far side.

He jerked his head and changed stride as a broom came flying down to keep pace with him.

"Keep going along the hillside," Draco said, pitching his voice just loud enough for Harry to hear, and edged in front of Simon so that the horse altered direction. "There's a gate just along the way – small and out of sight from the Death Eaters, I hope. I've opened it ready for you. Then there's another really big field, and after that is a small lane. Probably leading to a farmhouse. If you can get onto that and onto the next farm, you've got a good, clear gallop ahead through a sheep paddock and then you're in shouting distance of Hogsmeade."

"Okay."

Harry didn't need to urge Simon on. The horse seemed determined to gallop, no matter what Harry had to say on the topic. Simon settled into the ground-covering stride of a racehorse going the distance that brought them to Draco's gate in less than a minute. The horse slowed to a trot, wary about what might be on the other side of the hedge, prancing awkwardly through the gap in the hedge, and then as soon as he was through went back into the gallop. There were sheep in this paddock – some were threading their way towards the gate – "Leave it!" Harry hissed as Draco turned, apparently intent on shutting the gate before the sheep could wander through.

Draco muttered something about manners, but kept pace with the horse.

Another minute or so later and they were halfway along the track leading from the gate across this much larger paddock, shielded from sight of anyone uphill by a row of bushy trees to their left, and Simon had just stumbled over a rut, making Harry lose a stirrup and drop the reins.

There was the first crack behind them of someone Apparating.

The racehorse charged forward at that sudden, startling sprint that sent the air whistling back through Harry's teeth and left Draco on his broom behind.

Harry, trying to get his foot back in the stirrup, gave up and settled for clinging to the saddle with both hands.

A spell flew over their heads and exploded in a shower of sparks. If it was meant to scare the horse, it worked.

Simon made a small grunt of terror. Harry might have tightened the reins at this point, letting the horse know he was still in charge and making sure everything was under control, but the reins were halfway up Simon's neck. Without his rider telling him to slow down, Simon put his ears back and swept forward at full speed.

Draco caught up in the next moment. He spotted the dangling stirrup bouncing against Simon's side. "Get the reins, already!"

Harry was busy hanging on and praying Simon didn't trip on the uneven ground and break both their necks. "_You_ get the fucking reins!"

Draco swerved closer, but Simon only moved off to the side, scrambling up the bank and brushing against some trees that might have been planted as shelter, but right now were anything but.

Another Death Eater Apparated just down the hill and sent a binding spell that would have tangled Simon's legs and sent horse and rider crashing down the bank, probably crushing Harry in the process, but Harry risked letting go of the pommel with his wand hand to cast a shielding spell. Draco followed up with something Harry had never heard before, but the Death Eater collapsed into a pile of black robes and did not move again.

He ducked as the trees scratched at his face. Simon leaped back down onto the track, then up again as another Death Eater popped into existence twenty yards ahead. Only Draco flying on his right stopped Simon from whirling and galloping down the hill – Harry would have fallen for sure, given the bouncy way Simon cantered down hills. Harry, who'd been trying to get the reins back now they were on the track, nearly dropped his wand.

The Death Eater was busy concentrating on the horse and rider. Draco hexed him where he stood with the same spell he'd just used, and the wizard dropped like a stone.

"He should live, but I hope he doesn't remember," Draco muttered, checking again that his hood was up to cover his face.

"Stop, Simon," Harry muttered.

But Simon didn't want to stop.

"Right. Go right. The gate into the lane is just down a bit. Steer him to the right!"

Another spell exploded nearby and Simon tried to run up the bank before realising he'd never get through the thick brush and bounding back down again, all at the gallop, hooves sliding in the clay, stumbling and nearly falling sideways until he put in a huge leap that landed them back on the track.

Harry spat out a leaf. "Steer him how?"

"With the reins, prat. Right in front of your hands."

They might as well have been on the other side of the moon. The moment Harry let go of the saddle he'd fall. He ducked as Simon's wild gallop brushed them up against the trees again and a branch tried to scalp him. If Simon had been galloping along a nice flat road that would have been one thing, but he was terrified by the explosions and having his rider lose control, and swerved dangerously over the rutted track, his pace uneven. It was worse than the time Quirrel had jinxed Harry's broom… what was the counterspell for a horse maddened by terror?

"Grab the reins, you idiot! And keep your heels down!"

Draco was right – he needed balance. And he needed those bloody reins. He needed control. All he had to do was let go of the pommel with a hand just long enough to –

"Wall!" Draco called out.

_Oh no._

The wall was stone. It was high. It was definitely higher than anything Harry had jumped, or seen Simon jump.

_Simon, you idiot! STOP!_

Perhaps there was something to that equine Legilimens theory after all. Simon slowed, as if picking up on Harry's thoughts, and for a moment Harry thought he had a chance – Simon would stop and Harry would get the reins and –

The ears which had been tilted back listening for the increasing number of cracks and pops of all the Death Eaters who were Apparating into the field suddenly flicked forward. The head went down a degree. The gallop slowed from frantic to something more deliberate, but something that wasn't going to be a halt.

_Oh. Hell. Simon, no, you MANIAC!_

Simon put every last ounce of strength into the jump. If Harry hadn't already been leaning forward there was no way he'd have been able to hold onto the saddle. The horse went up like a Firebolt fresh from the factory, arching neck and back to get the maximum clearance.

There was a moment of silence as they flew over the wall. At the top of the arc Harry met Draco's eyes for a split second. Draco looked as astonished by the fact Harry was still on Simon as Harry was, but grinned encouragingly.

_Merlin! I'm still in the saddle! We're going to –_

Simon landed.

He tripped as his bare hoof hit the loose stones in the lane, and barely kept upright. His nose almost grazed the ground. For a moment Harry thought Simon was going to roll head over heels, crushing Harry beneath him, or that his head had been cut off by a hex. There was a small, annoyed noise from the horse, a grunt of pain from the stones under his bare hoof as he stumbled across the lane to the mown grass on the other side, long legs tangling with each other, barely keeping the horse upright, Simon a juggernaut unable to stop; but it also sounded like disappointment that he, Simon, had failed at something…

It was the last thing Harry heard as he fell out of the saddle, sliding down the black shoulder satin-slick with rain, grabbing at mane, reins, whatever he could find… sliding down to where hooves shod with silver sliced the turf and –

The last thing Harry saw was a galaxy of stars exploding out from behind his eyes.

ooOOoo

Harry lay on the ground. He was pretty sure those were Simon's reins in his hand. Where was his wand? He'd had one, hadn't he? Yeah… Draco had found it for him… The ground must have had one hell of a grudge against him to have smacked him like that, he thought dazedly.

As if to make amends, the sky was kissing his face with the lightest of raindrops, sparse and cool, little mementoes of Luna to remind him he had to save the world and give it to her on a silver platter.

A shadow drew itself almost out of the blur at the edge of his vision. What –? … Who –?

Voldemort.

Harry realised bitterly the sky hadn't been kissing him – it was spitting at him. Even the clouds had it in for him this morning. They were stained black and sucked the light out of the world. The sky was on Voldemort's side – clever sky: it knew how to play the odds.

"Hello, Harry." The Dark Lord's voice curled lovingly around the syllables of his name. Faint silver mist shifted over his skin, moving like a cloud of midges in designs Harry couldn't quite follow. Where it skimmed his robes, it was more obvious, and formed small galaxies against the darkness.

The potion? It would never get past the personal shielding Voldemort had put up – not if it hadn't done so already.

"Voldemort." Harry's voice sounded coarse beside it. He should probably say something defiant. Something heroic. Something memorable. But all Harry could think was that the next words he spoke could be his last.

So what would they be?

Voldemort straightened. His face was flatly emotionless, but his shoulders were tilted. Preparing to pounce, but not sure what angle to attack at; pleasure in the anticipation threaded through his very stance. No mucking about like at the bridge. No grandstanding. Just a quick kill to assert dominance.

_Great. Now I'm a Dark Lord mutterer._

"Well? Aren't you going to get to your feet? Or shall I kill you in your happy little gutter?"

Oh, good. A little bit of mucking about after all. Some Dark Lords never learned, but Harry had learned that where there was life there was hope. "Not offering me a hand?"

The red eyes gleamed. "Isn't it enough for me to offer you the chance to die on your feet?"

Harry had to admit that was probably the best offer he'd receive today. He pulled himself to his feet using the reins.

Simon shook his head, annoyed at being used as a crane. He was panting after the gallop; hot breath steamed in plumes from his nostrils as the air temperature made an abrupt dive.

Voldemort kicked at something. It skittered across the road and away from Harry. A Death Eater picked it up at his master's nod.

Harry's wand. Harry felt a tight rage seize him.

"Give it back."

Voldemort chuckled pleasantly. "Give… it back? Why, I can hardly do that now, can I, Harry?"

Harry breathed hard through his nostrils; at his shoulder, Simon did the same. The horse was still getting its breath back.

"Aren't you meant to be off destroying innocent people?" Well, it was better than nothing. Sarcastic. That counted for something, surely?

Voldemort's lipless mouth curved in what was probably meant to be a smile. Like those seen on sharks. "Yes, yes. All this time you thought the focus of my attention was on attacking Hogsmeade at dawn, thus giving you a nice little distraction for your barrier-breaking potions or spells. Unfortunately for your happy little plans, _you_ are central to my plans – you, then Hogwarts now you've destroyed my barrier. Thank you for coming to my party, Harry – and responding to my invitation with such _precision._" His smile took on a sharper edge – his anger thrummed through Harry's scar. "One would almost think you were forewarned. I've suspected a traitor for some time now." Voldemort pointed his wand and a loop of crimson fire leaped out, snapped around a slender Death Eater, and spun the person up and around and smashed the luckless one down in the middle of the road.

There was a wheezing from behind the mask. It didn't sound feminine, but Harry held his breath, hoping against hope it wouldn't be Draco's mum… and then it suddenly struck him – _they'd never found Snape's body_.

Was this Snape here, struggling up onto his elbows as he groaned (yes, definitely a man by the depth of the voice) and tried to get his breath back? Voldemort stepped forward and kicked him in the stomach and the Death Eater cried out hoarsely.

"Enough," said Voldemort, almost lazily, and flicked his wand.

The mask and cloak vanished and Harry was staring down into the familiar face of… he couldn't quite remember…

…and then he did remember. And he wished he didn't. He couldn't stop his small gasp and the Dark Lord's eyes gleamed all the colder.

"Nott. Nott my most devoted follower," Voldemort laughed, and the other black-clad figures laughed sycophantically. _"Crucio."_

Nott writhed and bit his lip until blood streamed down his chin. He didn't scream. Harry watched, sickened, thinking of Theodore Nott who shared classes with him, thinking of how he'd met this man now lying retching in the road in the aftermath of the curse – then a year older than Harry – twenty-one years ago. The memories of watching him read the _Daily Prophet_ that morning Harry'd eaten breakfast with the Slytherins, the same rectangular glasses now askew on his long nose, rose and left him chilled to the bone.

"I see young Mr Potter knows you," Voldemort purred with satisfaction.

Harry swallowed – had he given something away? Was Nott really a traitor?

"I didn't –" choked the man on the ground, his voice a strangled whine of pain compared to the light smooth tones which had once told Severus that one day politics might be interested in him.

"This – finding our plucky young Gryffindor hero Potter out here at this particular time – this only confirms what I've suspected for some time. I told only a few people of the proposed attack in hopes of shaking loose some treachery while at the same time luring an enemy out from the sheltering arms of Hogwarts. I've suspected you for some time now, Nott. And look what my suspicion has done – why, it's netted me Harry Potter as well as you.

"How strange you weren't at the bridge earlier. Were you busy setting explosive spells? No, you were off sabotaging the initiates' efforts at Hogsmeade. Ah, ah… don't try to deny it. But you are here now. Delightful. Don't worry, my friends," he said over his shoulder to the circle of Death Eaters, lifting his voice to rally those who were shocked by the sight of their comrade on the ground and accused of treason. "We go to Hogwarts straight from here. The barrier is down, and it will be weak with the shock. All the time we spent practising for the battle will be rewarded with the jewel of Wizardry. We shall liberate it – hearts, minds, magic. And once we have cleansed it of all traitors and those of impure heritage it shall be the seat of my power. From there we will finish our conquest of Britain. And, from Britain, unite the world under my banner. What say you, my Death Eaters?"

"We say aye, Lord!" a Death Eater Harry thought might be Mulciber rumbled.

"AYE, LORD!" shouted the others, all trying to outdo the others in enthusiasm. Harry, who could still get glimpses through the masks, thought many of them looked nervous. Had they not been doing their Death Eater homework, practising co-ordinated mayhem at home? Or were they less sure of Hogwarts' vulnerability? Maybe they didn't feel quite as confident of going up against Dumbledore as their fellows.

Or was it something else?

Some of the nervous ones looked familiar – were they parents of students?

One of the fathers was still down on the ground, curled around himself as he struggled with the aftershocks of Cruciatus.

Voldemort smiled down at Nott, but the smile was cold and predatory. Harry shuddered at the sight of it. "You've been sneaking messages in to your son. And now that the barrier down I'll take my time explaining to him the error of his ways. Don't worry, Nott – I'll send him to meet you far faster than the son of a traitor deserves."

"No – I'm not a traitor, I swear, my Lord!" Nott gasped. "And Theo – he's innocent… he knows nothi-!"

_"Avada kedavra."_

Green light enveloped Nott and when it vanished Harry was looking into the eyes of a dead man. For a moment he thought he was going to faint. _Your father is dead and I'm sorry for it, Theodore Nott. But – forgive me – I'm glad it's not Narcissa Malfoy lying here._

"Pity I didn't have more time to treat his treachery as it deserved. Oh well – it's a busy life, being a Dark Lord."

"Maybe you should try staying dead for a change."

Voldemort's lipless mouth curved in a smile. "Let's get that head of yours."

Something barrelled down from the cloud-clotted sky, hints of a black cloak whipping and flickering raindrops. Another Death Eater?

The flyer threw something. Harry ducked, thinking it was aimed at him. Simon's hooves skittered on the ground as the horse shied and knocked Harry over.

The missile missed Harry and shattered uselessly a foot away from Voldemort's shoulder when the Dark Lord hissed something that made his wards pulse outwards.

Twinkling stars of glass and silver mist billowed away in the wind. None touched Voldemort.

Harry's heart sank. _But if he's going to Hogwarts, Dumbledore will know how to get the potion through the wards. _Please_ let Dumbledore or Flitwick or Hermione or Elmsworthy or _someone_ know how to get that potion through the wards._

Voldemort cursed, aiming a spell into the clouds.

There was a faint scream, and something flickered through the rain. It dodged the second curse and sped away, occasional rags of black showing off and on as an invisibility potion wore off. The scream had been Draco's, but Harry was sure he'd dodged the worst of the spells thrown at him.

_"Avada kedavra!" _Voldemort shouted. A green light flew towards Draco, but he went out of sight as he flew up towards a low cloud rolling down from the sky. The darkness of the cloud was absolute, to unicorn sight and, from the annoyed murmurs of the Death Eaters squinting upwards, to whatever spell Voldemort was using to aid their vision. It could have been the Invisibility Potion hiding him, but if he'd been killed, wouldn't there have been a sound from the body falling to the ground?

The wind was strong… it was hard to hear much over it. And then there was an uproar as the Death Eaters all started shouting locating charms, stunning and binding spells, spells to reveal hidden enemies, curses to cut them to ribbons… sending charm after hex after curse into the black sky.

One Death Eater stood slightly apart from the others, his entire body radiating terror as he turned his head to scan the skies. He was the only one not trying to impress his master with his spellcraft.

Lucius Malfoy. Harry spared a brief moment's pity for him.

Voldemort cursed again: "Fuck!"

Harry didn't think this was the time to point out to Dark Lords that swearing like that made them sound like Muggles. He rolled, taking advantage of the confusion to kick out the feet of the nearest Death Eater. Harry jumped up and tackled Voldemort, grabbing his wand just as someone cast a spell. The misty potion vapour from the first bottle tingled against his skin. He couldn't quite tell where the spell was coming from but he had a good idea that it was aimed at himself, so he swung Voldemort around and the curse – a Stun going by the crimson sparks – blossomed and died on Voldemort's shields. Voldemort shoved at Harry and knocked him down again. His strength was not natural – Harry's shoulder felt dislocated.

"STOP!" Voldemort roared. There was an immediate hush; the only sound that of Voldemort's harsh breathing as he struggled with his rage. He grabbed Harry by the scruff of the neck, picked him up and shook him with a strength that would rival Hagrid's.

"FIND THAT PERSON!" he roared, then jerked his head and slashed his wandhand down in sharp negation. The Death Eaters froze. Even Harry felt the command in his scar, and went limp. Only his hands holding the reins seemed to be under his control.

"No," Voldemort said softly, although each breath he took rasped in his throat. "No. Whoever that was can wait. And then wait further for a long-delayed death. Here and now, I want you all as my witness." He lifted Harry and turned him so that Harry's green eyes were looking straight into Voldemort's red. Harry looked deep and saw the cold calculating madness that had followed him all his life. He felt it cold down his spine, but he couldn't blink, couldn't look away.

The horse shifted on its hooves and nickered uneasily.

"Hush, now," Voldemort said softly to Simon, eyes never leaving Harry's, whispering something in a language Harry had never heard until the horse stopped fidgeting.

This close, Harry had a good look at the Dark Lord. His skin was still pale and slightly scaly. But something was different from that time by the bridge. The silvery mist that was crawling over his robes and skin without quite touching him was now curling in eddies of accretion. The motes twinkled against the outside of Voldemort's wards. Distant stars more evident against the black of robes than skin, but just as strong wherever they had sited themselves. Small wrinkles washed in waves as the potion found energy points on the Dark Lord's body; Harry recognised a few of them from Charms class: the parallel lines running from brow down nose to chin; the swirl in the crook of the elbow that linked to heart; the mirror pinwheels at Voldemort's temples, on the front of his shoulders (and probably on the back) and on the backs of his hands were miniature galaxies striving towards a cohesion beyond what was considered the normal human sphere of magic.

It was said that centaurs were the only ones who had delved this magic, and they said even less about it than they did about the pull of the stars.

It was the first time Harry had ever seen them outside the diagrams shown by Professor Flitwick. He tried not to stare as they turned and shone and tried to burrow unsuccessfully through the wards.

And there was something else. Something beneath them. Little pulses as something else tried to rise up to the surface of the skin on the interior of the personal shield. Harry couldn't see it under the robes, but he sensed it. His own skin itched in subconscious recognition. And on Voldemort's exposed skin of hands and face and neck he saw the shadows.

Moving. Waiting. Expecting.

He was pretty sure even the centaurs wouldn't know anything about _that._

Something at the back of his mind said: _Ah._

Harry began to tingle, but it felt like a spring wind rustling green leaves rather than the chemical burn of the resonance from his scar. The silvery mist was blurring Voldemort in his eyes.

And, as his fingers twitched, he felt that soft voice again, a velvety presence echoing half a beat behind his heart. It was the answer to the moving and waiting and expecting.

Something about Harry's expression – some faint light of hope or wonder – must have given him away.

Voldemort's eyes hardened. His mouth shivered with anger.

He had his wand pointing at Harry, holding him up, but it wasn't really necessary. What with all the Death Eaters training their wands on him, Harry couldn't have twitched without being blown to smithereens and tentacles. And whatever spell Voldemort had cast through the Dark Mark had affected Harry too – his arms and legs tingled. He had the terrible surety that this time if he ran it would be in whatever direction the Dark Lord commanded.

The tingling was beginning to burn. Harry's breath came in short, angry gusts through his teeth. He could feel his own magic crawling under his skin, fighting against the abrasion. Was it the shielding spells Voldemort was using? _Something_ was affecting Harry's unicorn sight. The silvery lines that should and did show life in Simon and the Death Eaters crowding closer with anticipation were smeared thin around Voldemort. Harry blinked, but the effect remained.

The vitality in Voldemort was definitely abnormal.

Even Simon was affected by it, trying to focus one eye then the other on the man holding the reins. The horse was trembling, frightened by the wands and the cloaked figures, but apart from some half-hearted tugs on the reins the horse didn't try to leave. Harry wondered if it was loyalty that kept Simon, but it was obvious Voldemort had the horse under some sort of spell.

The burning spiked in his fingers and toes. Harry winced. The burning seemed to leap like a salmon in his scar, seeking a way through it to Voldemort…

Past Harry's fear and anger, back the other way through the link in his scar, there came a hint of disquiet.

If it came from Voldemort, the Dark Lord was hiding it well. Without so much as a whisper, he Stunned Harry and dropped him onto the ground.

There was a moment when the Dark Lord could have killed Harry. But under the hungry, _ambitious_ eyes of the Death Eaters, Harry realised, even the Dark Lord didn't dare do anything so simple. Not when he could display his power by drawing the moment out.

"My," said Voldemort in a silky voice as he stroked a thin, pale hand down the horse's nose, methodical in his demand to be in control of each and every situation, "but you are a handsome creature. And loyal, to have stayed with young Mr Potter here." He nudged Harry with his boot. Fuming, Harry could do nothing, not even shudder as the contact with Voldemort crackled against his skin and turned the mild tingling into severe pins and needles. "Now I know I can put a thrall on you and tame you, I think shall I keep you." He chuckled as the horse bowed its long neck and snuffled at a pocket in his robe. "I fear I have no food for my new equine friend… but Hogsmeade has a candy shop… there will be sugar there for you. It is sugar horses like, is it not, Lucius?"

"Yes, Lord," came that familiar drawling voice from the Death Eater ranks, sounding a little thicker than usual. As the hair up the back of his neck prickled, Harry wondered where Draco was hiding. He hoped desperately the Slytherin would get away from this and be able to warn Hogsmeade and tell the Aurors where he'd last seen Voldemort. And maybe rescue Simon into the bargain. Rescuing Harry would be nice. But Harry had known for a long time now that an end was coming. He'd never felt there was a future to plan for because Voldemort had always been standing between him and it. Strange that even though the moment had arrived he kept holding onto hope that there would be a rescue… he didn't want to die… he wanted that future…

"…Or perhaps I will simply skin the beast and turn it into a rug." Voldemort was still smiling, stroking Simon's neck. Simon turned to sniff at Voldemort's thin hands and the horse's eyes bulged as if it was trying to decipher the strange smells of the magic being used. The ears snapped back and forth between Harry, Voldemort and the Death Eaters with the intensity of equine thought.

Voldemort didn't know much about horses, but Harry knew his horse: Simon was breaking the thrall.

Then Voldemort pushed Simon's head away and flicked his wand and Harry was on his feet again, dangling with his toes scraping the road, and Voldemort was holding Harry's chin, fingers digging in until they bruised. Simon shook his head, annoyed now at being shoved around. Harry could move his eyes enough to see this but he couldn't do anything more than twitch in his efforts to shake Voldemort's hand free. Bile stung his throat as he tried not to retch. His skin felt like it was being rubbed down with acid.

Voldemort leaned forward and sniffed carefully.

The silvery glow pressed against the shields and pulsed behind Harry's eyes in time with the race of his heart, but Voldemort only smiled. "Unicorn blood?" he whispered. "You think to use the petty magics of _animals_ against me?" His mouth widened in a smile, and his voice raised, speaking to Harry for the benefit of the Death Eaters: "You see, Mr Potter. While your spells rebound from my personal wards, your defences are no longer effective against _me_." He drew back the hand and, quick as a striking snake, backhanded Harry, knocking his glasses askew.

Harry blinked back angry tears. One side of his stung like it was burned. Then: _crack!_ Voldemort brought the flat of his hand back across Harry's other cheek. Each time Voldemort's warded skin touched his face the silver light jumped and the world jerked and hissed in Harry's ears. Like static electricity, the magic under Harry's skin was trying to contact Voldemort's.

Was it really the unicorn blood? That had only been applied to his eyes.

Simon's ears stopped flickering. The horse seemed to be thinking. Simon looked up. Then around as if he had heard something.

"Much easier now, hmm?"

Harry didn't have time to reply – to the sound of a muffled pattering like heavy raindrops, an eerie glow was coming down the road towards them. Simon lifted his head and stared.

"What the…" someone said. The voice was Pettigrew's. Harry marked the direction. Voldemort frowned and turned towards the disturbance, lifting his wand, coincidentally swinging it towards Harry.

Simon snorted, crinkling his nostrils. The horse's ears flattened against its skull.

He lunged.

The aim was uncanny: long, yellow teeth sank deep into Voldemort's shoulder, right where misty silver spun. The barrier spell on Voldemort wrinkled and undulated as it fought back, but the furious Simon was determined, and his teeth went through it like butter, as easily as Simon had cantered through the barrier itself, and the silver mist quivered once then raced across Voldemort's skin and robes and was sucked into the black hole beneath Simon's teeth.

There was a ferocious flash of silver light from Simon's jaws, so bright it left black and yellow lights popping at the back of Harry's eyes, and the wards crisped and were blown away on the wind. Voldemort howled in agony and his features began to melt like the barrier spell on his skin. His pale skin darkened with the patterns of nacreous flowers, green with the underlying long-denied poison, tendrils of black blood branching up across his face and down his arms to his fingers, where the weight of all the poisonous magics of hate and cruelty he'd stored up over the years curled in his fingers and the weight of it pulled at his shoulders and bent his spine and the Dark Lord staggered and would have fallen if he hadn't been held up by the horse.

The anti-Vivicus potion! Simon's teeth had done what the glass hadn't, and now the potion was in the Dark Lord.

Voldemort was withering before Harry's eyes. A darkness was eating him from the inside out. The red eyes rolled back in his head, and veins as dark as Simon's hide spiked inwards towards the irises.

As if echoing the darkness flowing through the wizard, the sky began to turn a bloody red as the light returned.

In the darkness burning its way through Voldemort's body, flecks of smoky pewter glimmered and Harry shivered and the feeling at the back of his mind gained focus. The metallic grains were wrong. Harry had never been religious, but the word _sin_ came to mind.

_(Those specks are a sin. They are why Harry is here.)_

Harry shook off that voice. It was just the tiredness making him hallucinate – and hallucinate in the third person. He forced himself to focus.

The potion was working, yes. But would it kill the Dark Lord?

The shock of the attack resonated through the Dark Lord and into Harry's scar. Harry felt it like a Stunning spell. The Death Eaters were immobilised by it, although some clapped hands across their forearms as if their Dark Marks were burning them. A witch moaned. Voldemort lifted an arm. The elbow had drifted further towards the wrist and the whole arm flopped as the magic flowed out of it, but he managed to punch Simon hard in the cheek.

Simon didn't appreciate this new nonsense. His ears flattened and he bit down harder.

Over the Dark Lord's scream, Harry could hear bones grinding. Then, as the horse lifted Voldemort off the ground to shake him like a kneazle shaking a rat, a voice shouted, "_Nox totalis!" _Harry was sure it was Draco, and his spirits lifted at the realisation Draco hadn't run: he wasn't alone.

The last thing Harry saw before inky night rushed back into the world, darker than the horse's coat, drowning out light, was the rag-doll figure of Voldemort being dashed to the ground and the horse rearing up like some monstrous shadow against the rising sun.

He heard the hooves come crashing back down to earth. There was a sharp, wet, splintering sound, and something slimy splattered Harry's cheek. The thud-thump-thumpetty-thud of the horse's hooves slamming into something soft kept going even after Voldemort stopped screaming.

Against the night was a glow, coming from the south. It was all colours of the rainbow, and it put the world into bas relief.

Harry looked around at the fallen Death Eaters and realised that unless he learned to Apparate in the next three seconds he wasn't going to live much longer than Voldemort.

The Death Eaters were pale behind their masks, eyes wide in shock, but already some were recovering.

_"Petrificus totalus. Stupify. Nox." _Harry began casting spells, whatever he could think of, but he was too late.

Mulciber raised his wand. _"Ava-"_

Then the rainbow glow from up the road was rushing down on them amidst a clattering patter of little hooves and manic baa's.

A flock of sheep – fleeces glittering with a child's paintbox of light, crashed into the muddle of humans and horse. The noise of the sheep was suddenly eclipsed by the screams of the Death Eaters, and soft thuds of bodies hitting the road. By the thin illumination of the sheep, Harry could see the tall, black-clad figures clutching their left forearms, bending over in agony, then dropping as the pain overwhelmed them.

Sheep shouldn't be able to do that.

They also shouldn't make his head feel like it was going to split open…

_Unicorns. Luna. Luna. Ron&Hermione…_

The pain gave him some space. Able to think again, Harry looked around.

From the mangled body on the ground ran red veins of magic out into the world. They reached out and flicked at the people, including Harry, who dodged as it tried to attach itself to his scar, and Simon, where one burrowed into one of the horse's legs. Voldemort was down and he was broken and he was losing his hold on his own body and yet he was still fighting.

The closest Death Eater fell to the ground, nearly squashing a sheep, ripping his mask from his face as he struggled against the force eating him, and in the last of Harry's unicorn-sight he saw the man's face blurring and beginning to age and wither as time sped up.

Horrified, with the scattered fear and rage of the Dark Lord fighting for his life echoing from the scar in his forehead, Harry realised the Dark Lord's power over death, the ability to steal life for his own ends, feeding from the lifespan of others: the Vivicus had been only a part of his layered attempt at immortality. Thanks to the Dark Mark he could drink his followers dry to resurrect himself.

The charm on Simon's chest seemed to be reacting to it – it was spinning again, sending out yellow and grey lines that fought back against the sparks of red. The horse snorted in alarm and pawed at the ground, kicking out at a sheep.

Harry felt Voldemort gather all his will – and Voldemort's will was impressive – and there was a strange rushing in his ears as the Dark Lord ripped life and magic from his followers.

One of them must have managed a spell Harry missed seeing: Simon screamed in pain, an almost human sound, and lashed out with both back feet, missing a sheep by inches and catching one of the cloaked figures in the chest as the Death Eater fell. There was a splintering sound. The man made a few wet, breathy noises, twitched as he hit the ground, and was still. Harry drew his wand and slashed it down in Simon's direction: "_Finite incantatum!"_

It was the only one he could think of at such short notice with his mind befuddled by pain and the stress of Obliviation and the barrier. And it didn't work.

Harry groaned in sympathy with Simon and at his own pain as Voldemort wrenched magic from Harry, too. He clapped a hand to his scar and bit back a scream. God, he was going to die. He was going to die unless he could _think._

A magenta sheep skittered between them, lighting the belly of the horse a bloody purple as Simon reared. Simon screamed again and the trailing reins swung and lashed Harry's face. Harry caught them and held on before Simon would bolt and break a leg in the dark, a small, set-aside part of Harry's mind equally terrified that Simon would strike out and hit Harry by mistake. He shouted the spell again _– "Finite incantatum!"_ – knowing it was too simple and doomed against the powers of Death Eaters and Voldemort, and felt something twist behind the scar in his forehead. The pain built and Harry screamed the spell for a third time, not knowing if he was defending himself or Simon or something entirely different; all he knew was that he had to say the spell and he had to say it with every magical fibre of his being. He just had to say it… say the spell…

_Spell? What spell?_

He couldn't think. His brain had completely clouded over like the sky. No ray of light to illuminate Harry Potter. And then, as Simon reared and twisted and yanked the reins free, and Harry looked up at the horse towering over him and saw the life demanding to continue pulsing bright from the great heart of a racehorse, saw it with the last of his unicorn sight, his eyes widened with shock as he saw the hitch below the horse's heartlight and he turned to Voldemort and saw the darkness curdling where there should have been light.

His eyes snapped back to Simon.

There was something – something _exactly _like Voldemort's magic seeping out of Simon's foreleg, just above the knee. The spell he'd first seen when the barrier broke. Where it had come from he didn't know, but it was hurting his horse. A red forked tongue of Voldemort's life-draining magic flickered out of it. It pulsed along with the agony in his scar and Harry lost the last of his rational thought, only knowing that he had to get the spell, had to break it, had to free Simon….

He reached out with a hand as he stumbled forward, trying to catch the reins, and felt his fingers snag in the Dark magic of the spell which somehow had anchored itself to Simon. He caught the reins and instinct helped him hold the spell, too.

It felt like… it was the Dark Lord's hate screaming through his scar, a living link with Voldemort that pulsed between his fingers, sucking out Simon's life, feeding off the horse exactly the same way as Voldemort was trying to draw life from Harry through the scar.

Harry's head was going to split like a pumpkin…

He dodged a hoof and clawed at the spell.

Simon groaned from somewhere deep in his bones and reared up one more time, trying to escape.

The spell stretched and pulled and broke and a skull with a snake pouring from its mouth evaporated in the night. Drawing on pure intuition, Harry wrapped the last of it around his fingers, wrapping it up with the reins, and he stabbed his fingers at his scar, pressing the spell deep into it.

_Pain. Blinding pain._

The dregs of the spell from Simon's leg writhed against his scar, finding something akin, something horrible and deep lurking behind Harry's eyes.

There was a soundless crack that he felt in his fingers, and then Harry was inside Voldemort's mind as Voldemort had been inside Harry's –

– _hate fear determination MALICE will will will ME at all costs MY GLORY at all costs and BURN the world at my will and YOU you YOU will tremble at my STRENGTH, boy! –  
_  
– and Harry knew, knew in his heart that whatever spell he said didn't matter, because no single wizard spell he had ever learned could shatter this knot of Dark magic and hate.

Harry's own heart faltered.

_How can I beat you?_ he found himself asking.

Voldemort's laugh sounded in his mind.

_How can I let you go free? _Harry demanded, ashamed as he did so, because he was trying to bargain with the monster.__

It is not your choice, Harry. This is all you are now… nothing. I am all. As it was meant to be from the beginning.

Voldemort's certainty was like a tsunami. Despair engulfed Harry. And Harry, for a split second, gave up. This was a battle he could not win. Voldemort would go on and on and on; killing, destroying, butchering the world.

_Yes. And once again you will aid my rebirth._

Sensing Harry's defeat, Voldemort coiled up his power and unleashed it as an attack directly into Harry's chest, ripping Harry's magic up and out through their connection of the scar, adding Harry's power to that he'd already taken from the Death Eaters, and then Voldemort was a darkness rising, rising, rising from the ground, the darkness of the sky reaching down to cloak him, a thin hand of smoke reaching towards Harry's heart, reaching down to strip Harry's magic to the very dregs and use it to rebuild himself, and Voldemort was rising and Harry couldn't think of a way out he was so tired the world rocked and his brain was seizing and fingers of Dark magic closed around his heart and _squeezed_ –

_Tha-thump._

_Between heatbeats lay a full moment._

No fear, no hate, no frantic need to plan intruded. This moment was a moment of experience. This moment was Harry and it was the other, twenty-one-year-old shadow of Harry.

It was the soft scent of unicorn breath and figs.

It tasted of chocolate cake and berries and the bitter-metal betrayal by omission of truth of an enemy who'd become a friend.

It sounded in the deep bass voice of the Forest, that single note thrumming in the dark depths of a unicorn's eye holding reality pinned; threaded through and lifted by the golden hum of the Sickle.

It was the casual bump of shoulder-on-shoulder of Ron and Hermione telling Harry to cheer up and stop being a git, and the hugs they gave him when he'd been found after being lost, and the hand of shadow-eyed Sirius on his shoulder, trying to give Harry what neither of them had ever had – the permanence of family, and it was the steady presence of a horse and the hand-in-hand and lip-pressed-to-lip of Luna.

Its arc was the motion of a horse, supple and ready to work with a friend, leaping across dimensions if need be, standing four-square against the stars in a world that rolled with the tides of the galaxy.

It was the smile of enemies who'd become friends thanks to patience and perseverance and the advice of a book, and it was the determination to keep trying that burned in the hollows of Sirius' eyes and at the corners of his mouth – because Harry was worth it, even when he was being a pubescent puke; it was the recognition of the fortitude with which Remus Lupin faced the full moon and Slytherin students.

It was the love of parents who had put themselves between death and their baby.

It was Harry James Potter himself the boy the wizard the young man who would put himself between death and his friends not because it was the right thing to do but because it was easier to suffer than allow to your friends to hurt. It was that, this golden ribbon winding around his heart keeping the core of him uncorrupted when evil tried to corrode him.

It was the world in silver.

It was the unyielding law that the death of a unicorn cannot go unanswered.

It was the means to undo the wrong that resulted when things were so broken they had to back to their beginnings.

The roots of this moment reached deep into living soil and stretched up into the sky where the moment shivered leaves under cloud and sun and moon: fruit of the moon forever dripping from oak trees, awaiting purpose.

Harry felt that bass, wordless voice of the Forest well up in him. It needed words. It needed to strike the golden cord that thrummed through his heart and was the foundation and the strength and the determination of who he was.

The voice of the Forest needed a host.

It wanted the one it had known for twenty-one years now.

It wanted the one who had taken the Sun's Halo for unselfish purpose.

Harry agreed even before he was asked.

The golden cord sang as it unravelled.

The words demanded.

The moment ended.

Tha-thump.

– Voldemort was rising, his body smashed, his twisted spirit blistering with the hate and the terror that anchored it to life. His face was battered beyond recognition, but it turned to Harry. A sound almost like laughter came from the broken jaw. The darkness from the sky spun gently around him and laid its mantle across his shoulders and that hand of evil magic closed around Harry's heart –

_Nice try, Harry._

The voice dug through Harry's scar deep into his head and his magic squeezed at Harry's heart. It should have hurt. Harry braced his feet on the earth and felt it sing back to him. The wind ruffled his hair and any pain wafted away. He barely heard Voldemort speaking into his mind. The words were distant.

_… But here I stand. Eternally._

As the malice washed over him and all around him Death Eaters moaned and collapsed as the last of their magic drained into their master, Harry put his free hand – the one not holding the reins with some strength so vast it was keeping Simon from bolting – to his scar and found Voldemort's magic there.

Harry smiled.

The unicorn sight flared up and lit the world like a magnesium flare. It probed shadows and found the deepest, darkest mirror of its brightness. The echoing death of a unicorn was a bitter, tarry offence against the deep magic Hogwarts was built on. It was innocence murdered for selfish fear. It was Voldemort's bridge to the living.

"Yes," the Forest said with Harry's voice, and Harry smiled again and his laughter was a stream chuckling gently as the spirit of the rustling, whispering entity held him stronger than Hagrid's arms. With green eyes, the Forest looked out and saw the charred remnants of unicorn blood in the Dark Lord. "There you are. But nothing is eternal."

The hand trying to squeeze Harry's heart silent and dead shattered. The coiling darkness around the mangled form shuddered and drew back. _What…?_

Harry stepped forward, brushing aside the broken magic from his heart with a wave of his hand. Voldemort shrank back, the pillar of smoke flickering faster, but Harry reached out and pulled at the darkness suffusing his opponent, holding him with the same ease as with his other hand he held the reins of the frightened horse leaping like a marlin.

"I have you now," he said gently.

The darkness shivered and tried to escape, but was trapped like an iron pin on a magnet. Voldemort had strengthened himself on unicorn blood once – he had stolen it. Gifted, its strength was an order of magnitude greater. Harry's hand had the force of spring growth behind it and thrummed with gifted magic. It touched flesh, cold and slick with the damage Simon had done to it, and in the world of silver and gold, Harry breathed the word

_Return_

and knew it was the right word. The only word. The magic underpinning the wild magic of blood and fire and heart and rain and moon.

Voldemort screamed as the word – the magic beyond spells – as the will of Harry Potter and the Forest struck deep into the magical fibre of him.

_Return_ Harry said softly as Simon bucked and kicked out at a Death Eater and did his best to tear the reins out of Harry's hands, and he felt the lining of his throat rip with the force of the word. Harry closed his eyes and held the words of the spell deep inside his mind, feeling out the link between scar and spell, bridging it with unicorn blood to unicorn blood, and finding the pattern…

_Return_ he thought, and in his mind's eye he pushed the word deep into the scar, adding a twist to it, deeper, deeper, deeper…

Then he was touching the darkness at the heart of Voldemort – seeping tar where Harry was golden light.

In the silence of that light Harry was the spell and the spell was a gift.

_RETURN_

He gave it to the darkness, to the evil, to his enemy.

The darkness exploded and fell like rain into the wind which whirled it off into the soft starless night that lay beyond Dark and Light.

Voldemort screamed again in rage, in terror, in disbelief, in a voice that sounded in Harry's head instead of his ears, and then the Dark Lord's presence shrank in on itself and disappeared into a dimension Harry couldn't follow even with unicorn sight, a small blue twinkle of some stuff Harry _almost_ recognised, and then that dimension wrapped around itself and popped like a soap bubble, leaving Harry so light he could fly away… dropping the reins… in that moment his hands and heart empty and light and open to the sky that was kissing him with raindrops, each cool kiss a salutation and a reassurance that what was happening was truth.

The world stopped.

There was an odd vacuum of sound: the blazing freedom from pain and hate exploding into life behind Harry's scar, the sucking of a wave rushing away through the sand of a steep beach, the bell that stole all noise and gave none being struck, the vacuum of sand running up through the pinch in the hourglass.

And the world started again and Harry gasped like a drowning man coming up for air as the shock of it hit him.

And Simon, who had been rearing again, taller than Hagrid, twisting upon himself so in pain that Harry, thrown back into the world and raw with mortal concerns again, looked up and feared the horse would break its back, Simon came down onto all four legs and turned his head to Harry.

The whites of his eyes were the shining edges of twin eclipses and his flanks a heaving, stormy sea in the shifting, shimmering light of enchanted fleeces. Yellow light crackled across the dark hide like lightning in the storm.

Simon managed one shaky step closer. Harry finished the distance between them and reached out and took the dangling reins.

"He's gone," Harry said in a shattered voice, and the horse dipped its head and shuddered a sigh and seemed grateful for the comfort of a hand stroking its forelock out of its eyes. The charm in his chest fluttered and calmed. The yellow light slept again.

Harry leaned his forehead against Simon's and tried to hold onto the fading memory of bobbing on something vast. It was already slipping away like the rain between his fingers, but one thing he knew:

"It's over."

ooOOoo


	95. Chapter 95

Disclaimer: Harry et alia belong to JK Rowling and briefcase-bearing associates. I'm not profiting from this in any financial way – I doubt a Warm Glow of Satisfaction can be counted as financial reward. (Or taxable – but the IR Department can be counted on to find a way, so let's pretend I'm getting absolutely no profit from this at all, la la la.)

A/N: Didn't we leave someone behind at the bridge?

ooOOoo

Chapter 95

Harry remembered holding onto the reins with the casual strength of Atlas as Simon fought, the horse blind with panic and pain, but he didn't remember dropping them. Now, the horse stood, as if reassured by Harry's presence. Tremors ran under the dark hide and juddered down long legs. Harry felt the same. He'd been floating – a part of something great – he'd had purpose and an assured place. He hadn't needed to think, only to act, because everything he had done had been correct.

Now that it was gone he felt as if he'd not only been stripped of his clothes but the outer layers of his skin, leaving him raw and puny and vulnerable to the myriad hurts of the world. Now he was expected to think again. Now he had to feel and evaluate and be open mentally, physically and morally to other people's judgements. Now he was expected to do the correct thing, and now he didn't know what that was anymore. It hurt. And it would hurt more, he knew.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead against Simon's, trying to recapture that surety. Simon sighed. His breath was warm on Harry's hands. It was real in a way that did not hurt.

A sheep, glowing primrose, darted under the horse and broke the moment. Another, its fleece Ravenclaw blue, blundered into Harry, knocking him away from his horse. He cursed, gave the sheep a harder kick than the animal deserved, and it skittered away. Simon twitched his ears and pranced, dancing with less than his usual grace at the end of the reins with his hooves squelching in Who-Knew-What, but he didn't pull back hard enough to break free of Harry. Now that the pain was gone he seemed pleased to have Harry with him. When he settled again Harry moved forward to stroke the lathered neck. Under his hand and the slick sweat, the horse was shaking like a tree in a hurricane. Something tickled Harry's lip. When he rubbed at it, the back of his hand came away bloody. Nosebleed. Argh. Oh well. Considering what he was oh-so-carefully not looking at under his feet, Harry'd come away lightly. But his throat rasped as he said, "Steady there, old boy. It's going to be all right now."

He reached up and touched his forehead. The scar wasn't gone, but there was something inert about it. It wasn't just the pain that had disappeared: something that had always been there had also vanished. Voldemort was dead. For the first time in his life, Harry Potter was Harry Potter and he felt his heart swell in his chest at the unexpected relief of it.

"Every thing is going to be all right," he said again in that rusty voice, enunciating each syllable carefully to feel it on his tongue. It tasted like truth. Was that the musty tang of figs? The idea made Harry smile. It was a small smile, a mere ghost, but it alleviated that terrible emptiness the power of the Forest had left behind it, brightening his spirits like the sky above was brightening now that Voldemort's war against the light was over.

Mercifully Simon quietened, because if Harry thought truth tasted like figs then his brain wasn't up to dealing with the complexities of horse muttering. He lowered his nose to Harry's shoulder, resting it there until Harry could feel his teeth through the wool of his cloak, then took a huge, rib-creaking breath and sighed it out, warming Harry's shoulder.

As it was the horse way of ensuring the world was coming back to order, Simon snorted.

"Hey," Harry husked, finding a small amount of humour left to him. "Don't blow your nose on me."

Simon sighed again, then put his ears back, glaring over Harry's shoulder. Harry turned to see one of the Death Eaters moving. It was Mulciber – Mulciber who would have AK'd Harry if not for the irony of Voldemort sucking him dry of magic. _Good old Voldie – always making sure I don't die._ Odd, but he couldn't quite muster any emotion when it came to Voldemort other than a vague relief it was over – much like handing in a particularly long and bothersome History assignment. The relief also had a taste: the bitter tannin of autumn leaves crackling on the tongue. Harry waved his wand_. "Petrificus totalis,"_ he muttered with a sigh. Over? It seemed things would never be over.

He stood there for a bit, ears open for any attackers Apparating into the neighbourhood but trusting to Simon's superior hearing to alert him, incapacitating any Death Eaters who looked like they might want to get up and pester him. Which was pretty much all of them: with Simon's implicit permission for the wandwork (as Harry wasn't being bitten, it could be assumed that while Simon would trample Dark Lords and Death Eaters for their presumption Harry was, by the horse's grace, in a separate category of immunity), Harry Stunned, Bound and Immobilised (and occasionally kicked if the mood took him) the lot of them on general principle. He wasn't in the mood for another fight, but they'd get it if they did anything stupid. Like move. Harry should probably move. He should probably get on Simon and move out of the area, but he felt so lovely and floaty he couldn't be bothered.

Speaking of movement…

Over near the bend of the lane and away from the main body of Death Eaters the hunched figure that could only belong to Draco, flickering in and out of sight as his latest dose of the potion wore off, was bent over one of the few supine forms Harry hadn't got around to tying up yet. Draco took off the mask to reveal the pale face and red, swollen nose of Lucius Malfoy who had, Harry remembered now, backed away from the mob when they'd been firing spells into the sky at Draco. It looked like that nose had definitely been broken – it was slightly crooked and the healing charm someone had cast hadn't done much to help it.

Harry, half his attention spent on ensuring he wasn't standing in bits of the late Dark Lord, could hear Draco murmur, and craned his neck to see what was going on, leading Simon closer.

"… And when you get home you will apologise to Mother for being such an absolute cauldronwipe of a husband. And if you _ever_ disgrace the Malfoy name again by bowing to another, I'll personally see to it that your throat is accidentally cut while you're shaving."

From the small glimpse Harry had of Lucius' face the man looked not only stunned, but proud of his son.

Crazy. Crazy family.

"Sign this," Draco said softly but crisply, producing a miniature piece of parchment and quill from his sleeve. The parchment and quill expanded to full size. Draco scribbled something down on it. Not looking up, he called out quietly in a voice that was disguised by the same harsh rasp Harry's currently had, "Potter, I need you to act as witness."

Harry decided reality could wait a little longer and led Simon over to the Malfoys. Simon moved with reluctance, that bare hoof the only one making sound on the road, and his own feet moved oddly. They seemed to think they were meant to be sending tendrils through the road and probing their way home into the earth.

Harry did his best to ignore this by re-Stunning a couple of Death Eaters who were twitching in their bindings. The everyday magic helped remind him of who and what he was: a part of the Fores- … Harry shook his head … a student of Hogwarts School of Woodcraf- … of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

He led Simon up behind Draco. Lucius didn't look at him. He kept his eyes fixed on his son's, who stared back at him with the total lack of expression of a champion poker player. Then he nodded slightly and signed with a shaky hand. The quill in the long, elegant fingers might have looked enough like a wand to make a certain cluster of neurons fire in Simon's brain, because Harry had to put his hand on Simon's nose to still the horse. But then Simon hadn't been fond of Lucius even before he was hit with two Stuns; Harry wasn't really sure what was going on under those flattened ears and – after all that had happened he'd seen Simon wasn't covered by any chapter of the Horse Mutterer book – he wasn't up to the challenge of working it out beyond the generalisation of how much Draco would be annoyed if his father was trampled. It would probably be a lot, although intra-Malfoy dynamics were convoluted enough to merit their own book somewhere in the Arithmancy section of the library and Draco might even be thankful to be the sole male Malfoy.

"Do you witness that Lucius Malfoy, of his own free will, signed this paper?" Draco asked, speaking just above a whisper.

"I do," said Harry, wondering vaguely why they were whispering. When Draco passed the parchment back to him he gave it a quick look-over. The shiny wet ink showed Draco had only changed a few minor details, but the softness around the edge of the parchment suggested he'd been carrying it around in his pocket for some time. He signed where it said 'witness', hoping he hadn't just managed to damn himself, but they'd studied Wizarding Contracts in History and this one had the general look of a Magical Covenant Contract, which should bind Lucius' powers to his agreement and turn him into a Squib if he broke whatever agreement he'd signed on to, although it was impossible to read the fine print in the poor light and the parchment took on a sea-sick tint thanks to the lime green light cast by one of the sheep left behind, now gazing up curiously at Simon.

There was no blood involved (not where he signed, anyway – he wouldn't vouch for the rest), so he was probably safe.

Probably.

Harry didn't really care. If Draco did anything dastardly, Simon would sort him out on Harry's behalf. A wave of exhaustion picked him up. It wasn't the same as the mindless power he'd channelled, but it mimicked the brain-bypassing effect. _Floaty, floaty, floaty…_

With a pop, Lucius Disapparated, making Simon lift his head and frightening the sheep into cantering off down the lane after the rest of the flock, skipping over a prone Death Eater on the way.

"Hey!" shouted Harry after the moment it took for a. the injustice, and b. the unwiseness, and c. the bloody, flagrant injustice (injustice again, because it was a big issue) of having Lucius Malfoy on the loose sunk into his foggy brain and brought him back to reality. Simon gave a small snort, but in the main looked relieved to have Lucius gone. The ears unflattened.

"Oh, bugger off, ewe," Draco hissed as a last sheep, bold and frantic at the prospect of being alone, pushed past him in shades of magenta and charged off after the green. He straightened. Keeping his cloak covering his face (shielding his features from the sight of any Death Eaters who might be conscious enough to see him, which explained the whispering, Harry realised finally), he turned to Harry. Harry grabbed his arm and dragged him through the nearest gate where they could talk without the Death Eaters overhearing them.

"Are you crazy?" he hissed, stepping back through the gate to make sure he had a good view of the prone bodies in case one of them moved. "He's a" – Harry had to cough to clear his throat, which was still hoarse – "he's a Death Eater, for Merlin's sake."

Draco straightened. "He's my father," he replied coldly. "And I won't let him go to Azkaban."

"But he's –"

"Look," Draco whispered harshly. "I don't care what you think. But I've played a part in knocking off the Dark Lord and I probably won't be able to get any of the glory because my father was stupid enough to get mixed up in all this idiocy. You'll get that, which should satisfy your Gryffindor soul no end." Harry was offended, but before he could object to this injustice Draco continued with: "I'm taking my payment here and now – amnesty for my father. Yes, he's done some terrible things. And no, he's not going to repeat them. He's my father and I love him – I don't care what he's done. I simply have no choice in the matter."

Harry wished he wasn't so tired and that Draco hadn't chosen this moment of all moments to shock him by being candid. Maybe then he could get his argument together. "Father or not, he's been a servant of Voldemort and –"

Draco looked very tired. "Look, Potter. If someone bullied and tortured children and convinced them that the only way they could progress in the world was by joining the Dark Lord, would you hate them?"

"Yes!"

"Then you must hate your father very much."

"What? What the hell are you talking about?" But Harry knew, and his back stiffened. So long as Draco didn't say anything like –

"I'm talking about James Potter and Severus Snape. Your father wasn't the main cause of him becoming a Death Eater but he was a contributing factor."

There was a brief, red-misted moment in which Harry Potter nearly punched out Draco Malfoy. Then he came back to his senses, in that moment hating Draco for understanding the truth of the matter so well. (And hating the fact that he himself could still be hurt by the horrible things James had done.) "It's not the same."

Draco sneered at him. "It differs by degree. Truth hurts, doesn't it, Potter?"

Hermione had said once that it was doubtful Draco knew what truth was, let alone value it. She'd missed her mark on that one: Draco, like all good Slytherins, knew that truth was a tool. A weapon.

Harry especially hated it when Draco was right. Or superficially correct enough to stump Harry, who didn't have a counter-argument ready – he knew in his bones that between James Potter and Lucius Malfoy lay a deep chasm which couldn't be bridged by 'it differs by degree'. But now wasn't the time to point that out. Draco loved his father. Harry could understand that. After all that had happened, he still loved James. And Sirius, who had behaved just as badly as James, if not more so. Even when he hated them, he loved them. Harry, like Draco, had no choice in the matter. He took a deep breath and counted to ten, getting most of the numbers in correct sequence, which suggested his brain might be coming back to something that might pass as normal with a good tail wind. "Perhaps. But it doesn't stop us doing what's right."

Draco snorted. "Right and wrong – you think it's so easy. I'll tell you what right is: right is having done some monumentally stupid things and then being able to make up for them. I don't need a crystal ball to tell you that my father is about to spend a great deal of his time fundraising for charities – you can help me pick them out, if it makes you happier. And he'll probably spend the rest of his life working on behalf of a safer, happier Wizarding world where all people – Mudbloods included – can frolic in the sunshine and all that rot. It won't make him happy. But it'll be more appropriate than Azkaban or…" Draco swallowed "… or the Dementor's kiss. That won't achieve anything except to make some stupid people happy in the short term, compared to grudgingly satisfied in the long term if Lucius Malfoy rebuilds their houses and hospitals and all the other little things the poor seem to need. Weigh it up, Potter: short-term euphoria over the long-term necessities of life. But before you decide, think on this – you've got me, Draco Malfoy, ready to let you have all the fame your little ego can handle. Because I don't need it yet. I've got more important things to do with my life."

And when he did decide he was ready to use fame, he was going to be Minister of Magic, Harry knew with a combination of dread, hope and – not that he'd ever tell Draco – amusement. Merlin help them all.

Harry rubbed a hand through his hair. It was sticky with dirt and sweat as well as whatever he'd hit his head against under the bridge. "All right. But you're going to take credit for killing Voldemort if I have to drag you into the Order of Merlin ceremony myse- ow!"

There was a crack of someone Apparating into the paddock. Simon startled, jumping forward and knocking Harry and Draco off balance. Harry recovered his balance just in time for the curse smacking into him from behind. Harry fell to his knees, Draco landing next to him on his side, swearing and retching.

"Traitor…" hissed a ruined voice.

The boys twisted around as best as they could. Harry's body felt like it was stuck to a giant strip of flypaper; Draco looked like he wasn't doing any better. Unfocussed Impediment jinx? Effective enough – Harry's numb hand had dropped his wand. Harry's blood ran cold as, with the last dregs of willpower he owned, he forced his neck to turn and he looked past the twitching tail of Simon. There, staggering forward, ruined hand dangling but whole hand dangerous with a wand, was Bellatrix LeStrange.

She couldn't have been appealing to horses, that or Simon remembered being hit by her Stunning spell by the bridge: Simon sidled and twitched his tail again at the sight of her, flicking away the last of the spell which must have skimmed him, but he couldn't run because Harry had the reins wrapped around his wrist. Glittering dark eyes fixed on the wand, and the horse began to champ at the bit. The black tail swished like satin curtains blowing in the breeze in the silence of the morning.

"Blood traitor." Bellatrix spat onto the ground. With a groan of effort, she limped forward, ignoring the horse. Dark hair whirled in a cloud around her face, her hollow eyes shimmering like stars with pain and grief and madness, and for the first time the resemblance between her and Sirius was remarkable.

"Um, he – he's got me under the Imperius," Draco stuttered. "I'm –"

_"Traitor!"_ She drew back her lips, baring her teeth. Her eyes gleamed with the same mad light that had been in them when she'd tried to kill Sirius in the Ministry. Tears left silvery paths down her cheeks. Her voice rose to a shriek: "You killed everything that matters in the world, you filthy misbegot… _Crucio!"_

Draco screamed as the spell hit him.

Simon lashed out. The kick caught Bellatrix in the thigh. Harry thought he heard the bone snap, but it must have been his imagination. The muffling spell on the shoes –

Bellatrix screamed as she lifted her wand, collapsing in on herself as her leg buckled. Perhaps she meant to Disapparate rather than kill the horse, but Simon could only interpret her wand in one way.

He kicked out again.

There were a few silver sparks and a definite noise this time: it sounded like a melon being dropped. Bellatrix crumpled to the ground in a heap of black robes, the side of her head caved in. She spasmed, her left arm curling up to her chest, made a few last breathy wheezes, and died.

Simon stamped his feet nervously, ready to let fly with his hooves again.

"Si-" Harry stopped and swallowed. His throat was dry. Which was odd, as his stomach felt like it had just crawled up out of it. "Simon." His voice rasped and scraped. "Good boy, Simon." He stood, using the reins to pull himself up. A bit of bloodied froth fell on his wrist. He ignored it. Hopefully the blood was Voldemort's rather than Simon's. "Draco. Draco."

Draco was lying with his arms curled around him. Harry could relate. Cruciatus left you wanting to hide yourself. Simon was standing with his eyes and nostrils wide. There were brief but furious bursts of chewing at the bit, and more frothy saliva dropped to the ground as the horse glared around into the shadows. The whites of his eyes blazed and yellow lines ran across his body, seemingly probing the black hide for a way inside. Harry patted Simon's neck and the lines calmed and dimmed. "Good boy, Simon." Simon's neck was slick, with the faintest tremor running through the muscle. He'd need to be walked around, a stray thought suggested; if the horse stood around all sweaty like this it could catch a chill. But first things first:

Harry's wand hadn't gone far, neither had Draco's. He knelt and picked them up, careful not to let go of the reins.

It was far too much effort to stand up again. He stayed down on his knees. "Draco. I've got your wand for you. Can you sit up?"

"Back off…"

It didn't sound angry. Harry rocked back onto his heels just in time.

Draco threw up.

Harry concentrated, trying to remember the spell that was good at times like these. _"Aquacalix."_ The goblet that appeared was misshapen but functional. Harry poured some of the water onto the end of his sleeve and held the cup under Draco's face. "Here."

His hands were shaking, but Draco took the cup and sipped. He swilled the water in his mouth and spat, then drank. "Thanks. But isn't a cold cloth for nosebleeds?"

Harry was pressing the wet sleeve against the back of Draco's neck. "I always forget these things."

Still kneeling, Draco sat back. He took his wand from Harry. "Thanks. And as you've just defeated a Dark Lord I think a bit of absent-mindedness can be forgiven. I mean, Dumbledore got made Headmaster of Hogwarts despite the fact he's as dotty as an adolescent leopard. I always thought that was because he snuffed Grindelwald."

"He's going to snuff us out like candles for what we've done…"

"What 'we'? I was under the Imperius, remember?"

Harry managed a dry laugh. He patted Draco on the shoulder. "Come on."

They helped each other to their feet. They made it after a few tries (avoiding the puddle of vomit and was an incentive not to fall). Harry had his arm over Simon's neck, although the horse didn't appreciate the way this hindered its ability to look around unhindered. Draco was hanging on to a stirrup iron and he was even paler after the Cruciatus, with his lips faintly blue.

"D'you think he'd mind if I Summoned my broom?"

"Who? Simon? I think you could Avada Kedavra someone and he wouldn't mind."

"So long as it wasn't you."

"Well… doing me in would hardly get you elected Comrade President. I'm more popular with the Slytherins than Gryffindors these days."

Draco laughed. There was a staccato, reckless edge to it. "That's funny 'cos it's true. _Accio _broom."

Simon only gave the broom a tired glare as it sailed through the air towards them. He didn't even put his ears back when Harry Stunned a Death Eater who'd made the mistake of twitching.

"Is that Mulciber?" Draco said conversationally.

"Yeah." But Harry wasn't sure. The power of the unicorn blood seemed to have reached the end of its lifetime – apart from a faint shifting of cheekbones and noses, he couldn't see through the masks, and the homogeneous robes blended identities. But he thought that fallen figure was about where Mulciber had fallen.

"So what now?" Draco sounded lost. And peeved about being lost.

Harry wasn't sure what _he _was supposed to do about matters – it wasn't like he had a road map. Harry unslung the leadrope from around Simon's neck in case the horse wanted to pick at the grass and sank down against the gate post. It was nice and solid and only shook a little bit. Come to think of it, it was probably Harry who was doing the shaking.

"You took quite a fall there," Draco was saying. "You might have a concussion."

Harry rubbed his head. His scar had stopped hurting. Shame about the rest of him, which felt like Beaters had been using him for practice instead of a Bludger. "Maybe. You're not looking too good yourself. That Cruciatus hit you in the chest."

"Yeah." Draco bit his lip. He stared around at the fallen Death Eaters. "How long do you think it'll take those morons in Hogsmeade to get here?"

"Should be soon, I hope."

"Huh. That's what you said under the bridge."

"The clouds have let up." Harry squinted up at the sky. "Big circle of light right above us – that's a hint to even the stupidest."

"Hmm. Could be how Bellatrix found us… hope no more of the stupidest come to investigate." Draco flopped down and would have leaned against Simon's forelegs except the horse stepped away and Draco ended up lying on his back staring up at the circle of sky above, the low clouds moving across the expanding ring of light like they were being viewed through a telescope, speckles of rain falling into his face. This didn't seem to faze him. "Lying down. An unprecedented good move. Let me know if anyone tries to attack us again." He unpinned the cameo and tossed it to Harry. "Here. It's probably spelled to come to the rescue of a Gryffindor."

Harry took the brooch and examined it briefly. "I think it got broken. The eye isn't moving now."

"Huh? Oh. You're right. Wonder when that happened?"

"Barrier storm?"

"Probably." Draco rubbed at his eyes. "God, I'm tired."

"I'm hungry. Can you believe it?"

Draco chuckled wryly. "My stomach's still a bit queasy."

"Yeah. Cruciatus does that to you."

"I must tell Pansy. She's always trying to keep her weight down." Draco smirked. He sat up and leaned forward to survey the road. He plucked at the hood of his cloak nervously, just in case any Death Eaters were looking (they weren't). The sheep were all gone now, but a faint light further down the lane suggested they hadn't wandered far. Simon came closer and nibbled at the hood of his cloak. Draco fiddled with Simon's reins, which had slid sideways into a big loop that was just asking to be stepped on. "Simon will get a chill if we stay out here too long."

"Yeah. But we can't just leave this lot lying around. Someone might come along and set them free. Or a Muggle might drive over them in his car."

"Hmm. Gotta love the irony of that."

Harry considered their options. He wanted to get going. If a sudden influx of fresh Death Eaters showed up he'd leave. He was done with fighting for the day. Week. Year. Rest of his life. Harry yawned. "Any of that Invisibility Potion left?"

"Only a few drops."

Harry paused. Had a Death Eater twitched? He stood and Stunned the figure just in case. The spell left him weak at the knees, and not in a good Luna-just-kissed-me way. He was drained magically as well as everything else. And he couldn't stay around here flicking spells at Death Eaters. Sooner or later one would wake up and play dead just long enough to – _"Stupefy!" _– damn, that was close… _"Accio wand!" … _to get the better of him. Harry sighed and wondered if snapping a Death Eater's wand was considered acceptable in polite society. He snapped it anyway, ignoring Draco's quickly quelled appalled stare. "Enough to last me and Simon until we get back to Hogwarts?"

"Simon and I," Draco countered, and at first Harry thought his grammar was being corrected. "I'll take him back. Wouldn't want you handing him over to the Aurors just because they ask nicely. I'll lurk around in the background until I know you're okay, then sneak off. It's a Slytherin thing," he added proudly when Harry gave him a look like Harry was wondering if Draco had hit _his_ head.

Harry tried to get his mental processes back to work. "Do you really want to wait here? You don't have to be invisible for the Aurors. And I could just as easily take Simon back as you."

"No. Any Auror other than Tonks or maybe Moody who comes along will hex me along with everyone else."

"You've got a point." Harry hadn't been overly impressed with Auror intelligence in the past. A lot of them might take the chance to take out old grievances on a Malfoy if Harry wasn't around. But more to the point: "…And you're worried someone will see Simon, aren't you?"

"Well, if they think he's a killer they'll put him down."

Harry snorted, then flicked another Stunner at a Death Eater who'd twitched. "They'll give him a medal when they find out he helped kill Voldemort … and killed Bellatrix LeStrange all by himself."

"… Yeah, maybe…"

Harry hadn't had such a blow to the head he couldn't see where Malfoy was heading. "You're worried his owner will show up."

"No, I'm – yeah. Well, if a wizard owns him and Simon gets famous, he'll be gone before you can say 'Expelliarmus'."

"Hmm." It wasn't _quite_ theft if they accidentally kept Simon in a quiet, out-of-the-way place, Harry told himself. Simon needed some time to relax after tonight. "True." He rested his arm across the saddle and scratched Simon's mane. The horse sighed appreciatively and turned his head to sniff at Harry's hand.

"Remember what that painting told us: if we go through the barrier we'll lose Simon."

"She might have been mistaken." Although she'd been spot-on about trusting the unicorns.

"With all due respect to her, that's what I'm hoping to make happen."

Harry nodded. "I'm not keen on waiting here with a bunch of Death Eaters all by myself. Maybe if you left as soon as the Aurors got here…"

"They'll want to take Simon into custody and study him. It's not every Muggle creature that defeats a Dark Lord. The Death Eaters will probably tell the Aurors about him, but if he's not here then you can say he was some sort of ultra-spell you created from the, um, backlash of magic you got through your scar plus the, uh, potion, and then we can work out a deal that allows us to keep Simon. How'd that be?"

"That could work," Harry said, his mind reeling at the lengths Draco was prepared to go to keep a horse. Work out a deal? What the hell sort of a deal did he think he was going to work out with Aurors when it was going to be a chancy thing just keeping his own father out of Azkaban? Best not to argue with Malfoy when he had that mildly deranged look in his eyes and his pale hair was standing up in tufts around his dirt-encrusted face. Besides, Draco had said 'allows us', and Harry wasn't going to give up Simon without a fight, so they were flying on the same team for this. "What about the kicked-in head?"

They stared at Bellatrix's corpse.

Draco swallowed and looked away first. "It's… I didn't know heads could do that…" he said in a thin voice.

Harry regarded him. She'd been his aunt. There must be some sort of feeling other than hatred there, on Draco's side if there hadn't been on Bellatrix's. "Dark magic I didn't quite understand hit her."

"Yeah. I guess it did." Draco patted Simon's shoulder. "The dark magic you don't quite understand is getting cold."

"We can't let him stand around much longer. But you look a bit peaky. Maybe I should take him back… Tonks must have told the Aurors you're on our side…"

_"I _look a bit peaky? Check your mirror. You're just this side of being charged for necromancy." Draco snorted. "And yeah, like Tonks telling the Aurors anything is going to help me. Two words, Potter. Ingrained. Prejudice. No. I'll manage. I can sit on a broom." He looked nervous. "What if they come and see him and don't listen to you? They might take Simon just for being with me." He ran the back of his hand across his eyes. "I should leave now… but then Death Eaters might… Oh, for Merlin's sake – I can't think…"

"Yeah, me neither." Harry didn't want to give up Simon any more than Draco did. If someone was really upset about losing him then they'd hear about it. If not, well… Harry, Draco and Luna could work something out. Maybe Stephanie had it wrong: they were outside the barrier and they hadn't lost Simon yet. Maybe if they were sneaky they could work out a way of keeping the horse. "How about if you wait, um, kind of in the shadows with the Invisibility Potion ready, like? That way you can sneak off when they're busy arresting everyone."

"Sounds good. As soon as anyone Apparates in I can put the potion on me and Simon." He tugged at his lower lip and frowned worriedly at the Death Eaters. "I don't want this lot running around making trouble for me – best if they're locked up. And if you're visible you can take any hexes they dish out while I hex them from behind."

"I think that stupidity is wearing off."

Draco smirked. "It is, isn't it? Another reason why I should stay – it never made much of a difference to you."

"Thanks."

"Any time. Well, there we go. It's best I don't leave you until we're sure you're going to be safe." Draco grimaced.

Harry totally agreed with that. He also thought Draco was being rather brave by his standards, risking Simon this way. He wasn't _quite_ stupid enough to say so, in case Draco thought Harry was implying he was a Gryffindor and stormed off in a temper. He shook the brooch and sighed. "How can we get the Aurors here sooner? They must be looking for us, but in all this darkness…"

The darkness might be dissipating now that Voldemort was dead, but too slowly for his liking. If anyone was up on a broom looking for them, they wouldn't be able to make them out in the murk.

Draco bent over Simon's foot. "Damn. That shoe took some hoof with it when it got lost." He waved his wand and the remaining silver shoes glimmered softly then faded. "Sod it. The muffling spell is shot to hell. Might last back to Hogwarts, but not beyond today. And that bare hoof is going to be trouble."

"Will he be okay to get back?"

"I'll take shortcuts through the fields as far as Hogsmeade, then the road is pretty smooth."

"Are you seriously going to walk all that way?"

"I'll lead him off my broom. I'd let you hang onto it, but you having my broom would be a dead giveaway that I'm here somewhere. Come on, old fellow," he said to Simon. He pulled his hood up and led the horse through the gate – the gate, Harry noticed at last, was set into the slate wall Harry had jumped Simon over with arguable success. It had lovely low wooden rails on either side of it, and if he'd been able to steer Simon just a little they'd have jumped it instead. Oh well, Harry thought – maybe if he hadn't fallen off Simon, Voldemort wouldn't have died. No use second guessing these things, not when one's brain wasn't fit enough to make a reasonable _first_ guess. He followed Draco and Simon down the narrow lane, a little way past a few Death Eaters and towards another gate set into a lower version of the slate wall.

The paddock on the other side of it, he remembered, was on the way to Hogsmeade. "Didn't you say it was a sheep paddock?" he asked softly, mindful of the potential open ears of the Death Eaters.

He couldn't see Draco's expression but suspected a smirk was involved. Draco answered in an artificially hoarse voice (a hoarse voice which was unfortunately easy to hear his identity behind – but if all the Death Eaters were as stunned as they appeared it wouldn't be an issue): "It was. I found another gate a little further on towards the farmhouse. Wasn't hard to get the sheep through."

The unshod hoof made an oddly organic clopping noise against the road, somewhere between wood and hollow rubber, while the other three which still had the silver shoes were silent. Harry stayed close and they spoke in whispers as they passed the Death Eaters, keeping their wands at the ready.

"Mind you keep an eye out for any alpacas."

Draco managed a small smile. "I will. As soon as I've put the potion on me and Simon I'll give the bottle to you and if it's Death Eaters you can put the last of it on and meet me and Simon by the gate."

"Sounds like a plan. Where the hell are they?" Harry grumbled, tired and a long way past fed up. Professionalism in the Wizarding world had a long way to go.

"Let's see if we can hurry them up…" Draco lifted his wand, keeping a careful eye on Simon, who had been severely provoked this morning. The horse gave him a doubtful look, but didn't attack. "Right. Attention. Something to bring the Aurors. Get ready in case they're Death Eaters. I've been wanting to try this one… _Argenhippus Ramp!"_

The spell flew into the sky over their heads and exploded.

A gigantic silver horse reared against the dawn, lighting up the clouds. It shook out its mane and Harry could almost hear its triumphant neigh. For a moment it danced on its hind legs, then it flew apart in a galaxy of twinkling magical sparks.

"Cool," Harry breathed.

Draco beamed proudly, his teeth very white against the rest of his grubby face. "That went better than expected."

"Well, it's going to have the Authorities down on us. Either that, or a Ferrari club wondering where the rally's being held."

"What?"

"Later. Go." The first pop of Apparition had just come from the other side of the wall. Simon raised his head with the weary resignation of a horse who'd done its dash and was not looking forward to dealing with more wand-wielding idiots.

"We'll be just down the lane, okay? By the gate. Just in case…" Draco tilted his head at the assortment of pole-axed Death Eaters and lifted his eyebrows in a meaningful way. "… You know. Trouble."

He jumped on his broom and sprinkled the Invisibility Potion on himself and the horse. The spell transferred itself to his broom, although the charred ends of the bristles were still visible. Harry made a mental note to tell Elmsworthy the potion didn't work on burnt material.

"That stuff's only good on Simon for a few minutes," Harry warned.

"Tell me about it. But that's all we need. Right, Simon?"

Harry couldn't see Simon, but it wasn't too far-fetched to suppose the tired horse ignored that last comment.

"Here's the bottle."

Harry held out his hand and felt the invisible bottle pressed into his palm. "I'll fetch him some peppermints on the way back. Promise."

"Just so long as you get those Chocolate Frogs you owe me."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake… all right. Now bugger off."

There was no sound other than that fading clop of the unshod hoof, but an eddy in a drift of misty rain and a large hoofprint suddenly appearing in the cloak of one of the Death Eaters showed that Draco and Simon were leaving in the arranged direction. More pops and cracks – it sounded like a bowl of rice bubbles – started up in the surrounding fields. There was cursing as someone Apparated into the branches of a tree. The voice sounded a lot like Fred or George's. Harry turned to see if anyone had Apparated behind him.

Another pop as the air opened up right behind Harry made him jump and spin back, swearing, a curse on his tongue if this person was idiotic enough to be wearing black robes –

"Wotcher, Harry," said a grinning Tonks.

Another soft pop, and Moody was on Harry's left. His unmagical eye widened at the sight of all the downed Death Eaters. The magical one spun briefly before fixing on a point in the lane. He scowled at the gate, then gave a small, grim smile and a nod, and turned back to Harry. "Well done, lad."

Weariness hit Harry like a plank. He tucked the bottle of Invisibility Potion into his robes before it could reappear and become a conversation point – Elmsworthy wouldn't thank him for having his pre-patented invention confiscated by the Ministry. He barely noticed the gate Moody had been interested in opening and closing, or the scorched bristles speeding up to the speed of Simon's trot, which suggested Draco and Simon were taking the opportunity to make a quiet but rapid exit before they were blocked from sight by the wall.

Babble of voices as the Aurors (and Fred and George) took in the spectacle of all the downed Death Eaters and wondered about the bloody mess smeared across the road. Moody was running his wand over Harry. Harry wondered if he was meant to object to this, but then Moody gestured to someone behind him.

Someone put an arm across his shoulders and turned him away from the hubbub. "Come on, Harry," said Tonks in a soft voice. "You need an industrial strength cup of tea."

"Would it help?"

"It'd help me." Tonks smiled reassuringly, but Harry caught the worried look she shot over his head at Moody. "Let's give the busy Auror team space for a bit, let them think they're doing their jobs."

"Don't I need to stay here?"

Another quick wordless exchange with Moody. "No, mate," she said. "Come away now."

"Okay."

It was over.

His life had a long-term now.

ooOOoo


	96. Chapter 96

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world still don't belong to me. Oh well, them's the breaks.

Warning! Lots of yakkety-yak.

ooOOoo

Chapter 96

The rain was falling steadily by the time Harry was allowed to return to Hogwarts. It swathed the hills in misty veils and shrouded the castle. Astronomy Tower was blotted out by the lowest clouds. Harry stopped the broom at the gates and dismounted. He wanted to savour this view of Hogwarts from this side of the gates. Hogwarts was the first home he'd known. And now he was coming back. Did other students feel like this, or did they only get this warmth in their chests when they got to the houses where their families lived?

There was a soft pop from behind him – Tonks, Disapparating. She'd followed him on another broom, Harry and his bodyguard flying swiftly in case they were stopped on the road. Tonks' wand had dispersed the floating blue strands Draco had warned him about, and they'd flown above the Infernii curses set into the road.

"Harry…"

Luna. Harry didn't bother to say her name, let alone ask something as trivial as how long she'd been waiting by the gates. He strode through the gates and felt the wards tingle up his legs like a hearty welcome and threw Tonks' broom into the bushes and grabbed her and kissed her and after that split second of her surprise she was kissing him back and Harry had finally, _truly_ come home.

Some time later, when the universe had regained some relevance, Harry pulled back. "I saved the world for you," he whispered.

He didn't need unicorn blood magic to see that her eyes were a silver softer than mistletoe potion. They glowed with some inner light akin to that of the unicorns. Harry wondered if the truth of Luna paralleled people's need for horses: as the other worldliness of unicorns was too far beyond the human sphere and horses allowed you to approach that wonder, so Luna bridged that middle ground between the every day and the esoteric. More than that, she was willing to share it with him. Her lips curved. "Just for me?"

His own lips twitched. "Mm-hmm."

"Oh. Thanks. I appreciate the thought."

"Any time." He pulled her into another spine-melting kiss. Her hands were in his hair and her body was supple against his.

"Wet kisses are pretty good, aren't they?"

Harry would murder Ron at the earliest opportunity. He settled for an interim glare.

Ron countered with a grin. He stepped forward with his hand out. "Welcome back, mate."

Harry shook his head and clasped Ron's hand, laughing as Ron tugged him into a hug and slapped his back. "You did it, Harry. You bloody well did it."

"So did Malfoy. You gonna hug him?"

Ron started to laugh. They broke apart. "I'll give him a very warm nod of recognition," Ron replied, his freckled face beaming. "I will, however, kiss that horse of yours on the nose. How come you didn't come back with him?"

"Had to wait for the Aurors. Malfoy wanted to see Simon back."

"Before he could have his horse confiscated, you mean?" Ron shook his head.

Harry smiled. "Something like that. Then Tonks took me to Hogsmeade – I had a cup of tea that nearly took the lining of my mouth out, and a lot of questions that finished the job. Some I was even able to answer."

"Crikey, sounds like our OWLs."

"Was, a bit," Harry chuckled tiredly. It was lucky Tonks had taken his testimony with a recording spell and then let him go before the other Aurors caught up with him, because he'd been dying to get back to Hogwarts to ask a few questions of his own and Tonks had hinted there could be quarantine issues and he mightn't get back as soon as he wanted unless he was sneaky about it. She'd let him steal her broom. If anyone asked, he was so tired he couldn't think straight and had thought she'd meant for him to stay at Hog_warts_ instead of Hog_smeade._

He had the tiredness part down pat.

Ron's being here answered in part his most pressing question. "Nice to see you're alive, Ron. Is Hermione okay too?"

"She's fine. So is Elmsworthy," he added with less enthusiasm.

"How'd you survive the tree? I mean, there was an explosion…"

Ron's eyes widened and he shook his head. "One explosion? Two! Can you believe it? The first when the tree went boom in a big way, and then again when the barrier collapsed in on itself… something to do with time realigning itself, Hermione said – all I know is that it was evening and then it was morning. It was bloody lucky you taught Elmsworthy that wall of sky spell, Luna, because we'd have been smeared through the Forest without it. It was… but you look knackered, mate. Like an Inferi, only without the exuberance. Let's get you inside and out of the rain."

Luna nodded as if he'd just uttered words of infinite wisdom. "That sounds sensible, Ron." She took each of them by the hand and they began to walk up the road towards the castle. Even through the damp filter of the rain, the rising sun was warm on Harry's back. He took off his cloak and ruffled his fingers through his hair. The water might even make it lie flat for once. The raindrops were clean and the rising sun turned them silvery, as pretty as a school of fish darting through shallows, so silver that he could almost fancy that some of the unicorn blood had altered his eyesight permanently.

"Did Draco get back okay?"

"I helped him take Simon back to the paddock," Luna said. She was swinging her hands; Ron's and Harry's went along for the ride. Harry quite liked this, especially as Ron's expression was one of 'I-hope-Hermione-doesn't-see-this'. "He said you'd be along soon. So long as you didn't get waylaid by Rita Skeeter. Not sure what that meant. I don't know if he'll be back at the castle yet… he wanted to be sure Simon was going to be alright – that was quite a chunk taken out of his hoof when the shoe came off, you know. I said I'd be going back to the gates, and he asked me to tell you that he'd take care of his horse."

Harry snorted.

Luna smiled. "Well, he's never been the brightest spark in the wand. I mean, who in their right mind thinks Simon belongs to them?"

Harry considered this. He pursed his lips. "You?"

"Oh, I know exactly where ownership lies." She smiled up at him, her teeth like pearls between her parted lips. "He looked after you, didn't he."

"Who? Simon? Yes." There had been that moment in the Forest when Harry had thought Simon would run, but… "He took care of all of us. He killed Voldemort."

Ron shot him a look. "What? I thought you did? And single-handedly captured all the Death Eaters. That's what the Aurors who came to the school told us. Arch Comrade Militant Bulstrode said they were only acting sure of their facts to stop us asking inconvenient questions because they really knew bugger all."

"Tonks must have given them a brief report. I didn't give her more than the basics. I'm still not sure what happened myself."

"Oh. Well, they're still holding everyone in the Great Hall. They said you were at Hogsmeade, and not to expect you back for a few days because of some quarantine thing. I sneaked out to wait down here – Hermione was worried about you." Ron frowned. "Ah… are you saying we should be throwing a _horse_ a victory parade?"

"Well, killed him in the most literally physical sense." Harry rubbed his eyes, which were grainy. "Sorry. Brain bad." He coughed to clear his throat. His voice was so husky he sounded like he'd been on a bottle of gin and two packs of cigarettes a day for the last twenty years. "It was like this: I threw the bottle, which shattered on him. The glass didn't penetrate, but hung around. Malfoy hit him with the second bottle. That didn't do much either. Simon bit him, which got the potion through his skin. I… I don't quite know what I did. Simon smashed him into the ground all right, and then it started getting crazy… and I said something… this word…" That bit was still hazy: there had been the knowledge without his brain getting in the way by thinking logical thought, and then he'd had to speak a word… something to do with unicorns and figs and the Forest… and there had been the fading scream of Voldemort echoing through his scar as the Dark Lord dwindled and faded into a small twinkle… "The end of the story is Voldemort's gone.

"Huh. Funny thing. I'd almost forgotten… there was a spell in Simon and when I pulled it and touched it to my scar, it, um, it unravelled and, sort of, er, gave me an opening into Voldemort's mind… you know, it was almost like it was a Dark M- Ouch!"

"Sorry." Luna had gripped his hand too tight. Her nails must have left marks. "I… I guess it's kind of scary thinking of you fighting Voldemort," she said.

Harry squeezed her hand gently in reply. "It worked out just fine," he told her. "It wasn't just me. You're joking about the victory parade, aren't you, Ron?"

"No."

Harry curled his lip at the thought. "Ugh. Do I have to be there?"

"Yes."

"I'll send Malfoy and Simon. No – just Malfoy. Once all the Death Eaters are caught and his parents aren't in danger from them I'll tell him to stop skulking around in the background – shouldn't be hard. He'd love the smirking, waving bit. People might ask questions about where Simon came from. Speaking of whom, you sure you wouldn't rather be up with Simon?" he asked Luna. _And Malfoy?_

"I wanted to see you come back," she said simply.

Ron had the grace to be interested in something over to the left. Harry stared away at the lake until he was sure the moisture in his eyes was only that of the drifting rain. "And I'm glad," he said at last.

"Gladness is the order of the day," Ron said. "Look."

The meeting must have ended (or the students had found out that someone had just arrived from Hogsmeade), because the doors of the castle opened in their ponderous way. The first of the students were trickling through. Harry wasn't close enough to see their faces but he could imagine the breaking wonder, the first stirrings of hope and the fear that hope would be false and despite what the Aurors had told them Voldemort and his Death Eaters would come marching into Hogwarts and announce the death of their loved ones, then the – yes, if he squinted he could see their faces – the joy of seeing the outside world and knowing it was safe at last.

Because Death Eaters never walked hand-in-hand. And it was Harry Potter walking back to them, not Voldemort.

There were no shouts. Only the growing sound of tens and then scores of pairs of shoes running down the road. Hogwarts robes billowed behind the running students and the badges were those of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin, all students united in this moment of freedom.

Harry and Ron drew closer to Luna, expecting the students to flow around them in a torrent, ignoring any quarantine rules, running out the gates and down to Hogsmeade. But they didn't. They surrounded the trio, yes, and then there were shouts of congratulations and people were slapping Harry on the back. Trudi crashed into him and hugged him so hard she nearly knocked him off his feet before she was pulled away by Millicent… who gave Harry a quick, rib-cracking hug and a short glare that said _We shall never mention this again._ Then there were some Ravenclaw girls he didn't really know wanting to hug him (Luna frowned) and a Hufflepuff boy (Ron grinned) and then it was Hermione and Harry laughed from the sheer relief of seeing for himself that she was alive and well and picked her up and spun her around and dropped her, dizzy and laughing, in Ron's arms, as Dean and Seamus and Neville crowded around to slap his back and shoulders and shout (or smile shyly in Neville's case) congratulations and Ginny kissed him on his cheek and bounced off to hug Neville. And all the while they were calling back to other students still emerging from the castle, telling them that Harry Potter was alive; that Harry Potter had broken the Blockade; that Harry Potter had saved them.

Harry Potter blushed.

ooOOoo

A flurry of Aurors broke up the group. "There's a quarantine on," a tall, rawboned witch chided. She waved her wand and the gates shut with a clang, just in case any students were thinking of haring off Hogsmeade way.

By the sea of sullen faces suddenly surrounding her, that had been uppermost on their minds.

A younger Auror went to lock the gates – a good thing, Harry realised with a small jolt, because there were Death Eater traps set into the road. He hadn't thought to warn anyone of that – Ron, who'd been ready to march down the road in search of Harry, might have stood on one. Harry shivered

"I wanted to check the mail," someone muttered.

"We'll have the mail sent up directly," the witch assured them. "But what with the strange magics which have been in force, we need to be sure that no aftershocks or transmissible tweaks in fields will be carried out. It's for everybody's safety. There are pockets of the barrier still in effect. And, of course, there are curses set around Hogwarts' boundaries."

"Yes," Harry said, and the students seemed more ready to trust the Auror. "There are Infernii curses on the road –"

"Like zombies?" a nervous first year asked.

"No, not Inferi – Infernii curses. Hellpits. And some sort of binding spells. Don't know what else. But don't try walking down the road just yet." Draco had already known about them – shouldn't he have warned everyone?

"Don't you remember Malfoy going on about how his life was in danger from an almost infinite number of sources when he took the mail out last month?" Ron said.

"Oh, that's right," several people said, looking at Harry with renewed hero worship for having passed these perils. "They suck your brains out." "If you stand on one of them you get Portkeyed to hell." "Did you have your eyeballs boiled, Harry?"

"Er, no. My eyes are fine." Draco must have embellished the dangers. Or the Hogwarts Rumour Mill was manufacturing product at capacity.

"But won't you be going in and out?" Trudi asked the Auror.

The Auror didn't tell her off for speaking out of turn – Harry was surprised by Trudi's forwardness as much as by the Auror's forbearance. "Yes, but it will be minimised. And I'm an Auror – it's my job to put my life on the line."

They didn't argue with that – the crimson scar tracing a jagged path from hairline down cheek to jaw _could_ have been from a kitchen spell gone awry, but the students all seemed to accept it as a silent advertisement of the fact that this Auror had been putting her life on the line quite recently.

She turned to Harry.

"Mr Potter, glad to see you made it back to Hogwarts. Is that Tonks' Cleansweep sticking out of the bushes?"

"Er, I was going to wait at Hogwarts…"

"I'm sure you simply misunderstood. Hogsmeade and Hogwarts sound very similar, and Auror Moody said you were somewhat tired after defeating Voldemort. Nice trampling, by the way."

"Er… Backlash of magic through my scar… Dark magic I didn't quite understand…"

"I'm sure it will be explained in time. No rush – you look like you were dug up and reanimated by a Haitian witch. Some warm soup – that's the ticket after a hard day fighting Dark wizards."

She didn't pat him on the head, which he appreciated. Rather than stick around under her far-too knowing gaze, he nodded and said, "Er, right. I'm starving, come to mention it."

"Get the man some food," Bulstrode ordered some first years. "Go on – back to the castle with you."

Harry didn't really want to go to the castle just yet. His eyes weren't quite able to stay open. But his stomach growled.

"Was that yours or mine?" asked Ron.

"Mine."

Ron gave him a quick, analytical stare, and shook his head. "Give him some space," Ron said to those crowding around. "Come on, everyone – breakfast has been extended."

There were cheers, and a small bubble formed around Harry and Luna, chattering students cocooning them and giving them unexpected privacy.

"How did you know about the unicorns?" he asked Luna in the lull, threading her arm through his as they set off up the road.

"I didn't. But I expected that if the spirit of Hufflepuff was involved then they'd be sent along soon enough."

Harry shook his head in disbelief and spoke in a low voice, not caring that it must carry as far as Ron. So long as it didn't carry farther was all he cared about right now. His mind was humming with fragments of things he'd seen and done, but he didn't want to start a new set of rumours – he'd never be _that_ stupid. "I'm dead sure the Forest was involved somehow, but it's not conscious. Do you think she gave it some sort of consciousness? Willpower? I met a centaur who suggested it was her. I still don't really believe it." He kicked at a loose stone. "I mean, she died a thousand years ago, so who knows _what_ she got up to. She could have been breeding, oh, I don't know… sentient apple trees. Sentient _fig_ trees – now that I'd believe! But how did _you_ know that it could be Hufflepuff who's been behind the scenes?" He still didn't know how Helga had organised this if this was true. As theories went, that one went beyond mind-boggling and set up house in scepticism.

"Well, given Stephanie's involvement, the Golden Sickle and the fig just 'falling' into your pocket, I thought there must be something along those lines. The unicorns were kind of an underlining of the evidence, if you like. I was expecting them if it was Hufflepuff – she was the one who brought them to the Forest, did you know?"

"That was something the centaur said, too." Harry tightened his arm around Luna's. She gave him a soft smile as he continued, "I guess centaurs have a lot of lore we don't. But it amazes me that you knew."

"Why? All the clues were there. It was either the spirit of Helga Hufflepuff infusing the Forest, or the Gila Lizard Brigade. And they've been inactive since the Space Bunnies lost their colony in the Nevada Desert. Must have been an amazing battle… just think of all those Gila ninjas fighting Space Bunnies… cold steel and lethal kicks versus lasers…"

"Really." Harry knew when to let things lie.

Luna gave his arm a happy squeeze. "Oh, the things we can do…"

Harry was much buoyed by this idea. Things in the future. "Yes! Loads! You want to take Simon to a horse show, don't you?" His smile faltered when Luna's expression gave a brief flicker of sorrow.

"Burghley."

"Burly what? Burly big horses? Like those ones that pull carts and… and carry knights and stuff?" Watching jousting could be fun. Especially if people fell off a lot.

Luna spelt it out for him. "It's a horse show. Held in September. The dressage is awesome."

Harry wasn't particularly interested in dressage unless it was him on Simon – or Luna in her tight riding trousers on Simon. Watching other people on horses that weren't Simon would be colossally boring. "Any jousting?"

"Er… maybe?"

"So can you take Simon to Burghley?"

Luna shook her head. A platinum strand of hair fell over her face. Harry tucked it back behind her ear. "No," she said. "Taking Simon would be too difficult and it might make people ask questions about where I got the horse – you can't imagine Draco letting Simon out in public when there's a chance someone might try to claim him – or possibly assassinate him when his part in killing Voldemort is more widely known, which it will be. No. I could go by myself, but, well, do you have any idea how insane horsy people can get? Plus they're _Muggle_ horsy people. That makes them… doubly strange."

"Draco's probably counted as a horsy person by now, so yes, I've got a fair idea. And Muggles aren't always that bad." They were nearly at the castle now. Harry slowed down, wanting this walk to last as long as possible. Luna leaned into him and Harry felt his heart expand in his chest at this simple contact. They were walking so slowly now that if they went any slower they'd be going backwards.

"School would be on. I can't go there by myself – and I'd rather go with someone. Daddy is a bit frightened of horses, and having him around horses and Muggles all at the same time would be too much. I was hoping my uncle would take me to it this year," she said softly. The faint hint of diffidence in her voice was clear as a bell to Harry: she'd been wanting to spend time with her uncle. _So why shouldn't she?_ "Although it's right at the beginning of the school year, I thought we could Apparate there over the weekend," she continued. "He always needs to be coaxed around to something like that, but it's not that hard if you bargain him down."

"So bargain him down. It's been ages since you've seen him – I'm sure he'll be ready to take you anywhere you want to go – to the moon and back if he's a wizard."

Luna's mouth moved in something that wasn't really a smile. "He's a bit tied up at the moment, I expect."

_Huh. Stupid uncle for making Luna sad._ "I'll take you. I'm famous. Let's turn it into something useful for a change," Harry told her. It wouldn't be boring if Luna was there to explain everything to him. Or distract him by wearing those white riding pants. Maybe they could disguise Simon as… as a dog or a Shetland pony or something small and portable… and take him along for the ride (so to speak). "Can't imagine Rita Skeeter being there, can you?"

"No. Sounds divine. Let's run away together and see beautiful horses dance." Luna smiled up at him, her silvery eyes clear as the full moon on a cloudless night, so clear he could see the shadows and know that they were eclipsed by the light Luna took from all around her and added to the internal eternal mystery of her soul to turn it into her own unique magic.

When he got his breath back, Harry realised he was thinking of the future. The shock of it made him grip Luna's hand. Then it hit him – he was thinking of the future as he walked through the front doors of Hogwarts with Luna's hand in his.

The future looked pretty good. Maybe it wouldn't be so scary after all.

Bobbing in the current of students and shepherded by Aurors, he allowed himself to be guided inside, up stairs, into the Hall and into a thunderous storm of applause.

He looked around and blinked in bemusement. How strange. Everyone was standing up and clapping. For him. That was nice. He looked up to the front of the Hall and saw Dumbledore looking tired and – unusually for him – fondly exasperated. Dumbledore gave him a nod. Next to McGonagall (trying but failing badly to pretend she was most annoyed at him going off and endangering his life) was Hagrid, tears streaming down his face into his beard, massive hands clapping so loudly they could be heard above everyone else's. Flitwick was standing on his chair next to him, clapping as enthusiastically as any first year.

And there was Remus. He looked just as tired as Harry felt, but he managed a smile and when he caught Harry's eye, his lips formed the words _Well done, Harry._

Just beyond him, in the shadow at the end of the table, still as a canine statue, sat Padfoot.

That was a conversation Harry didn't want to have any time soon.

"Where's Malfoy?" he asked Hermione.

She shrugged.

"He's still up at the paddock," Luna informed him. "I gave them sandwiches and carrots. Draco likes strawberry jam and cheese sandwiches, did you know? And people call _me_ strange…"

Harry shuddered and almost lost his formidable appetite at the thought of strawberry jam and cheese sandwiches. "I'll go up and check on Simon later."

"Food first," said Ron, dropping his hands on Harry's shoulders and manhandling him into a seat. "Eat."

Best advice Harry had had all day.

ooOOoo

Padfoot was watching him as he ate. Everybody wanted to talk to him.

There wasn't anyone Harry wanted to talk to – not immediately. He needed to get his head and his story straight first.

Ron, Neville and Hermione, loudly talking about getting something from Gryffindor Tower, covered for Harry and Luna as they slipped outside into a clinging, misty rain.

One or two Aurors noted their passing, but didn't stop them.

Harry smiled at Luna. "Let's see how Draco got on."

From one pocket she pulled out a napkin-wrapped bundle. "I thought that was where we would go this morning. Jam and cheese sandwiches."

Harry groaned. "I forgot to get the peppermints!"

From another pocket she pulled out an apple. "Will this do?"

ooOOoo

Despite the poor visibility, it was easy enough to find Draco. He was lying down hidden by some scrubby heather, true, but the tall black stallion standing nearby was a significant hint. Simon, so shiny he must have recently been washed (it hadn't been raining hard enough to give him a gloss), turned his head to survey Harry and Luna as they clambered up the steeper section of the hillside. The horse didn't whinny, but Harry fancied he saw some form of relief in the dark eyes, which fixed on Harry easily as analytically as Ron's had earlier, checking he was unharmed, and the head _did_ nod up and down fractionally. Harry was home and Simon's work was finally done.

"It's okay, I'm not here to make you do any more work. Here." He offered the apple, section by section. "Payment." Simon ate the apple with sullen approval. Harry wasn't quite off the hook, it would seem, but as apologies went, an apple was a good start.

"Did you get my Chocolate Frogs?" came a voice from the depths of the heather.

Draco had flattened a patch to make a rough bed, then wrapped his cloak around himself to leave only his face open to the sky. He was lying with his eyes closed. There were tired shadows around them and his hair was a mess and his face was still dirty. Despite that and the absence of a smile, he looked happy, and his lips had lost the bluish tint left behind by Bellatrix's Cruciatus. His eyes opened and he stared up at Harry. "Well?"

"All seems to be well."

"Ah." Draco yawned. "I see you've shaken off your fan club."

Harry's eye twitched. "Hmm. Do you think all the terrible pain he got from biting Voldemort cured Simon of biting everyone else?"

"Probably not. Didn't the pain only hit in when he trampled him? Why?"

"Just thinking…" On balance, best not to hex Draco, Harry decided magnanimously (or not when Simon was within moral outrage range).

Luna settled herself on a rock where she watched Simon. The horse flicked its ears at the scrutiny. Harry sat down beside the Slytherin. The heather was springy and surprisingly comfortable.

"Damn good shot with that bottle."

"Thanks." Draco tried to look modest and failed totally. He settled for a self-satisfied smirk.

"Really don't know why you're not a Chaser. You'd be good at that."

Draco looked even more pleased. "You think?"

Harry had a sudden image of Draco as a Chaser, throwing the Quaffle through ring after ring after ring… Gryffindor losing… Slytherin winning… "Er, well, if you ever get bored of being a Seeker, which to tell the truth is the best position to play." Especially for Harry. He could fly loops around Malfoy as a Seeker.

"Hm."

Oops. "So how about those elections?" Get a Malfoy into political office. Much safer. Couldn't be worse than Fudge.

"The election's been called. On account of rain, you think?" Draco smiled up at the sky. For once his expression was totally open and relaxed.

"Rain makes you hungry. Here you go, Draco."

Draco reached up for the sandwiches. "Not Stilton again, I hope."

"No. Feta."

"I'm not pregnant." But he sat up and took the sandwiches, tossing one to Simon. It was doubtful the horse was pregnant, either, but Simon seemed to like strawberry jam and feta cheese sandwiches, because after sniffing at the offering and then rolling it around in his mouth the horse peered over at Draco for more.

Draco shoved the rest of the sandwich in his mouth and threw Simon the crusts. Sighing, the horse accepted its lot.

"I'll go and find him another apple," Luna said, fiddling with an earring. "You two might as well stay here – I can bring you more sandwiches, too."

"The feta wasn't bad – bit musty, though. Was it goat?"

"I think it was dragon."

"Dragon's don't produce milk!"

"Some species vomit up a similar lactic substance for their young." Luna skipped away down the hill. "Bye, Simon." She started singing as she went.

"She's happy," remarked Harry. "You feeling okay?"

Draco was a bit green. "She was joking about the feta, wasn't she?"

"Simon ate it," Harry pointed out.

"Ugh. And I thought that blue Stilton was dodgy…"

Harry stretched out next to him, pulling up the hood of his cloak to act as a buffer between him and the wet. The heather was damp and would soak through the wool soon enough (especially as the waterproofing spells seemed to have been stripped from it by the barrier), but Harry wasn't complaining. He could almost fall asleep. Defeating evil had that effect on him. "Huh. Elections called on account of rain. Could very well be. Rain's terribly bad for getting voters to the polls."

"Nothing to do with us defeating the biggest baddest Dark Lord since Grindelwald?"

Harry sniffed. "Nah."

There were muffled thuds as the horse shifted closer.

"Hello, Simon."

The horse stretched down its head and nuzzled Harry's face. Harry had an excellent view up the flared nostrils. The whiskers tickled as Simon lipped at Harry's nose experimentally. It was decidedly odd.

"Mind the glasses there, mate." Harry patted the horse's muzzle. It was a bit tricky getting it right – his entire perspective was upside-down – but Simon didn't take offence, shifting his attention to Harry's hands instead, swiping off the salt with his tongue. "Hagrid said something about getting him a salt lick," Harry remembered.

"Pop down to Hogsmeade this afternoon." Draco's eyes gleamed. "How about that, eh? We can go down to the shops any time we like. A few Aurors in the way, but the barrier's down. The Blockade is ended. We can stock up on liquorice snaps. You can buy me those chocolate frogs you owe me."

"Puts it all in perspective, doesn't it? The death and destruction and hair-raising trips through time and weird barriers… and now if we feel like it, we can wander down the road to the pub."

"In – what? – a month? – we'll even be allowed to drink real actual alcohol in said pub."

"If we tell them we're the one's who offed Voldie they might make us an exception and we can get rotten drunk as underage wizards. If there's any justice in the world, people will shout us drinks until we puke. Hey – we could even take Simon… He was the one who pummelled You-know-who into Dark mince."

Draco smirked. "Luna'd be pleased if we took him into the Three Broomsticks, wouldn't you, Luna? Oh, right, she's gone. The ultimate punch-line to the horse going into a pub joke."

"Yeah. But be serious. They'd never let him into the Three Broomsticks."

"True. It'd have to be the Hog's Head."

"They serve anyone there. Okay, Simon. I think that's about all the salt my hands have to offer for the next few days." Harry shifted his hands to scratch under Simon's chin. "I guess I'll just have to pinch some from the kitchens. Don't know why I didn't think of that before, to be honest."

Draco laughed.

"What?"

"Pinch some salt. Pinch of salt. Oh, sorry. Thought you were making a pun."

"I wasn't. But it was kind of funny, yeah."

Draco tapped his fingers on his stomach. "Well, actually it wasn't. I was more laughing in a polite way."

"I'll let you know when my brain's reactivated enough to make proper laugh-worthy jokes. Right now I feel like I could sleep for a week."

Draco agreed with another yawn. Harry couldn't stop himself from following suit.

Simon yawned, too.

Some half-chewed grass and a bit of (dragon?) feta fell on Harry.

Harry pushed Simon's head away. "Right. Enough of that, thank you very much."

The horse sighed and lifted its head.

"You don't think he'll step on us?"

Harry considered this. "Hope not. I don't really feel capable of getting up just yet."

"Me neither. Had a bit of a snooze just earlier, not sure I've finished with it yet. Nice of him to stand upwind, don't you think? Kind of blocks out most of the rain."

"He's a very considerate horse."

Draco frowned. "That still doesn't make him a Hufflepuff." He looked up as Simon moved off. Then he sat up at the thud of the horse hitting the ground. Harry sat up, too.

It was nothing sinister – Simon simply wanted to roll out the itches.

"Hey," bleated Draco. He scrambled to his feet. "I just cleaned you."

Simon ignored him. He stretched out his neck and, with grunts of satisfaction, wriggled himself against the ground, tail flopping in lethargic bliss.

Harry grinned and rested his arms across his knees as he watched. The horse was so obviously enjoying this.

Draco was less amused. He folded his arms. "You had to pick the muddiest spot, didn't you?"

Simon wasn't interested in being scolded. With a stronger wriggle he was up and balanced – for a split second – on his bony spine, and then over onto his other side. The thump could be felt through the ground. More stretching and tail flicks and a big sigh of satisfaction, then Simon levered himself back onto his hooves. Once standing, he shook himself all over like a dog. Some of the mud fell off. Most stayed on. There was, or course, the brief, sharp snort that acted as a full stop to the exercise, and Simon wandered back towards Harry and Draco.

Draco sighed and sat back down. "Horses are related to pigs, aren't they?"

"More closely related to rhinos, according to Luna, but yeah. There's a 'have hooves, love mud' principle they share. Don't take it personally – it's natural for horses to roll in dirt. It helps keep their coats in good condition, and acts as insulation."

"Thank you for telling me what I already know, Doctor Potter. Did you know it's also natural for people to live in caves, eat lumps of burned meat, and club each other to death? And yet we live in houses, eat pâté de foie gras, and employ lawyers."

"I think Simon just made a cutting statement about your foie gras and lawyers," said Harry, who knew about foie gras because he'd had Hermione lecture him about cruelty to geese when she went vegetarian, and as for lawyers… Harry associated them with politicians and kangaroo-courts that threw him onto the scanty mercy of the Wizengamot without proper preparation and who changed the time without –

Draco looked worried. "He's still not a Gryffindor," he said quickly and with utmost sincerity.

Harry tried not to laugh but couldn't quite manage it.

ooOOoo

Luna came to fetch them half an hour later. She didn't seem to be in a rush, which meant anything from Nargles stealing someone's hairbrush to the castle burning down to a reminder that homework was due in two days. Harry peered over the curve of the hillside for a peep of the turrets just in case: no smoke. That was nice. He lay back again.

She sat down on a boulder close enough to Simon for her to pat the horse's neck. "I see you washed all the gore off Simon," she said approvingly to Draco.

Draco opened an eye. "Well, battle honours are all well and good, but those ones were going to get a bit whiffy."

"So Voldemort's head on a stick isn't good enough for you?" said Harry.

Draco opened both eyes and propped himself up on his elbows. "I think I peeled a bit of his ear off Simon's shoulder…"

Harry winced. "Nice."

"Yes. All that work I put in cleaning him up and I feel like it's not so much been washed away as scorned with mud. Bloody horse," he added fondly.

"I'm sure he appreciates it deep down," Luna said soothingly. "Hogwarts being what it is, one day Simon's going to turn around and say, 'Draco, I really appreciate the way you've been washing all the mud off me'."

"Scary day," said Draco. "What else would Simon say if he could speak to me?"

Harry laughed. "He'd say 'No carrots? A zillion points off Slytherin!!'"

"Rot. He'd know it was your fault and take the zillion points off Gryffindor."

"Speaking of taking points, how come no-one has been up to shout at me?" Harry asked. "Us, that should be – Draco's just as blameworthy as me, if not more so."

"Why more so?"

"You're a Slytherin," Harry explained patiently.

"Bite him, Simon. Defend the honour of our House."

"Ron told everyone you're having a nap, Harry," Luna said. "He didn't bother correcting their assumption you're in your bed."

"Nobody was asking about me?" Draco frowned.

"Millicent saw me heading up towards the paddock and suggested you might want this." She pulled a button out of her pocket, tapped it with her wand, and it ballooned into a decently-sized slice of cake. "She told anyone asking to leave you alone."

"Good old Milli'," said Draco in a muffled voice, already halfway through the cake before she finished the sentence. "Go away, Simon," he added when the horse got curious about the cake. "You wouldn't like it. It's not dragon feta."

Eventually the conversation came back to that last fight with Voldemort.

"But how did you do it? The Vivicus was broken, but he was sucking the life out of all his followers," Draco said.

"You sure?"

"Absolutely. I still had enough of the unicorn blood sight so that I could see it the magic going from the Dark Marks to him. It was like a blood-letting grand scale." Draco shivered. "Yet you stopped it. How?"

Harry still didn't have a good answer for this, but he knew it would be better to come up with the answer himself rather than have one imposed on him by Aurors. "What do you know about Soul Walls?" he asked Draco.

"Ummm… good to have if you're meddling with things man was not meant to meddle with. Why?"

"I don't think Voldemort had one. I think I managed to get to the level of his soul. It was… not nice."

"I can imagine." Draco flexed his fingers.

Harry shivered, remembering. But the memory itself was slippery – no hard fact or concrete vision he could put his mental finger on, only the fading feel of blinding emotion and the knowledge that was he was doing was correct. For a moment in time he had known where he was and what he was doing, and the purpose had been him. He felt lost without it.

Luna plopped down next to him and squeezed his hand. "Unicorns are strange things, aren't they."

Harry turned his head and stared at her. "Yes. I imagine Helga Hufflepuff knew what she was doing when she brought them here."

Luna smiled as if Harry had just done an even more amazing feat of magic than defeating Voldemort. "I've always thought they were a manifestation of the Forest's unconscious mind."

"Whatever that means," Draco yawned.

But Harry's brow had already creased. He was tired, yes, but something about it made sense. "You really think the Forest was helping us all along, don't you?"

"I don't doubt it," Luna said with a faint smile. "I can't see it liking the barrier ripping it in two, can you?"

Draco sat up and looped his arms around his knees. "I'm sorry, but I can't see a bunch of trees deciding how the battle between good and evil and me was to play out."

"I can," Harry argued. "All the pieces are there. The unicorns. The fig. Helga Hufflepuff – I'll see if I can find Stephanie later –"

"She won't confirm anything," Luna said. "Otherwise I'd be able to give you a definite answer. Don't you think I've already tried asking her about Hufflepuff's defence plans for Hogwarts?"

"Well, when you put it like _that,_ I can see why she wouldn't tell you," Draco said. "Who in their right mind would gossip away all of the secrets keeping Hogwarts safe? So Hufflepuff set all this up."

But Harry wasn't convinced. "I still think it's more complicated than one witch, no matter how clever she was. The Forest has motives of its own. It – it was the unicorns Voldemort killed –"

"He only killed the one, didn't he?" Draco curled his lip unhappily. "I remember it… I swear to God I had nightmares for years about that dead unicorn having its blood drunk…"

Harry decided not to point out that _Harry _had been the one who'd stayed and been menaced by the killer of the unicorn. Draco would only counter with the argument that he'd gone running off for help from Hagrid, which, now Harry thought about it (however muzzily) was probably smarter than Harry's hanging around in a dark forest with the monster that had killed a unicorn. "I… got the impression there had been more over the years. There was revenge…" No, that wasn't the right word. "Recompense had to be made. A… a balance. Maybe when I've had a decent night's sleep I can explain it, but right now…"

Luna gave him a sympathetic look. "I believe it was the Forest. Look how it helped us…"

"Yeah, it attacked me with Acromantulas," Draco said with a gusty sigh. "That was ever so helpful, let me tell you."

"Well, you were out there looking for help." Luna said. She gave him a soft smile. Harry decided it was a friend-smile, and told himself not to be jealous. (_Grr_, part of him thought.)

"I was looking for Snape, not some sodding great spider."

"And the Forest gave you Simon –"

"Ah-ha! You admit it! He _is_ my horse!"

"– Gave you Simon to help you. And Harry."

"Wait – I was given Potter and Simon?"

"Everybody was given each other. We were given what we were needed."

Draco rolled his eyes.

Harry pondered this. "So… when I went looking for the Founders and found Snape, are you saying that this was the Forest?"

"Did you make a trip to the heart of the Forest in search of the Golden Sickle?"

"No, I made a trip to Hufflepuff's Glasshou- oh. I did, didn't I?"

"Stephanie told me that much," Luna admitted. "The Glasshouse isn't central, no more than your heart is, but it's the nexus of the magical web radiating through the Forest. I wouldn't be surprised if it's part of Hufflepuff's set-up to sense potential threats to the Forest and Hogwarts and counter them."

"Are you seriously saying the Forest can see into the future? So… next time I go into the Forest I should ask its opinion on the stock market, and if it thinks the Academy of Magical Sciences is a good move for post-Hogwarts matriculation?" Draco sounded cross, as if the Forest being rational was a personal betrayal. "That's weirder than your Space Bunnies."

"I hardly think it would work like that. No," Harry said slowly, still trying to reach into that wonderful, terrible place he'd been shown. "It wasn't until I stopped trying to think in a rational sense that – that this power came through me. I wouldn't swear to it, but it felt like the Forest had sent its magic out through me. It doesn't use rational thought. I don't think it even thinks – not what we'd call thinking. Or," he amended, "what I'd call thinking on a better day, because my brain feels like it's been boiled and mashed like a potato."

"Lovely," said Draco. "But then isn't your brain like that on a normal day?"

Harry shrugged, not taking offence. "What's a normal day when you've _not_ had Voldemort trying to kill you since you were a baby? Somebody tell me, please. I like the idea of an entire Forest being on my side. And don't try telling me _your_ brain is at full speed, Malfoy, because you were complaining about how going through the barrier had made your head fuzzy."

"I think it was the Obliviate."

"It was the unicorn blood," Harry replied. "It allowed me to see the corrupted unicorn blood-magic Voldemort had in his body. Again, more evidence for the Forest as our mysterious benefactor."

"Mysterious benefactor with Acromantulas. Can you see the contradiction there? Huh. I'm too tired to argue whether a tree committee has been controlling my life," Draco complained. "Face it – we'll never get concrete answers. And I'm hungry. You two ready to come back to the castle?"

Harry stretched. "Yes." He didn't need concrete answers. In his heart (that bright space inside of his chest wrapped in glowing gold ribbons) he believed.

Whatever he had done today, it had been correct beyond the human sphere.

For the first time, Harry understood why Luna looked beyond the every day. There was so much more out there. So much for him to explore in his future.

But not now.

Now, he was tired and, despite the breakfast and scones, hungry. And he really, really wanted a hot bath. If there was any reward to being a hero, he'd have Luna in the bath with him, and lots of foamy bubbles to play with, but this was Hogwarts and while its classes were coeducational, its baths were not.

Shame, really, he thought, yawning.

ooOOoo

Simon followed them to the gate, his stride halting.

"Lame all round," Luna said sorrowfully. "Poor Simon. Lucky you patched up that hoof before leading him along the road." She pointed to where a ragged rim of what looked like builder's putty filled in the lost shoe and ripped away bits of hoof.

"Is he mad at us?" Draco asked, his head tilted as he eyed the horse which, despite the fact that it had graced them with its company, had more of a distance between it and them than Simon tended to keep now he was used to them.

"He's just sore and tired and grumpy. Let him get some sleep and he'll be in a friendlier mood. Right, Simon?"

Simon glared into the distance, which was particularly offensive to horses today.

"That was a 'yes'," Luna smiled. "Come on." She took Harry's hand. "Have a nice rest, Mister Grumpy-Hooves."

ooOOoo


	97. Chapter 97

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Pity – could use the dosh.

Warning: waffle.

ooOOoo

Chapter 97

On the way back they decided not to tell the Aurors about the possibility of the Forest and Helga Hufflepuff being the primary forces behind Voldemort's defeat. Not even Luna thought the Aurors would accept that. Harry didn't want more articles in the _Daily Prophet_ about how deranged he was.

Draco reluctantly accepted that he had to face the dangers of exposure as an active participant but he was wary of anything that might make him look in the least way unbalanced, although, as he said, "It's not mentally healthy leaping into a situation where people are trying to kill you."

"It's not brave, then?" Harry asked.

"No, it's lunacy."

"When are we going to tell them your mum was part of the resistance movement?"

Draco bit his lip. "I suppose we could tell Tonks or Moody, but…"

"Dumbledore knows," Luna pointed out. "Honestly, so many people know she was on our side…"

Draco groaned. "Oh, God…"

"Mr Black sent an owl out to her after you got back," Luna said.

Draco jerked to a stop. His face went white then pink as fear swiftly metamorphosed into anger. "He what?"

"Well, remember how I met you at the gates, and you told me Voldemort was dead and Harry was talking to the Aurors, and then you took Simon back to the paddock and Snuffles must have been lying behind a rock, and he asked me if I wanted to let my father or uncle know I was okay but I didn't, then I told him you'd be worried about your mother because – as he already knew – she was a double agent, so he went to the owlery and sent off a message, telling her you were safe and that the barrier was down. Didn't he tell you?"

"I've been up at the paddock all morning," Draco huffed, halfway between relief and annoyance. "Black hasn't been anywhere near me. Or so I thought… Hell, I hope nobody other than Mother got that message…"

"He said he used Hedwig. She's a very smart owl."

"She'll be a very tired owl when she gets back," Harry mused, himself halfway between relief and annoyance: Hedwig had returned to Hogwarts, only to be sent on a dangerous mission to Malfoy Manor. He flexed his wand hand. If Lucius hexed his owl he'd break more than the man's nose. "So she got back to Hogwarts after the barrier came down."

"And she's already back from Malfoy Manor." She squeezed Harry's hand. "I was going to tell you both but I was distracted by Millicent giving me that cake."

Draco sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, which was still scraggly. Simon's grooming had taken priority this morning. "I suppose there are safe places for my parents to retreat to until the Death Eaters are caught."

"They could always stay at our house. Daddy would be delighted – Mr Malfoy could write a shocking expose of life in the Death Eater camp. It would really increase the _Quibbler_'s circulation."

"To what? Five readers?" Draco said nastily. "If you think it would be a good idea for my father to write stories about –"

"I think it would be a good idea for your father to publish before anyone else does," Luna said with less than her standard dreaminess. "If he wants to influence public opinion away from putting him in the stocks. If he isn't good at writing, I suggest getting a ghost writer. Professor Binns has a lot of experience with that. And as for your mother, I've seen pictures of her and she would make a marvellous sneaky heroine. Very dramatic. It'd certainly help the Malfoy cause."

Draco seemed to be considering this.

The walk back to the castle slowed to a stroll.

"So are you saying we should tell them about everything, including Simon and Draco's mum?" Harry asked after a few minutes' silent rumination.

"We tell them what Professor Dumbledore already knows," Luna said impatiently, as if this was obvious common-sense. Harry supposed it was, but as his brain was down to minimum working capability, obviousness (like common sense) wasn't readily available to him. He tried to concentrate as he realised she hadn't finished speaking. "…The silver shoes took you through the barrier, then the three trees were destroyed by the barrier-breaking potion, and Voldemort was killed when the glass took the anti-Vivicus potion under his skin."

Harry and Draco both found they couldn't argue with Luna. Not just because they were both too tired, but because when it came to the Aurors, simple was best. Even when it counted as lying by omission.

"I think we should tell Tonks," said Harry. "She deserves to know."

Draco shrugged in what seemed to be agreement. "She's family. Not that that necessarily speaks in her favour, but you get what I mean. Hello… it's the local happy mob of Ravenclaw third years. Don't they have class on a Thursday morning? Oh – by the all pointing and saying – no, _shrieking_ – of: 'it's the hero of Hogsmeade!' – that means they'll be wanting you, Potter…"

Draco nearly fell over laughing after two witches grabbed a mortified Harry by the arms and posed for a photo. It didn't help that their attempt at the 'V for victory' sign was backwards.

"What's that meant to be? 'Up yours, Voldemort'?" the Slytherin sniggered.

Harry was more embarrassed than amused. "Right here and now I'll tell them you and your mum gave the key potion if you don't give it a rest," he muttered when the Ravenclaws fluttered away, earning him a glare from Draco, but at least the smirking stopped.

"So long as they don't go bothering Simon. He might autograph them with his teeth," Luna said in a voice less misty than usual, her eyes shrewd as she peered back in the direction of the paddock. When it was clear nobody was going up to the paddock (Dumbledore had reset the wards on the fence, Harry remembered), she turned her attention back to her Housemates. "Where were these people when we needed their help?" she grumbled. "It's just like that story of the Little Red Wren. Come on, let's see where Granger and Comrade Tyrol are – I want to know about a spell I gave them…" She grabbed Harry by the hand and dragged him through the Ravenclaws.

Harry must have imagined one of them complaining about Luna elbowing her in the ribs – Luna would never do anything malicious.

The Ravenclaws were only the first of many. Now that the initial shock of having the barrier down had passed, all of Hogwarts wanted to share in the adventure. After having a series of throngs of well-wishers rush up to him for autographs as soon as he set foot inside the castle, Harry pulled up the hood of his cloak against the rain and sneaked outside again. He spent the rest of the morning hiding at Hagrid's.

Hagrid, just leaving as Harry arrived, boiled him up some water in the gigantic kettle on the stove, and pointed out the tea caddy as well as a towel and a basin where he could have a wash. "…Not that I'm sayin' yer getting' too ripe, Harry, but cleanliness is a virtue…"

Harry had already washed off the worst of the muck in Hogsmeade, but some of the stains felt like they went deeper than his skin. Tonks had spelled his clothes clean, thank Merlin, but they were still whiffy, and something of the Dark magic of Voldemort clung from where it had touched him. Shame, really – he was fond of this cloak. But now he was inclined to burn it and everything else he was wearing for the public good. Burning Dudley's old hand-me-downs wouldn't be a duty so much as a pleasure. Now that he'd been kicked out of the Dursleys', he could raid Madam Malkin's for a new wardrobe. He didn't have to worry about Uncle Vernon noticing Harry suddenly sporting brand new robes and trousers and t-shirts. Harry had always feared the Dursleys getting suspicious about Harry's finances and getting their grasping hands on the key to his vault…

But now he didn't have to go back to Privet Drive. The protection of blood relatives wasn't necessary. He could stay with Ron. He could even stay with Hermione, but he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to put up with her summer holiday study schedule.

He could go to some place in the world he'd never heard of with Luna and her family (wow – he could go to another _country!_), and look for something fictitious, like Space Bunnies, Lesser-spotted Whoopkackers or Nargles. He was looking forward to meeting her father and her uncle, because he'd occasionally wondered if they could scale half the esoteric heights Luna was capable of reaching. If so, they were definitely people he wanted to meet.

He could find a cottage with some land in a quiet part of the countryside where nobody knew who he was, and relax in the easy company of Simon and Hedwig, with Luna, Hermione and Ron stopping by for visits.

If Simon was there he probably wouldn't be able to stop Malfoy from coming by, but Harry didn't feel as nauseated by that as he would have a month or two ago.

He could go to Grimma- … he didn't want to think about Sirius.

From Hagrid's bed he cleared off half a dead rabbit and some feathers that might have been from a quilt except they still had skin attached and tried to take a nap. His eyes closed, but for some reason his mind wouldn't stop whirling with random images. In what seemed like a waking dream, Bellatrix LeStrange was sitting on the end of his bed, lecturing him on medieval horseshoes. Her voice was husky and sweet, and half of her head was caved in. She stroked his face with a crushed hand.

Harry shook himself back into the closest he had to a waking state and made himself an extra strong cup of tea. He might have tried coffee, but Hagrid didn't drink it.

Even if he'd known where the firewhisky was kept, Harry wouldn't have risked it. He didn't need help with visions.

The milk slopped when his hand slipped on the handle of the jug, but more went inside the cup than on the table. Two, three sugars – something sweet to drive away the memory of a dead woman's hand on his cheek. That was the theory, but he couldn't bring himself to drink it. He cupped the mug of tea in both hands and let tannin-loaded steam tickle his face. It was a curiously cleansing experience, but it didn't lift the shadows and Harry didn't dare draw the curtains to let in the light in case somebody came to bother him.

Relief came at lunchtime, when Luna brought a clean and shiny (if drowsy) Draco down, and they sat on the log at the bottom of the pumpkin patch and threw pebbles into the trees which grew thickly just down the slope. Occasionally she would look up in the direction of the paddock. But from behind Hagrid's hut, trees blocked her view of Squirrel Hill. Harry eyed her as she brushed back a long curtain of hair which had fallen across her face. In her more lucid moments she kept reminding him of someone… but he couldn't quite put his finger on who it was.

_Could be something to do with the fact that I need sleep, but she really reminds me of Simon some days – those days when he's half asleep and in a good mood, or those days she's distracted by something she doesn't want to talk about and in a bad mood. Maybe it's true about how people come to resemble their pets. Even Draco can sneer like Simon, and I think Simon learned Malfoy's smirk. Wonder if I've picked any odd habits up lately? There's falling asleep standing up – I think I've almost got the hang of that one._

Hmm. Better not tell Ron or Hermione my pet theory – Scabbers was a filthy traitor, and while Crookshanks is dead useful he's uglier than Aunt Marge's dogs. Hermione might get huffy and tell me she doesn't eat mice (better go check the Owlery for Hedwig – give her some owl treats) or claw people. Or – oh, what's Luna saying? Better listen in case I get roped in for carrying luggage up the Amazon…

She was saying: "…Professor Dumbledore re-established the wards on the fence to stop people wandering into the paddock, but they mightn't stand up to the high degree of massed intent such as Harry's been subjected to, psychological wards being highly sensitive to the collective will of groups."

"Huh?" Draco gaped at her as if she'd suddenly proven the existence of Nargles. "Merlin's beard. You sounded almost like Elmsworthy! Ugh – dog spit…"

"You sounded a lot like our Hermione," rumbled Hagrid, who'd just arrived back from the castle bearing more food. Fang lolloped ahead of his master to bestow sloppy licks on the hands of the students and have his ears ruffled by Luna. Harry had skipped lunch, and hungrily eyed up the roast chicken legs with an appreciation he'd normally save for Luna's legs in jodhpurs. "Couldn't understand that last bit," he said approvingly, "but it sounded almost like you, Malfoy, talking abou' the shoes you made for Simon. You were spot on wi' those." He took out a massive sandwich the house elves must have made specially for him and sat down on the log. It groaned and shifted slightly, Harry's end going up a fraction.

Draco preened, although his hands were clumsy as they smoothed the folds of his robes. "Didn't those shoes work well? But are you saying, Luna, we could just have stood everyone around and told them to think happy thoughts about getting through the barrier the Dar- er, V… Voldemort" – he swallowed – "put up and – boom!" He flicked his fingers wide. "It would have fallen down flat?"

Luna blinked. "Oh, no. Not quite like that. Different principle. The barrier was based on a temporal spell. Dumbledore's wards are quite different. Not Dark magic in the least. Meddigram Moths would drink the wards," she said. "When lots of people start wishing to get past a magical barrier, Meddigram Moths come and drink the magic. But they don't drink temporal barriers, because it makes them turn into weevils."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh, well, that clears _that_ up. You – oh, bugger…"

"What?" mumbled Harry through a mouthful of chicken. "'S not more people wanting autographs, is it?" Although Draco would have been smirking if that had been the case. _Hell, I hope it isn't Sirius…_

It wasn't. It wasn't Remus or Dumbledore either, or any of the other people Harry had been avoiding.

"Hi, you lot. Having a late lun- oops, bugger!"

Draco went to help Tonks up. She gave the bucket a dirty look. "Blasted things jump out at you," she grumbled, rubbing her shin.

"They do, rather," he agreed smoothly. "What?" he asked as she turned her dirty look onto him. "When I was blind all sorts of things got in my way."

"Simon didn't get in your way," Luna pointed out.

"No, and thanks to those idiots who put me in the pen with him, neither did the wall." He didn't look too cross at the memory, which roused Harry's suspicions. But before he could ask if Draco was close to fulfilling his revenge, Luna was asking Tonks if she wanted some pumpkin juice.

"No thanks. Just had a cup of tea with Remus."

Draco twitched.

Harry lifted an eyebrow, but before he could ask about _that_, Tonks said,"Harry, Draco, quick word?"

"Er…" Harry didn't trust his brain not to let his tongue say something stupid.

"Of course, dearest cousin. What was it about?"

Tonks rolled her eyes. "That'd better not be you taking the piss, baby cuz."

"All right. Point taken. No extraction of urine where Aurors are concerned. It's in their oath – they exchange their sense of humour for power trips over civilians. Ow! Abuse! Abuse and proof of what I just said! You saw it, Potter!"

"Saw what?" Harry replied as Draco rubbed his ear. Tonks hadn't bothered with a stinging hex – a flick of her fingernails had done as good a job as any a wand could have supplied. "I was blinking at the time."

"Hagrid and I were looking at that oak tree when Tonks gave her warm demonstration of familial affection," Luna said. "Hagrid, there might be a Bowtruckle in the tree. A Mr Shane Hardwood sent a letter in to the _Quibbler_ once. He said they can answer questions if you sing them in the key of G. Shall we go and prove him right?"

Hagrid stood, swallowing the last of his sandwich and brushing crumbs off his moleskin coat. "'Bout time we tested that theory. Can you sing, Luna?"

"No. Can you?"

"Couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. I'm Keeper of the Keys, but G's never been one of them."

"Then this should be interesting."

Hagrid's beard shifted into a smile. "Aye. Might learn summat new about diff'rent keys – you can write back to Hardwood."

Draco shook his head as Luna and Hagrid wandered off, whistling tunelessly, in search of a Bowtruckle. "Soul mates," he said.

Tonks sat down in the place Luna had vacated and picked up a sandwich. "Mm, dragon feta. Been years since I had this," she mumbled happily. "So what happened? Unofficially? And don't give me the runaround, she warned," seeing Harry and Draco exchange glances.

Draco shrugged. "Unofficially?"

Tonks nodded. "Unofficially."

"Why should we tell you?"

"Because Dumbledore asked me to. He wants to make sure nothing strange might happen, and he knows if you tell me I'd be able to filter out any potential issues which might occur now Voldemort is evil pâté. He was hoping you'd talk to either me, Moody, Remus or Sirius."

"So why aren't they here?" Not that Harry was complaining. But he was curious. "Why not McGonagall?"

Draco's appalled look said Harry was a moron for even _thinking_ of involving McGonagall.

Tonks swallowed a smile before it became patronising. "Right. It's a Slytherin thing. And as well as that, I had a few suspicions that a Malfoy mightn't want Mad-Eye Moody hanging around his secrets, and well, Remus is a werewolf, and Sirius is, erm, Sirius… so that left me. Dumbledore knew Harry might tell him the full story, but he knows you don't trust him, Draco."

"Why should I trust you?" Draco wasn't trying to be obnoxious; the calm look on his face and relaxed posture, shoulders angled forward at just _that_ degree, meant the question was heuristic rather than born of suspicion.

(Harry was coming along nicely as a General Species Mutterer. If he could just get the Girlfriend Mutterer thing going, he'd write that book…)

Tonks might have been a People Mutterer; she took the question as calmly as Draco had delivered it.

"Because I can help keep your parents out of jail, for starters, Draco. Then there's a certain horse that pulped Voldemort – that's a horse which could easily end up confiscated as evidence, not to mention a test subject that the Department of Mysteries might decree as being important enough to national security to justify secreting away in some horse-sized closet you two would never have access to again – to paraphrase a song, Simon's walk-on part in the war could end up a lead role in a cage, exchanging a green field for a cold steel rail."

"Don't know that song," Draco said, tight-lipped, grey eyes cold at the threat to Simon.

Harry thought the words sounded vaguely familiar, but couldn't place them. Wyrd Sisters must have sung it, or Celestina Warbeck. Probably not Celestina Warbeck, he thought vaguely, but it wasn't as if he'd ever listened to enough music to say for sure. "Who the hell are they to take Simon from us?" he growled.

"The Department of Mysteries, that's who. What they want, they tend to get. There are hoofmarks on and around the corpses of Voldemort and Bellatrix LeStrange, as well as the suspicious crushing of one of the Carrows. Shame it wasn't _both_ Carrows, but I'm probably not allowed to say that. It is going to be _very_ tricky dancing around the questions about how those injuries got there. When it comes to understanding this latest defeat of Voldemort, no loose ends will be tolerated." She breathed out between her teeth, and her hair rippled in gloomy shades of grey and bottle-green. "There are those who have been pointing fingers at others who didn't ask enough of the right questions last time Voldemort was vanquished. People will be extra jumpy about making sure that _this_ time there won't be so much as a whiff of possibility Voldemort can come back. They'll be taking apart the details of your story with tweezers and scalpels. They already know a horse is involved –"

"And they'll just… just _take_ Simon?" Harry spluttered. "After all we've done, they can't just –"

"Hard to find a black horse in the dark," Draco said, eyes distant as he weighed up options.

"Don't try to hide him, Draco," she said levelly. "Your family will be walking a tightrope for the foreseeable future."

Draco's expression turned mulish.

Tonks reached out a hand to ruffle his hair, but he glared and leaned away from her. She pursed her lips. "Hey, I'm on your side. Look, I'm not saying that losing Simon is a given, simply that if there's any doubt as to the credence of your story, the Ministry, a paranoid set of politicos if ever there was one, will try to plug up any potential embarrassments in ways that are unlikely to benefit real people when it can save already shaky political careers. So I will give them your story and help you fill in those gaps in a way that allows those who truly deserve those benefits to reap them. Okay?"

Harry and Draco nodded, but from Draco's scowl it was clear that he was just as displeased as Harry with having to trust someone who, despite all she'd done to aid them, was still an outsider.

She blew a strand of green hair away from her face. "I'll take that as an okay. Good. Because there are more issues than a horse and a dead Dark Lord to be sorted out. Lastly and, as far as I'm concerned, most importantly, I want to know what you two were doing with unicorn blood on your eyes."

She spoke softly and with a small smile in the corners of her full mouth, but Harry and Draco were in no doubt that she was deadly serious. And when she said 'unicorn blood' they couldn't help exchanging incriminating glances.

"How'd you know about the unicorn blood?" Draco said after a tense moment when all that could be heard was Luna's tuneless warbling far off in the trees.

"I know unicorn blood when I see it. I also happen to know that unicorns were observed escorting you two – and your horse – into the Forest shortly before you would have emerged outside the barrier."

"It was gifted," Harry said. He coughed, his throat suddenly dry, and reached for the flagon of pumpkin juice Hagrid had left on the log, uncorking it and drinking deep. "A centaur named Tigris met us before we went through the barrier."

Tonks nodded, her shoulders shifting just enough to suggest this was the right answer. "Have you told anyone?"

"Apart from Luna, just you now," Harry said. "Although Ron and Hermione deserve to know."

"I don't see why they do. We agreed that it was not something we wanted generally known," Draco argued, crossing his arms defiantly.

"No, it wouldn't be," said Tonks. "The Light properties of unicorn blood are almost unknown by Wizardingkind except for a few Hufflepuffs. It's not something _anyone_ wants generally known."

"So we're in agreement, then?" Draco challenged. "Nobody talks about having blood smeared on their eyes."

Tonks almost smiled again. "When you put it like that, it does sound a bit freakish. Yes, we're in agreement. If you like, you can tell me if there's anything in particular you don't want made public knowledge."

Draco and Harry looked at each other. "Simon," they said in unison.

"We already know a horse kicked Vo- … Oh. So he's not a one trick pony? What, did he cast the final spell or something?"

"No, he… kind of wandered into Hogwarts when the barrier went up…" Harry coughed again.

Tonks couldn't stop the smile this time. "All right. Unless someone comes whistling for him, let's call your horse spoils of war. For all we know he could be. He was never Death Eater property, was he?"

"Merlin, no. Of course not!" Harry said, and wondered why Draco didn't spring to Simon's defence as well. "None of them recognised him." He thought back to that time by the bridge, him slumped down on the ground, a Death Eater coming forward to take the reins. "They – they were surprised by him."

"I bet they were. Kicks to the head tend to do that, especially when it's the boss who's just had the animal jumping up and down on him. I bet those Death Eaters were surprised as anything. Now tell me everything."

They did – almost.

Tonks asked carefully about reports of Lucius being amongst the Death Eaters, and Draco did admit that by some _amazing_ coincidence he'd bumped into his father who must have been out meeting local farmers to discuss wool-related matters, and his father had suddenly signed over all his affairs to his son. Yes, it was pretty amazing, wasn't it? But he had a copy right here…

Tonks' expression went wooden as she examined the document, but she handed it back to Draco without another word on the subject.

Harry tried to describe the way the Forest had spoken through him, but again the words couldn't capture that moment. But Tonks tilted her head and listened and he had the strangest feeling that she knew something he didn't – that he wasn't the first to have been possessed by a bunch of trees.

He didn't ask.

"…And that was when Draco took Simon back. You got back okay?"

"Yes, although it was a devilishly tricky business getting through the village. Loads of people out. I took Simon around the back of the houses – everyone was in the main street, so nobody noticed me. Or asked about the horse."

"Good. I'll try to distract anyone who asks about random horses passing through the area. You know, historically most people who defeat big baddies like Voldie get half the kingdom or a load of gold. You two want – drum roll – a horse."

"We're saints," Draco said angelically.

Harry, sipping from the flagon again, nearly choked.

Draco slapped him on the back. "All right, maybe 'saints' is a bit strong. I'll forego half the kingdom now for the whole lot a decade or two in the future. You two will vote for me, won't you?"

"You're not going to do something daft, like appoint a horse as Minister for the Arts or something?" Tonks asked.

"It has historical precedence."

"True, although the horse was Minister for Sports and _had_ won the Grand National."

"Simon would scorn your Grand National," boasted Draco. "He c– ow!" He was cut off as a small paper aeroplane zoomed down and hit him in the back of the head.

"He's a cow?"

Grumbling, Draco ignored Tonks and opened the message. He sighed. "The Untied Republic of Slytherin – Untied? Wonder if that's a spelling mistake? Hope not, 'cos the idea of belonging to something anarchic has a certain appeal. The Republic of Slytherin, knotty naming issues regardless, requests information about the outside world. Somebody told them I was involved with the barrier coming down. Not Millicent, Elmsworthy or Trudi – they have discretion. I'd like to know who has the big mouth so I can give them a fat lip to match… Damn it, I guess I'll have to tell them all about Simon…" But he seemed to be unjustifiably worried by this considering the fact that the entire castle already knew he'd ridden Simon through the barrier to deliver the mail.

"You don't have to tell them anything more than you feel comfortable with," Tonks informed him. "You could simply tell them I've been talking to you – I'm your cousin, after all – and now you have a pretty good idea about what's going on thanks to me."

"Oh. Right. That should keep them on their toes. After all, there's no _proof_ I was actually out there last night, let alone chucking bottles at Voldemort." He looked a bit happier, although still wary.

"That's the idea. But be on your guard – not just around Slytherins. There are students in all the Houses who've had parents bundled up by the Aurors this morning."

Draco swallowed and looked down at his hands, which had squeezed the message into a tight paper ball. That was when Harry suddenly realised that Draco had other reasons than pure secrecy to make him jittery – he remembered a dead man lying in the middle of the road. Had anyone told Theodore his father was dead? Surely they wouldn't expect Draco to do so?

But Harry had been right there. Maybe they would expect _him_ to tell everyone who had lost family just how they'd died. He felt ill.

"Tell them the Aurors will be keeping the school informed about families who might have been caught up in events. It's not your job to have to break bad news," Tonks said to Draco in a sympathetic voice, but Harry felt just as relieved as Draco seemed to be by the words.

Managing a small nod of acceptance, Draco left them without another word. Tonks leaned back and stretched the kinks out of her shoulders as she watched him walk briskly back up the hill towards the castle.

Harry and Tonks sat together and finished off the sandwiches and listened to Hagrid and Luna trying to make contact with Bowtruckles. Tonks winced at one especially mangled note from Luna, and said, "You know, Harry, I forgot to tell Draco, but the quarantine is going to be lifted tomorrow for a select few visitors. Benign parents. I'm pretty sure you don't want the Dursleys at Hogwarts, but do you think Narcissa Malfoy would be out of order as far as select visitors go?"

Harry shifted, trying to get a more comfortable seat on the log. "Er… it wouldn't be dangerous for her to have the Aurors classify her as a benign parent?"

Tonks shrugged. She gazed around, the smudges under her eyes given a velvety texture by the soft light of the cloudy day. She looked tired but deeply satisfied. That talk with Remus must have gone well. Amazing what a cup of tea could do, Harry thought bemusedly. Tonks seemed well fortified by it. "Draco's already treading in some muddy waters. I didn't want to scare him, he's nervy enough as it is this morning – Mum gets a bit that way, that's how I recognise the signs – but the Malfoys are hip-deep in trouble. It might help him to talk to Narcissa and get his family's story straight as soon as possible. Meeting up with a woolgathering father isn't going to hold any more water than a leaky cauldron."

Harry regarded her levelly. His brain still wasn't up to functioning at full speed (not that that had ever counted for much, he thought with a small, inward grin), but he didn't want to drop Draco in it. "So what's their story meant to be?"

"Whatever he wants," she replied bluntly. "He's earned it."

"Even if it means leniency for Lucius?"

Her mouth twisted up at one corner. "I hardly think my little cousin is going to be lenient on someone who nearly broke the line of heritage. Especially now he's got that _interesting_ little document."

"You seem to have quite a grasp on Pureblood motivations," Harry countered, lifting an eyebrow. At the motion his scar threatened to hurt, but the threat didn't quite eventuate. His scar – the threat – was hollow now, a reminder dug into the flesh by an enemy now gone. "How do you figure Draco is out for revenge?"

"I never said he was. But he's not about to allow Lucius the faintest chance of putting a tree across the tracks of the Malfoy name again. Old Lucius is going to suffer in a way he couldn't in Azkaban: he'll have his wines and his lands and his fine raiment, and he'll be totally without his power. You want to punish someone? Take away what they love. And there's nothing that bastard loves more than twisting people around his cruel whims. Lucius doesn't know it yet, but now he's been given slightly less power over his family's fate than your average house elf he's going to suffer for decades. Certainly the rest of his life, because Draco really did get a full magical covenant contract signed. … and you witnessed it, didn't you?" At Harry's cautious nod, she smiled the most evil smile Harry had ever seen on her.

She sighed happily, leaned back and tapped the heels of her boots together. "It's like some Greek myth where the son emasculates the father. Gotta love that when Malfoys are involved." She gave an evil chuckle to match the smile. "Mum may not talk much about her family, but what she does say is to the point. Makes me glad she married a Mudblood." She winked at him.

Harry wanted to ask if she really thought Lucius was being properly punished – it seemed impossibly light as sentences went. But: "Your badge is flickering."

She looked down. "Right you are." She squinted up the hill to where a familiar gnarled figure stood. "Poor old Moody. That dicky leg of his doesn't like tromping up and down hills, which is good in one way – he won't be bothering our boy Simon." She stood up and dusted fragments of bark off her robes, and strolled off: Moody was signalling her with an impatient wave of his hand.

"Work, work, work," she grumbled, but her grin betrayed her. "Hey," she called back over her shoulder, then skipped around so she was walking backwards away from Harry. "Guess who's looking forward to seeing Lucius grovelling as he tries to get his power back at the Ministry? Guess who's going to rub his nose in it? Guess who's going to demonstrate just how Halfbloods and Muggleborns are now his social betters? Guess who's got the future Minister's ear and is not afraid to bend it should a certain blond bigot put a toe out of line, and who is not in the least bit shy of dangling the threat of Azkaban over his head until he doesn't know if he should go shopping for new shoes just in case he never gets to wear them? And guess – whoops!" (Tonks nearly fell over a pumpkin vine) "– Guess who's going to be there to sign him in to St Mungos when it finally gets too much for him?" She chuckled throatily, and jerked both index thumbs towards her chest. "That'd be ME!" She spun back on course and with an even jauntier spring to her step as she strolled off whistling, her heavy robes swinging behind her.

Harry wondered that he'd never seen this ability to take protracted revenge in her before. He shrugged. She was related to Draco, so why was he surprised?

Lucius would be punished after all. Tonks would see to it.

Maybe he should warn Remus.

That decision suddenly flew right out of his head in the astonishment of remembering that he _had _heard that song Tonks had quoted from. It wasn't anything by the Wyrd Sisters and it was light years away from Celestina Warbeck's offerings. It wasn't anything from the Wizarding world. It was, in fact, the title track from the album _Wish You Were Here._

Tonks was a Pink Floyd fan.

Harry gave a soft chuckle. In a day of surprises, being surprised like this wasn't so bad. Then he sobered.

How many people at Hogwarts would have spotted that song?

_Wish you were here, Severus._

Then he thought of those who remained. There were so many – it dawned on him like the sun coming out on a showery day of blue skies and rainbows just how lucky he was. There could have been a bloodbath; he might still lose Simon, but, fingers crossed, he wouldn't lose anyone else. It put the whole near-catastrophe into perspective.

He went and found Hagrid and Luna. They had cornered a grimacing Bowtruckle. Its twiggy hands were tightly jammed over what must be its ears as they sang _How Much Is That Kneazle in the Window?_ at it in a dreadful disharmony. The Bowtruckle jumped at the chance to scramble away into cracks into the bark when Harry coughed to get their attention.

"Either of you seen Sirius lately?"

ooOOoo


	98. Chapter 98

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and pals belong to the nice JK Rowling lady. Not me. No money is being made by me (sad to say).

And now onwards to clear up one or two mysteries…

ooOOoo

Chapter 98: Revenge Served Reheated (With a Side Order of World Peace and Vegemite)

The next morning Harry made it down for breakfast. He didn't particularly want to, what with all the people who hadn't stopped staring at him over dinner and on into the evening, dampening his appetite until he pled a very real exhaustion and turned in for an early night. Sitting at the all-comers table for dinner with several Slytherins, Ron, Hermione, Neville and Ginny to help him carry the Gryffindor banner and Luna as sole Ravenclaw representative, he'd been allowed to eat in silence and absorb the conversation going on around him without needing to be an active participant in it. But then the Parvati twins and Lavender joined them, squeezing into the tight group, bringing with them some Ravenclaw fifth years headed up by some annoying girl named Romilda or Romanda Somethingorother, the latter trying to wedge herself in between Luna and Harry until Harry growled that he was quite happy with the Ravenclaw already sitting next to him, thankyouverymuch.

The _thankyouverymuch_ was more snarled than growled, he had to admit, but surely after a long day spent getting rid of a Dark Lord he was entitled to a short lapse in temper.

But in that moment when Luna had taken his hand under the table, Harry didn't feel like snarling anymore. Purring, maybe, but not snarling.

Romilda (Romanda? Harry couldn't say that he cared either way) huffed off with the twins and Lavender as Draco shook his head at Harry's undiplomatic handling of the masses. Harry had only yawned and wondered aloud if it was worth coming to breakfast in the morning.

Ron had pointed out that as the house elves were bound to be in a good mood there would be tons of sausages and hot crumpet (Seamus sitting nearby had found that funny for some reason Harry and Ron didn't understand and Hermione pretended not to), which was a better reason. Horses weren't the only creatures that found food a strong motivating force.

Draco gave the best argument of all: if Harry remained visible he'd be better able to control his growing fame simply by going about daily life in a normal way, and thus able to hang on to the power that came along with it (and incidentally be in a better position to both keep Simon and back Draco himself in his future endeavours, although Draco wasn't quite unSlytherin enough to be blunt enough to state this openly).

Harry had shrugged this away. "I could sleep for a week."

"So could I," said Draco as the lights went out, "but I'd like to keep an eye on things."

"You do that." At this point Harry had realised everything was dark because his eyes were closed, and opened them again. Lights back on again. He needed sleep badly. Shame Luna couldn't join him… uh-oh, Snuffles was watching him… Harry had decided against the public exposure he would have racked up from searching around the castle for his godfather that afternoon – but secretly admitted to himself that he'd chickened out at the likelihood of a noisy confrontation. He hadn't even been to see Dumbledore. Or McGonagall. Or Flitwick. Certainly not Remus. And he got a queasy stomach when he thought about talking to Sirius. The only staff member he'd approached had been Hagrid, and only to ask about borrowing his cabin to hide out in. His friends had formed a sort of buffer around him, keeping out inconvenient staff. "'M going t'bed," he mumbled. Sirius was the last thing he needed. "See you next week. Month." _Yawn._ "Year… No, don't stand up… I know the way…"

But Hermione had escorted him up to the dormitory, apparently to make sure he got there safely (not that anyone said so openly), and once there she plumped up his pillows, pulled the curtains against the evening light, sat him down on his bed and told him in a quiet, level voice he didn't normally associate with Hermione that while a flurry of owls had descended with a snowstorm of letters there were those who hadn't heard from their parents today, mightn't hear from them tomorrow, and mightn't ever hear from them again – the Boy Who Killed Voldemort being amongst them would be good for morale.

"What about those who had Death Eaters for parents? How will it help them?" Harry had been so tired and bemused by someone actually fluffing a pillow for him that he couldn't stop himself from asking questions he knew he shouldn't, and wished he hadn't at the look of sorrow that settled on her face.

"You treat them like everyone else," she said briskly, and took off his shoes for him. He wished she wouldn't – it was embarrassing how badly his socks needed a wash. "You show them that the hate ended this morning – that it doesn't have to continue."

Harry bit his lip. "I saw Theodore Nott's father killed," he said in a small voice.

Hermione reached out, as if she were going to stroke his hair in a very un-Hermione way, then let her hand fall. "Yes, Draco told me," she said after a moment. "He said you were a tad shredded over it. But that one isn't your battle. You didn't kill him."

"No, but if it hadn't been for me he wouldn't have died."

"He would have handed you over to Voldemort and then _you_ would have died. I'm glad it was him and not you. That's cold, but so is war."

Harry thought that war wasn't simply cold – the fragmenting impressions of the last subjective twenty-four hours were either fiery with screaming hate and rage or bone-crackingly icy from sweating terror and brittle strategy, but somehow cold was too static a word. Maybe tomorrow he'd think differently. Maybe tomorrow he'd be able to put the whole battle against Voldemort into a static little cold box in his mind and close the lid.

Something to hope for.

So, after a night of sleep so velvety-deep that he didn't remember any dreams and he didn't hear the others in his dormitory come in or leave again in the morning until Ron woke him, Harry went down for breakfast.

He immediately realised it was worth it: firstly for the news that Friday's lessons had been cancelled; secondly for the sight of Hermione brandishing the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ she'd borrowed from Remus, explaining to a miffed Draco that his exploding fireworks spell had been explained to the few local Muggles as a Ferrari club (she had to explain about cars) holding a meeting. Draco was annoyed that his Patronus had been usurped by a Muggle business. To make matters worse, he fumed, it wasn't even a _British_ Muggle business, it was owned by a bunch of wo- (Hermione's glare at him was censorial enough for even Draco Malfoy to pick up the hint) … er, by a bunch of Italians. Draco's pique was somewhat assuaged when she assured him that as far as Muggle transport went, Ferrari was at the top of the scale… for what that was worth, because it was still _Muggle_ transport.

Ron, by now fed up to the back teeth that his girlfriend was mollifying a Malfoy, dragged Hermione off to another table. Instead of the four House tables the seating was now broken up into at least a dozen smaller tables to allow students from different Houses to sit together, although Harry cynically expected this situation not to last through to next September. Ron plumped Hermione down at the nearest table and launched into an explain to a group of Ravenclaws of how the Wall of Sky spell had saved him and Hermione (oh, yes, and Elmsworthy…) when he, Ron Weasley, had cast the mighty dart that caused the pent-up spells to erupt.

Apparently the Ravenclaws were having difficulty with the concept of the spell originating from Loony Lovegood and were making noises about Someone Getting Airs Just Because She Was Someone Important's Girlfriend, but Hermione patiently explained that it really had been Luna's spell and then Ron shouted at them until they meekly agreed that, yes, it might be a good idea to stop calling Luna 'Loony' when it was obvious how bloody useful she'd been breaking the Blockade. They mightn't have capitulated quite so fast, but from over Ron's shoulder Draco was giving them the glare he must have learned from Simon. But the Ravenclaws went back to grumbling as soon as Ron and Hermione bent their heads together to discuss the finer points of darts and potions, Ron being quite taken by the idea of pulling a prank on the twins.

Elmsworthy, just coming in, yawning and rumpling his long fingers through his hair (not that it needed any extra encouragement, because it was almost as bad as Harry's this morning), must have interpreted Draco's quirked eyebrow and faint jerk of the head in a very Slytherin way. While ignoring Ron's jealous scowl, he took a detour past the Ravenclaws' table.

Harry decided not to ask what Elmsworthy put in that jug of pumpkin juice. (Or what Ron's problem with Elmsworthy was _now_.) If he hadn't been watching carefully he would have missed the quick hand movement as the Slytherin leaned out of the way of a gaggle of Hufflepuffs and over the food… and was that some sort of dropper device he kept up his sleeve?

"Congratulations," Harry said to the lanky Slytherin, moving to make space between himself and Trudi at the same time as he waved to catch Hermione's attention and convey to her how she shouldn't under pain of death (hand drawn across his throat) drink (raise phantom cup to mouth) from the (point, point) pumpkin juice. Gryffindors as well as Slytherins could use sign language, although Harry's attempts weren't quite as subtle as Draco's eyebrow. "You seem to have survived."

(And so would Hermione and Ron: Hermione stopped Ron from pouring himself another cup of juice.)

Elmsworthy did an interesting but undoubtedly unconscious preying mantis impression as he folded himself into the space and sat. "What?" he said loudly.

"Comrade Tyrol had a slight accident involving the tree," said Trudi, leaning forward to address Harry around her Housemate. Ron smirked. Fortunately Elmsworthy didn't notice.

"What was that about the tree?" Elmsworthy looked mildly worried.

Trudi ignored him. "… That's what Hermione told me."

"What happened, 'Mione?" Harry asked, turning to call across to Hermione, still sitting at another table with Ron (who was looking daggers at Elmsworthy, even though Harry was sure he didn't know about the doctored juice). "Last night with the tree, I mean?"

Ron groaned. "They sang the tree song. Over and over. No wonder there was an accident. Self-defence on the part of the Forbidden Forest!"

"That wasn't it at all. Besides, it's just a harmless song, Ron," Hermione admonished. "Just because I appreciate Muggle literature –"

"'Tree, tree, one two three, please grow very big for me' cannot possibly be Muggle literature," Ron snapped back. [1] He scowled. "And you and Comrade bloody Slytherin there singing it all the way through the Forest really wore out my last nerve."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's hard to explain…"

Elmsworthy ignored Ron and stuck his little fingers in his ears and wiggled them irritably. "If someone was asking about what happened to me in the Forest last night, the tree happened," Elmsworthy sighed. He seemed to have heard the earlier question, or perhaps he had guessed that this was the right time for this question to be asked. He gave the fingers an extra-hard wiggle. "Damn stuff should be working by now… it keep _almost _working… I can hear in these, these, waves, you know…" There was a popping sound that managed to be audible over the hubbub of breakfast, and his eyes went wide. Then relaxed again in satisfaction. "Brilliant," he breathed after a moment's listening. "I'm definitely patenting _that._ Now, what was that other question, Potter? I could see your mouth moving, and that usually means you asking a question."

Harry wasn't sure if he should be offended or not. Possibly not, given that this was Elmsworthy and Elmsworthy had a fine appreciation for curiosity. "Er, what hap-"

There was a scream from the Ravenclaws. Then several more screams. Harry looked around to see them bobbing up towards the enchanted ceiling, which was showing grey skies and light rain. Hermione and Ron were looking very relieved not to have drunk anything dodgy, although Hermione was giving Harry her 'did-_you_-have-anything-to-do-with-this?' glare.

Harry tried to look innocent and hurt by the very suggestion, something he'd picked up from Draco and hopefully was doing better (Draco tended to look guilty even when he wasn't). By the intensification of her glare, he was unsuccessful.

Elmsworthy craned his head around. "Hmm. Might have to work on that formula a little more," he said, eyeing them critically. "They were meant to turn violet." He sucked at his protruding teeth and his sombre face soured as if he was taking their refusal to turn violet personally.

The screams died away as Flitwick and Sprout tried to get the students down. Flitwick gave Harry's table a stern look just in case it had been them. Harry shrugged and tried to look innocent as hard as he could. Which he was. He just knew guilty people.

Who were about to go further into sin, if Draco's smirk and glittering eyes were an accurate indication.

Draco slanted a sideways look at his Housemate. "You know that… thing you were working on…? Did you use it?"

"What thing?" asked Hermione, her ears almost on stalks, suspicion and curiosity warring on her face. "Oh, for goodness sake," she huffed, and grabbed Ron's wrist and dragged him back to Harry's table.

Harry tried not to smile, but from Ron's quick glare he didn't quite quash his amusement.

"What thing?" Hermione demanded.

Elmsworthy glanced towards a table where a group of Slytherins, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were sitting. It looked happy and innocent. Harry recognised three of them – two Ravenclaws and a Hufflepuff – as the ones who'd thrown Draco into Simon's pen. One of those Ravenclaws along with the Hufflepuff and a younger Slytherin student also sitting at that table had gone on to give Luna concussion and a broken shoulder. And later tried to ride Simon out of the paddock. Harry grinned at that last memory, even though it had ended with an outraged Simon attacking Lupin. The Luna-botherers were looking a little more wan of late. Oh – that's right: Draco had been looking at them every so often and giving a small, puzzled smile as if surprised they were still humanoid. And they would flinch. Whatever Draco had been doing to them was working.

The menu for a Malfoy breakfast included Revenge, Served Cold.

Harry shook his head. Now that the Blockade was over, he really needed to source those Klingons and see if they'd written any books on psychology – and then burn every copy to ensure Draco never read it. (Better not tell Hermione that, even if it was a joke – the last time he'd suggested burning a book she'd given him the sort of horrified look that said he was Voldemort in glasses and Gryffindor robes.) "Did anyone ever find out about those Klingons?" he asked, yawning, then realised that perhaps his brain still wasn't back up to speed if his mouth was getting away with stupid comments like that.

Hermione and Trudi blinked at the non sequitur. Ron raised an eyebrow, and Neville and Ginny exchanged puzzled glances. Luna simply nodded as if this was a question for the ages.

"Well, I'd like to know, too," said Draco slowly. "Dashed useful people with solid revenge ethos, by the sounds of things."

Elmsworthy rolled his eyes. "For God's sake, Granger. Sit these two down in front of a telly and a video, and show them one of the movies."

"_Wrath of Khan?"_

Elmsworthy nodded solemnly. "Well, they used the revenge quote there, and it would be an easier in into the series, but maybe _Search for Spock,_ what?_"_

Hermione's face lit up. "Yes, wasn't that comedic actor… um…"

"Christopher Lloyd?"

Yes, him. Wasn't he marvellous as the Klingon commander? Very convincing. You'd think he really was an alien soldier. When he –"

Draco's mouth was opening and shutting. Finally words came out. "Are you telling me Klingons are some sort of Muggle fairy-tale?"

_"Star Trek."_ Harry was also having an internal head-slap moment. He knew the word 'Klingon' had been familiar. He'd _seen_ some of the old television shows as well as bits of the movies on the rare occasions he'd been allowed out of his cupboard or the kitchen to watch the telly.

Ron started to laugh. "Your face, mate. You look even angrier than that time Umbridge gave you detention because she reckoned you were telling lies."

"Huh." Aware Ron wasn't the only one grinning at his expense (and Draco's although no-one other than Elmsworthy was stupid enough to let Malfoy know this), Harry grabbed some toast and sausages which he viciously gave a salt and buttering. It was less trouble than assault and battery on his so-called friends.

"You've been winding us up over Muggle stories? Hang on –" Draco pointed a finger at Elmsworthy "– are you telling me _Snape_ knew about Muggle stories?"

"Don't discount Muggle stories, Malfoy," Elmsworthy said. "They could kick Wizarding literature's arse around the Quidditch pitch and through the Forest."

"And then be eaten by an Acromantula because they're stupid Muggle stories and don't have magic to defend themselves," grumbled Draco.

Before a fight could break out, Hermione demonstrated she was now an expert tactician when it came to Slytherins by asking Elmsworthy, "Have you seen that new sci-fi series?"

"What, _Babylon 5_?"

"That's it."

Shaking his head, Neville tried to involve Ginny and Luna in conversation about the mistletoe they'd found. Luna was insistent Nargles couldn't infest Spring Snow mistletoe. Ginny and Neville were in agreement. As they had never claimed to believe Nargles existed in the first place, it must have been an easy agreement to reach. Neville asked Luna her thoughts on Spitting Daisies, which reminded Harry of the oddly-named potion Elmsworthy had made…

"…Yes, I have a cousin who knows someone who knows someone who works behind the scenes in distribution or something," Elmsworthy was saying to Hermione. "Not sure where, exactly. Anyway, I get copies before it gets aired. Haven't seen any episodes since Christmas," he added sadly, his face, usually morose, now wearing the expression of someone who'd just buried his grandmother. "Which reminds me," he added, perking up slightly as he turned to Harry and Draco, "Did you try Small Fish?"

"I did." Harry frowned. "I was just going to ask you about that. It was… quite surreal."

"How surreal?" Elmsworthy mumbled around a mouthful of toast. He swallowed – "'Scuse me" – and pulled out a small notebook and a pencil. "Did the subject it was applied to change shape or colour, or… blossom in any way?"

"Hang on a moment." Draco was going pink. "Did you expect us to come back from fighting Voldemort and give you reports on untested potions? Did you seriously think we would live after –"

"Most of the potions I gave you had been tested. You should have remembered Big Boom being used before, Malfoy, and Worse BSM should have been obvious."

"Oh, yuck, did you really use a stink potion nastier than butyl seleno-mercaptan?" Neville asked after a moment's thought.

Draco scowled at him. Harry merely tried not to look astonished. He couldn't have succeeded, because Neville stared down at his plate and mumbled, "Well, we use it in Herbology… fifth year… germinating the Viloxin seeds…"

"Precisely," said Elmsworthy.

Appearing to ignore this, Draco continued, "So you were expecting us to come back after having been blown or hexed to atoms and tell you what the experience was like? What exact shade was the light at the end of the tunnel?" he finished, in a spot-on imitation of Elmsworthy. "Or were you planning on a spot of Necromancy?"

"No, that's totally illegal in most of the Wizarding world outside the African Alliance and Haiti," Elmsworthy replied, a shade too quickly, and Trudi's eyes sharpened. Harry and Hermione shared a worried look.

"Wasn't your dad posted to Haiti for a while?" Trudi asked.

"…But nothing really bad happened, did it?" Elmsworthy continued quickly to Harry and Draco, ignoring her. "Weren't they in the least bit helpful?"

Harry sighed. "They were," he admitted. "Be fair, Draco – that stink potion saved my life when I hit Voldemort with it."

Hermione and Neville, who'd been drinking, choked.

Elmsworthy nearly smiled. "Did you? How about Boom?"

"You know that stone bridge that used to be north of Hogsmeade?"

"Tanner's Bridge? What do you mean, 'used t-' … oh." Elmsworthy thought this over. "Did you tell anyone where you got the potions?"

"No."

Elmsworthy nodded. "Okay."

"What? Don't want to be sued for damages?" Draco asked. "What about the person who used it?" he added, after a brief pause.

Elmsworthy shrugged. "It could be considered war damages. But you never know with historic places. I'll discuss culpability with my lawyer and let you know – if you want a quick chat with him that should be okay. But Potter was telling me about Small Fish. That didn't make anything explode, did it? The Bowtruckle I tried it on didn't do much."

Hermione took in a deep breath of pending outrage at the use of Bowtruckles for experimental purposes.

Harry decided it was best not to let her get to the arguing stage. "I tested it on Death Eaters."

"Oh, good. No experimental ethics committee to get approval from, then. Did they change shape?"

"No, but they did blossom a bit. Overall they just seemed… easily amused. Rocks, blades of grass, Simon… me. The squirting daisies the potion gave them. Imminent death. All absolutely hilarious under Small Fish influence."

"Excellent."

"It's still working," Draco put in sourly. "Comrade Tyrol nearly smiled there."

The most surreal part of the potion was the name. Harry was just about to ask what the relative size of a fish had to do with anything, when a letter fell into Neville's pumpkin juice, splattering all of them.

An owl swooped away, a jaunty flick of its feathers suggesting its aim was true.

The owl was only the first of a multitude – even more than had delivered mail yesterday. Parcels and envelopes rained down on the delighted students.

Draco, one of the lucky, opened his package to find a selection of sweets, including a small bag of peppermints. His face lit up with greed. "Brilliant. Bribes aplenty just in case the Aurors don't let us go shopping soon…" The sweets disappeared into his pocket. There was a brief internal battle which reflected on his face, and the sweets resurfaced (minus the peppermints) along with a determined smile on Draco's part. The smile needed work. It showed teeth in precisely the wrong way. "Care for a caramel, Longbottom? Granger?" He said, voice oozing with determination to show what a jolly good chap he was, ready to share his bounty with the rabble. Hermione said no-thank-you-my-parent-don't-allow-me-to-have-caramels, but Harry, Luna, Neville and Ginny each took one and tried to look appreciative of the great honour. Draco, visibly relieved none of them had taken handfuls, tucked the bag back into his pocket. He ripped out a page from his notebook and penned off a quick letter, giving it to the gigantic eagle owl currently sitting on the table eyeing Pigwidgeon with hauteur. Pig, having given up his parcel to Ron, twittered enthusiastically at it and bobbed up and down. The eagle owl turned its head one hundred and eighty degrees so that it didn't have to look at the riff-raff.

There was a whoop from Ron that startled the owls as well as the students – Pigwidgeon skittered sideways into the butter dish. Ron ignored his owl and brandished the magazine that had been sent to him. "The Cannons won a game!"

"The _Chudley_ Cannons?" Elmsworthy asked, as if there must be another team with 'Cannons' in the name that a wizard might follow.

"You sure it isn't a joke?" Harry asked.

"Yes," said Hermione, picking Pigwidgeon out of the butter and cleaning him with a wave of her wand. The little owl gave her a grateful meep and nibbled her finger. "It might have come from Fred and George, so –"

Ron was shaking his head. "Nope, real deal. Letter from Dad, not the twins." He turned his attention to the letter, his face ferocious with concentration as he drowned out the other conversations around the table.

"I got a letter from Fred and George," Ginny said, opening it carefully. "It's – oh, it's another apology." She smirked. "I think being a sorceress could really help. Nothing about Quidditch, though."

"Awesome." This assessment wasn't Quidditch-related. Elmsworthy had opened his package and revealed several letters, a few packets and small bottles, and a glittering disk with the letters ST:DS9 written in fat green marker. Taking pride of place was a small plastic pot of some foul, tarry substance. The red and yellow label read 'Vegemite'. At first it seemed to be a particularly obscure potions ingredient, but then the Slytherin began spreading liberal amounts on his toast with a satisfied flourish to every turn of his knife, and passed the pot to Trudi, who followed suit, provoking a raised eyebrow from Draco. This probably was not a normal use of potions ingredients, even where Elmsworthy was concerned. Harry realised after a moment's concern for Elmsworthy's sanity that it looked like Marmite, but it was the first time he'd seen it at Hogwarts.

He was the only one at the table without mail. He might have thought that strange, but suspected the Aurors were intercepting it on his behalf, just in case someone tried something as funny as Small Fish. But it was still a little depressing. He sighed and turned to Luna. "Did you – ?"

There was a crash from a nearby table – someone had dropped a plate. Or thrown it. Seamus? No – it was Dean. Dean with his face set in anger, letter scrunched in his hand, marching away out of the hall, leaving Seamus behind with his face red. Harry wondered if he was meant to do anything about this – but then Hermione put her hand on his arm.

"Just leave it," she said.

Harry noticed Justin Finch-Fletchley hurrying after Dean. This seemed to make Seamus angrier. Very strange. "They're up to something," he said.

"Not really," she replied. "That's not a battle for you, Harry."

Ron looked up. "Whose battle? What?"

"Nothing. Read your newspaper."

"For Merlin's sake, did you two turn into an old married couple overnight?" Harry couldn't help but ask.

"Eat your breakfast, Harry. There's a love."

"Not only that, Potter, but they've adopted you," Draco chuckled. "And is that why we saw Finch-Fletchley out last night with Thomas, Granger?"

"Er… did you?"

"We did," Harry said. "They've been acting a bit weird, when you come to think of it."

"I think he means 'acting a bit queer'," Draco said.

"Same thing."

Elmsworthy looked up from his letter and raised an eyebrow. He seemed about to say something when Dean came storming back into the Hall, dragging Justin by the hand.

"You know what, Seamus? I don't care what you think!" he snapped. He turned and glared at the rest of the people surrounding them. "We're in love!"

Justin, pink and white with nervous defiance, nodded.

Seamus' face twisted. "That's bloody sick, that is! Two blokes getting it on? Sick! That Ravenclaw poof –"

There was a hiss from the Ravenclaws clustered around various tables.

"Oh, shut up," Justin said angrily, going even more pink. "You've been trying to break us up all year and you haven't succeeded. You threatened to tell everyone. Well, we don't care anymore. We – what?"

Draco had thrown a roll at his head. "We're trying to have a quiet breakfast over here. No riots this morning, please."

Dean looked ready to murder him. "You just hate not being the centre of attention, don't you, Malfoy?"

"A bit, yes, but mainly I detest melodramatics."

The Slytherins around the Hall blinked at each other.

Draco ignored this silent mass contradiction by his House. "Let me get this straight, so to speak: you two are an item. Yes? And you think that there is a huge social shame in, as was so eloquently phrased, 'two blokes getting it on.' Right? Yes. Allow me to talk to the Ravenclaw, please; you lot are meant to be able to think. Look. You, Finch-Fletchley and Thomas are Muggle-born, aren't you?"

"Oh, a new thing against Mudbl-"

Draco lifted a hand. "Please don't use that word in front of Miss Granger."

Millicent Bulstrode was among those who leaned back with arms folded, letting the floorshow unfold before them. Those who had been too far away to hear Dean and Justin's argument with Seamus asked those nearer what was going on, and looked interested at the replies.

Draco turned to address Elmsworthy. "Is it true, Comrade Tyrol, that Muggles are intolerant when it comes to romances involving only one gender?"

"Breeders are always spitting the dummy over bum-bandits and todger-dodgers."

"I'm sure I don't know what that means, Comrade," said Draco, watching interestedly from the corner of his eye as Hermione turned pink.

"Do you try to be offensive, or does it come naturally?" Hermione whispered to Elmsworthy.

"It's natural with him," Trudi said. She was one of the only people who dared be blunt with the dour Slytherin. "Can't see how you're going to get ahead in the business until a bit of your dad's polish rubs off on you, Tyrol."

He shot her and Hermione a cold stare. "I'll thank you to know that my honesty is a reaction to growing up in the hypocrisy of a politically-correct Pureblood world which sneers at my Muggle mother. I feel quite confident in informing you that anything I might come out with is tame compared to what gets bandied about in the real world. Harden up, Granger." He pointedly turned to Draco. "And it means yes, _Comrade_, you are correct in your assumption. I must already have told you that people are idiots, and here's more proof for you: if they weren't too thick to think towards the future they would already have realised that anything which keeps the population down should be commended."

"Oh. Well, although it's not the usual Slytherin way to give unsolicited advice, for the sake of world peace and because I'm in an unusually generous mood on this fine day, I am inclined to let you know that Wizarding society is different. It's not common for people to want to marry someone of their own sex, but it happens. Nobody makes a big deal out of it. Otherwise couples like Dervish and Bangs, for example, would be out of business."

"Is that true, Neville?" Dean asked.

"I've never really thought about it…"

"Harry?" Dean was holding Justin's hand quite tightly, Harry could see.

"Er… Why are you asking me?"

"Well, you know, you and Malfoy have been –"

Harry's face was going very hot. "I _don't_ know, and me and Malfoy haven't been whatever it is you were going to say!"

"You two have been so busy sneaking around you must have missed the whole Potter-and-Lovegood-joined-at-the-lip thing," Draco said, not looking at all ruffled. "I must say, I was a bit worried. I was so busy wondering if you two were planning on breaking through the barrier or joining Voldemort that I never considered –"

"No, nothing like that, it was just…" Dean looked at Justin. "I guess we thought there were other barriers that needed breaking."

("Aww," went a young Hufflepuff witch, and dabbed at her eyes.)

"Not in the Wizarding world," a Ravenclaw seventh year supplied. Ravenclaws didn't tend towards the romantic. "The only major issue is heirs – but if you don't want children then it's not a bother. Even if you do, there are ways and means…"

(_Yuck,_ thought Harry; _please please please don't go into details where potions are involved_.)

"…such as adoption…"

(Harry silently let out a breath of relief.)

"…or potions." The Ravenclaw didn't seem to notice Harry's wince. "Wondered why you were being so damned dodgy, Finch-Fletchley. Why didn't you just ask? Or go find a book?"

Justin blushed and mumbled something under his breath.

"Honestly, the amount of education Muggle-borns get when they come into the Wizarding world is shockingly inadequate," Elmsworthy said loudly, just in case any of the professors were listening in.

"Bit of a storm in a teacup. Just another day at Hogwarts," Draco soothed before any professors could take offence and tell them that lessons were suddenly back on for the day, and reached for the pumpkin juice. "So. No riots this morning?"

Justin shook his head, looking around the Hall. Now that there didn't seem to be a fight (several had been hoping Gryffindor House would declare war on the Slytherin Republic or vice versa, because that was always entertaining), the other students were losing interest and going back to their own business. Seamus was quietly leaving the Hall, not meeting anyone's eye. Justin squared his shoulders. "Not now. Thanks for clearing that up, Malfoy."

Dean also looked incredibly relieved. "So… all this time we could have just relaxed like a normal couple…"

"What's normal at Hogwarts? Besides, all the best romances have unbearable tension to them," Draco said airily.

"Yes, but then everyone dies at the end of them," said Luna. "Romance and tragedy – that's the real marriage."

"I'll settle for a box of chocolates," said Trudi, although she was probably lying. Harry had the nagging suspicion she wouldn't settle for anything other than a husband who was in a high political position and a lorry full of diamonds.

Draco smiled at her. "Remind me later – I've got something for you."

She glowed prettily, and Harry knew exactly who she was planning on putting into the space she'd reserved in her life for a husband.

His hand seemed to move of its own volition, seeking out Luna's under the table.

"Now that I've proven myself to be a top-notch agony aunt, I guess it's time for me to move on to world peace," Draco boasted, cracking his knuckles.

"Let me know how that goes for you," said Ron distractedly. The entire drama of the last few minutes had gone over his head while he'd been engrossed in his Quidditch magazine. "Er… Why are Dean and Justin holding hands?"

"Finch-Fletchley, who has no standards, is dating a Gryffindor."

"Right-o." Ron went back to his magazine. "So long as Dean isn't dating a Slytherin and today's classes are still cancelled, that's all I need to know."

Ron's indifference was the final seal of approval. Dean and Justin stood for a moment, as if waiting for the heavens to open up and strike them with lightning, then when that didn't happen they wandered off in a different direction to Seamus', heads bent together as they talked in low voices.

Harry didn't bother watching them leave. The day was already weird enough without Draco (who was now in a fit of generosity he would probably regret later offering caramels to anyone who wanted one) giving out relationship advice. Luna was reading something. That, he hoped, was far more interesting and less likely to boggle his brain.

"Is that a letter from your dad, Luna?" Harry asked.

"It's – what's that noise? Is that a Billynox in your pocket, Tyrol? You need to be careful of those."

"It's not a Billynox. If you ever see one, let me know. I'm keen to find out how various bits of an imaginary creature go as potions ingredients." In this day of distractions, Elmsworthy's pocket was now chiming. He took out a fob watch, flicked it open, gave a nod and leaned forward. "When I say 'go', I want everyone to turn around and smile – big, happy smiles – at the table over there. You too, Bluey." Before Ron could growl about being called 'Bluey' or Harry tell him he had Marmite in the corner of his mouth, Elmsworthy wiped it clean on the back of his hand. "It's the table with that lot who tried to take Simon out of the paddock. Okay?"

"What? Why?" asked Neville. He was reading a pumpkin juice-tinted letter. He was squinting, with his tongue was making odd bulges in his cheek as he shoved it around his teeth. The caramel he'd just accepted from Draco was giving him some trouble.

"Just do it, Longbottom. I promise you'll get something out of it. And no Gryffindors will be harmed. Probably." Elmsworthy took a swig of pumpkin juice and swished it around his mouth, probably to get rid of any traces of Marmite, and Hermione's expression went solid at this approach to dental hygiene. "Okay. Three… two – _big smiles _– one… _go._"

They turned and smiled, although Hermione's looked forced and Elmsworthy's might as well have been mechanically operated for all the genuine good-will he was able to show.

Nothing happened for a few moments, only the dawning unease on the faces of the Ravenclaws, Slytherins and Hufflepuffs at the nearby table.

_"Why are we doing this?" _muttered Ginny, although she kept her smile fixed.

_"Don't stop smiling,"_ hissed Draco from the corner of his mouth. He couldn't have had any more idea of the exact tactics Elmsworthy was employing, but he'd had personal experience of the dour Slytherin's vindictiveness. That would have explained why his smile was the genuine smirk of one awaiting an evil used on his behalf.

Neville was still trying to get the caramel unstuck from his back teeth without being too obvious about it. His grimaces gained him some increasingly worried looks from the other table.

_"Big smiles, big smiles, big smiles,"_ muttered Elmsworthy, who had a fabulous career ahead of him as a ventriloquist if the whole diplomatic potions swot thing didn't work out.

Then:

Smoke curled behind the table. The frightened students didn't notice it at first, being too busy staring into the smiles of those at Harry's table. They didn't even react to the startled gasps of other students throughout the Hall. While Harry didn't appreciate the analogy, they were transfixed like birds before snakes.

The smoke curled and broke into pillars. The pillars hovered, waiting.

Elmsworthy was first to lose patience. Or maybe the effort to keep smiling was a painful one. "Oh, for Ned's sake, it's behind you, you burks," he snapped.

The students turned and, as one, screamed as the black smoke suddenly writhed and took shape under their horrified gazes.

Shapes.

There was a mummy. A giant spider (Ron flinched). A vampire. A giant snake (Harry flinched, remembering Nagini was still at large). An ogre. Two black horses. A third flame of smoke rose into a pillar and for a moment looked like a ghost of Snape (Neville flinched) before it expanded into the form of a third black horse.

The eyes of the smoke creatures blazed with red fire. Their mouths opened; the pincers of the spider widening sideways.

_"Flesh," _they howled. _"Blood!" _Smoke puffed from maws that were caverns filled with coals. _"Human flesh, human blood!"_

Students at nearby tables began to scream.

The table where the Luna-botherers were sitting evacuated so fast it was as if the ban on Apparition had been lifted. But instead of dissolving or staying in the Great Hall, the smoke-monsters sped after the fleeing students, running through tables when they got in the way. One of the smoke-Simons cantered through Harry's table, leaving coldness where it touched and a small oily residue.

"Cool," said Ron, and stabbed a sausage. He was a little pale under his freckles, but the spider hadn't run in his direction. "What was that? Instant Boggart?"

"I was going to call it Bottled Boggart," Elmsworthy said, nodding, eyebrow raised. "Thought it'd be good for Halloween." His mournful face became slightly less so with cynicism. "And weddings, what."

"My brothers'd love to get their hands on it."

"It'll cost them a small fortune," Elmsworthy grunted, leaning across the table to get the jug of pumpkin juice. "I say, why don't we ever have coffee at student tables?"

"I think you're about to get the chance to pick some up from the teachers," Ginny pointed out.

Professors McGonagall and Sprout were striding towards them, looking displeased.

"Are you going to deny non-involvement?" McGonagall demanded of Elmsworthy. Her angry eyes raked Draco and (unexpectedly) Ron.

Elmsworthy leaned back and stretched the kinks out of his shoulders. "Of something that was pure genius? Not at all. Don't you want to know how I did it?"

"I expect you to explain it to me later this morning when I have the time for you."

"Is that when my lawyer's coming? Because I've got a lot to submit for patent and I'd appreciate having a witch of your stature sitting in to make sure everything's above board," Elmsworthy replied, his face never losing its standard sad mien.

McGonagall looked like she was trying not to swallow her own lips.

"I shall see you in my office, Mr Elmsworthy," she snapped. "Ten-thirty sharp. And yes – feel free to bring your lawyer. As for the rest of you… don't… don't any of you dare give me any more paperwork."

She swept off, her cloak billowing with Caledonian menace, Sprout bobbing in her wake. The three Slytherins at the table looked a little downcast, as if they'd wanted something more from her. Mass detention?

But when she was out of earshot, Trudi said in small voice, "Gosh, didn't she sound like Professor Snape?"

Ron shivered. "I'm transferring to Durmstrang."

ooOOoo

That morning was another celebratory one, but with an underlying tension. Harry, leaning out a third-floor window to get a better view of the gates, realised the source of the stress when he noticed a few students hanging around the doors or going down to the gates to see if the Aurors guarding them had any news. They were disappointed – the Aurors were a close-mouthed crew – but it didn't stop them wondering when they would see their parents or be allowed home.

The first time that day someone said 'home' Harry had got a cold shock. Everyone was thinking of leaving Hogwarts. He'd saved the world, only to have it deserted.

Where was his home meant to be? Hogwarts? Were you allowed to have a school as a home?

He leaned on his elbows and sighed. All his friends would be vanishing soon. As if to get into practice, they'd already left him on his own. Draco, smug after obtaining a business card from Elmsworthy's lawyer, was off herding students somewhere, either training to be a politician or a sheepdog. Neville and Ginny had muttered something about the glasshouses and slipped away before Ron could ask questions. Hermione had dragged Ron back to the common room to write letters. Luna – Luna really had picked an odd time to tidy up Snape's workroom, he decided.

He should find Sirius. He considered going to find Remus just in case he had some time to act as a buffer between Harry and his godfather, but the werewolf had been busy helping Professors Flitwick, Sprout and Vector, two Aurors and Elmsworthy (who had escaped from his meeting with McGonagall and the lawyer with all four limbs and his wand intact) sound out the wards around the castle to find out if they were regenerating yet or not, and was booked in later on in the morning to supervise outside activities. Harry was welcome to join in. Harry didn't have much in the way of team spirit this morning, but said he hoped Remus would have fun and admitted that refereeing Quidditch and Invisible Tag was, on balance, less dangerous than refereeing Harry and Sirius.

Not even Remus had seen Sirius around this morning. Not so much as a pawprint. Harry decided to take this as an omen he wasn't meant to talk to him yet.

Harry sensed someone standing by his shoulder. He turned to see McGonagall.

She looked even more exhausted than she had at breakfast. Harry had always thought that when a war was over, it was over. He'd never stopped to wonder who cleaned everything up and organised the non-combatants into safe places. He could only hope Elmsworthy wasn't one of those writing the treaties. Millicent, maybe…

"Are you feeling alright, Professor?" he asked.

She tilted her head. "Fine, Harry. Although as your Head of House I'm meant to be the one asking that."

"Well, I'm not too bad. I feel a bit, well, superfluous now, I suppose."

"You've earned your rest. Have you been looking for Sirius?"

"I was going to, then I lost my nerve." He gave her a wry half-smile. "Have you seen him?"

"He's out patrolling the Forest with Hagrid this morning. Hagrid should keep him out of trouble."

"If anyone can, it'll be Hagrid," Harry admitted. "Er, I heard there were still pockets of the barrier drifting around."

"Unfortunately. Large, silvery balloon-like things that pop at unexpected moments. The Aurors aren't too sure about the danger of them, if they are merely dissipating relics of the barrier or symptomatic of a much deeper temporal issue, although Auror Wren, who touched one which burst and turned her into a pineapple might argue the point when they transfigure her back. They say they need to be absolutely certain Hogwarts is realigned before we can – oh." She nodded at the sight out the window. A new Auror had just Apparated to the gates. "Here we go."

Something was definitely up. The students down there were milling around the newcomer excitedly.

Someone sent fireworks sparkling out of their wand and shouted: "We're back!" loudly enough to be heard from the castle window where Harry and McGonagall were standing.

What was that about?

McGonagall squinted. "Ah, yes. That looks like Auror Smeed. He was meant to come and tell Professor Dumbledore when the Ministry deemed us safely meshed in with the rest of the world. I shall assume this is so, and that a select band of parents will be descending upon us within the hour. I can only hope everyone will have the sense not to act like a bottle of Butterbeer that's just been violently shaken. However," she sighed, "common sense and decorum have always been too much to hope for." She gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Come and see me if you need to, Harry, even if I appear to be busy. If anyone deserves some time being made for him it's you." She hurried off down the corridor.

Harry only guessed what she meant when a witch and wizard Apparated outside the gates and were ushered in by the Aurors to be met with hugs and kisses from three students. From his window Harry could make out the family reunion with a clarity that was almost voyeuristic. Strangely, he didn't feel quite so hollow at the prospect of no parents coming for him as perhaps he should have, or as McGonagall had been expecting when she issued her invitation.

He propped his chin on his hands, stayed at the window and watched for a few minutes. Then something that felt like jealousy set in, and to get rid of it he went to find Simon.

ooOOoo

The first of the approved parents arrived, almost before the Aurors had declared Hogwarts back in the real world and safe for visitors. After a five-Splinch pileup outside the gates with the threat of worse due to a prospective mass-arrival of family, the Aurors hurriedly set up a temporary ban on Apparition any closer than Hogsmeade, just to spread out the safe area.

They arrived in cars and on bicycles. A few rode carpets, and not even the most officious of the Ministry officials objected to this blatant disregard of current regulations against flying carpets (thanks to a bureaucratic hiccup, the ban on flying carpets had been reinstated), not on this day of days. Percy must have had some sort of reconciliation with his family because he Apparated along with Arthur and Molly to Hogsmeade and although his back stiffened at the abominable sight of such unbridled carpeting he kept his lips closed on the subject. Carriages rolled up the driveway, high wheels crunching on the new gravel the castle manifested for the occasion. Hagrid brought a few braver souls across the lake in boats. This was only the first wave: the Hogwarts Express was going to do a special run late this evening, putting on sleeper cars so mothers and fathers could travel overnight to meet up with their children tomorrow for breakfast.

It wasn't really the done thing to Apparate and then ride a broomstick from Hogsmeade, but several mothers or fathers either didn't know or didn't care.

One witch who came diving down through the clouds and skimmed over the lake like a falcon, her cloak and long blonde hair streaming behind her, would have been one of those who didn't care. Her imperious grey eyes dared anyone to quote protocol at her on an occasion such as this as she banked her broomstick into a turn around the castle, sweeping between Astronomy and North Towers. She seemed to be looking for something.

Or someone.

Draco had been out helping Lupin and Sprout organise energy-depleting games for the younger students who were getting overexcited at the prospect of seeing their families. He raised his hand to shield his eyes against the sun, sure he recognised the rider.

"Mother!" Responsibilities and decorum forgotten, he waved his arms and sprinted towards the driveway as the rider completed her circuit and came in for a landing.

"Draco… oh, Draco…" Narcissa Malfoy dismounted before the broom reached the ground, leaping down lightly as if she'd just shed twenty years and all her troubles with them. "Draco."

Draco bit back a sob and almost crashed into his mother, wrapping his arms around her and feeling her hug him back so tightly he could hardly breathe. But he didn't mind. "Mother… you're all right?"

Narcissa released him and stepped back slightly, her eyes looking up into his. Draco realised with a shock that he was now inches taller than his mother. So his robes _hadn't _been shrunk in the wash by vindictive house elves!

She cupped his cheek in one hand, the other resting on his shoulder as if she was frightened he would fly away. "I'm fine. As is your father, thanks to you." Her smile was fierce rather than warm. "You did it. You did it, Draco."

He nodded. "Thanks to _you_. And – and others. I – Mother? Er… you aren't crying, are you?"

Narcissa pressed her hand against her eyes. "Perhaps I am. It's – you've grown so."

Draco hugged her again. "It happens, so I hear."

She chuckled softly. Her laugh hadn't changed, it was still silvery like bells, right where Bellatrix's had been wrong. Draco kissed her forehead. He was tall enough to do that now. Before he'd only been able to kiss her cheek. How strange – a year of his life had gone, measured in the angle of a kiss. "Come on. You don't need all these people."

Narcissa looked over his shoulder. She stiffened with indignation. "I believe a werewolf is watching us."

"Er, I was supposed to be helping out with the younger students…" He tilted his head in a question to Lupin. Hopefully he hadn't noticed Narcissa's reaction to him.

Impossible to tell. Lupin nodded mildly and shrugged in a manner that suggested Draco should go and spend his time with his mother.

"… But I think he and Sprout have everything under control. I've got so much to tell you…" He fished a small rectangle of card out of a pocket. The scales of justice embossed on it seesawed gently. "I talked to Mr Crane of Privet, Holst, Holst, Holst, Crane and Specklemeyersteinskido. He told me to send him an owl some time about an apprenticeship if I ever want to get into law. If it works out well he'll fast-track me into the legal course of the Outs of Court!"

The Outs, historically the first university of Britain, was so venerable and esteemed an institution Narcissa couldn't immediately think of a reason why he shouldn't. "You want to be a lawyer now?" What had happened to her little boy who wanted to be a Quidditch star?

"I hear it's the way to go if you want to go into politics," he said quietly. "As they say, you can't be truly in unless you're Outs." When she tried to stop her smile from becoming too crocodilian, he tilted his head and smirked. "Exactly. But that's just the merest smidgen of what's been going on in my life. Care to come for a walk?"

She tucked her arm through his, thankfully not making any further comment by word or action about the werewolf.

"Come on," Draco said, seized by what seemed like a capital idea. "I'll show you how I got through the barrier. I really want you to meet Simon." He smiled and squeezed her hand. "He's fantastic! You'll love him just as much as I do, I know it."

"…Simon?"

"Yeah."

"But… Simon?"

Draco gave her a puzzled look. "Did Father not say something about when he, er, saw me last?"

"He never mentioned you with anyone other than Harry Potter."

"Oh. Well. High time you met Simon. I'm hoping he can come and live with us. Although we might have to keep him a bit of a secret."

"Oh." Narcissa put on a brave smile, but didn't ask why secrets were necessary.

Draco beamed at her. She really was the best and sneakiest of mothers. Strange that she was suddenly developing a strained look around her eyes, but she'd had a lot of worry recently, too. He stifled a yawn. "Sorry. Dreadfully tired."

"Well, it's been a busy time for you."

"Wait until I tell you just how busy. No Quidditch, but Simon's been keeping me fit. Guess what – I fought off giant spiders! One bit me."

Narcissa, already pale by complexion, went a rather sickly hue.

Maybe he shouldn't have told her about that. "Er… but Simon took care of me. He was the one who saved me from the spiders, actually. Single-handed," he added, conveniently forgetting for the moment that Potter had had something to do with it, too. "Came charging in, killed the spiders, and carried me back to Hogwarts. Amazing."

Narcissa gave him a better attempt at a smile – it almost looked real – and gave his arm an encouraging squeeze. "I'm sure I'll love your… Simon. Where is he at the moment?"

"He's up at the paddock. Not far." He waved a hand. "You can see him from here, in fact."

Narcissa squinted into the distance. Indeed, there was a young man who appeared to be treating some sort of large beast in a field at the top of the hill. A horse? Lucius _had_ mentioned horses… There had been one during the fight when the barrier went up, and another ridden by Harry Potter. He'd said even the Dark Lord had been impressed by Potter's horse – impressed into the ground. As well as that, there was something fishy about the manner of Bella's death.

She gave a small shrug. Lucius' sense of humour left a lot to be desired, but he _was_ her husband and the father of her child.

(Her dear, sweet, Machiavellian child who'd put a legal collar on Lucius and, she was certain, would prove to be a much more judicious controller of the Malfoy fortunes. He'd already shown he could make the right friends and influence the right people and participate in the killing of those who stood in Narcissa's/his way – and if he'd managed to decipher the code and make the potion to counter the Vivicus charm, then he was a good boy who listened to his mother and would make a fine Minister of Magic some day. She could even put up with a Simon if that was what it took to keep the family on an even keel, although there might need to be intervention if she was ever going to get those grandchildren she was bloody well going to have.)

ooOOoo

"Well," Draco said proudly, "this is Simon. Handsome chap, isn't he?"

Narcissa kept her face impassive. She didn't want wrinkles from emotional excess, although she was starting to think she wouldn't get out of this day unscathed. "I would have called him Harry Potter myself," she said, ignoring the 'handsome chap'. The boy was certainly growing up into a fine young specimen, if a little on the stunted side. Although the two Potters were very similar in looks from what she remembered of James, Harry's face had a forthright kindness to it. Intelligent people as well as the rabble would vote for Harry on the strength of that, Narcissa, a long-time silent student of the underlying human complexities of politics, decided. Perhaps Draco allying himself with a Gryffindor wasn't as politically suicidal as it first appeared, although Potter would have to be taught to wash his hands properly. His fingernails had gone purple, for Circe's sake.

(And she would still be insisting on grandchildren.)

Draco said breezily, "Oh, sorry, my manners are shocking. Mother, this is Harry Potter. Potter, this is my mother, Narcissa Malfoy. I believe you've met?"

"We have," Harry said, politely inclining his head. "Ah – I'd offer a hand but I've just been cleaning out Simon's hooves and putting on a potion to deal with the stone bruises."

Simon was the _horse?_ Maybe blackmailing her only son into finding an agreeable witch of good breeding for, well, _breeding,_ wasn't going to be necessary. What a relief. Blackmail was such an ugly business when applied within a family setting.

"Yes, I noticed your fingernails are purple…" Draco smirked.

"Deep-bruise potion. Similar to what you use on bone bruises – don't want anything swelling up inside Simon's hooves. The colour'll wear off soon enough. By next Tuesday, I'm told… Mrs Malfoy. It's good to see you.

Odd. He sounded sincere. "And you, Mr Potter. You look well."

"Thank you." The lad straightened, brushing his hands against each other, although there was no hope of getting the dirt and stains off them other than with a strong scouring charm. Or time. He seemed unabashed by being less well groomed than the horse, and she realised that a greater difference between Harry and James wasn't just those startlingly green eyes, but the absence of arrogance. It was the first time in a long while she'd recalled Lily Evans as anything other than that Mudblood who was killed by Voldemort while protecting her baby (Narcissa respected even a Mudblood for that), but now she was strongly reminded of the witch who'd been a year behind her at school. She'd had that same quiet determination to get to the bottom of a problem she could see in Harry now as the young man stepped back to get a better look at the creature's legs. Apparently reaching some decision, Harry took out his wand and cast a spell on a hose snaking through the grass of the field from by the squat rectangular bath which must serve as the source of drinking water for the horse. The horse gave him a dirty look, but didn't back it up with physical punishment, merely sighing in an almost human fashion as the hose reared up like a snake into Potter's hand and the boy began to sprinkle water over the horse's legs.

"Isn't he great?" Draco enthused. "Come on, you need to have a better look at him."

"I can see him quite well from here." Narcissa Malfoy wasn't as impressed by the horse as Lucius and Voldemort (in their different ways) had been. She was, however, definitely too frightened to set foot inside the paddock. "Should you be in there with… with that?" she asked Harry.

Harry shrugged. "He's quite safe," he said. "Especially today."

"Well, yesterday morning was a bit boisterous for him," Draco said. He reached over the fence to ruffle Simon's forelock. Narcissa stiffened and held her tongue on whatever she wanted to say about her son being in biting range of large, dangerous animals – it would only embarrass Draco. "What did Luna say about his legs?"

"Cold water. Lots of it." Harry waved the hose by way of demonstration. "He's standing still now, but it was a bit of a performance until he realised I was serious about washing his legs. Luckily he was too preoccupied with avoiding the water to remember that he knows how to untie himself."

Narcissa curled her lip. It wasn't a sneer, more a wary admission that the animal might be even more dangerous than she'd first thought. "Can it open gates?"

"Oh, no," Draco reassured her hurriedly. "He only knows how to untie a slip-knot. He's terribly sneaky – he's a Slytherin horse."

There was a mutter from Potter's direction that sounded a bit like '… bollocks to that… brave… Gryffindor horse…' which Draco ignored.

"And he's quite gentle," continued Draco. "Usually. Um, what's that smell, Potter? It smells a bit like Hooch after a particularly bad match."

"Yes, what on earth are you doing in there?" Narcissa was genuinely curious. The lad smelt strongly of something along the lines of Pepperup Potion or that viscous stuff she'd rubbed on Draco's chest when he'd been a toddler with a heavy cold, but not quite, and she couldn't remember her Potions classes well enough to place the smell. "Is that what horses smell like?" Not half as disgusting as sheep. She couldn't abide sheep.

Harry turned off the water and ran his hands along Simon's neck. "Huh? Oh. No. It'll be the liniment." He dug his fingers in, massaging out the knots. Simon grimaced.

"Er… he's not about to attack you, is he? He's showing his teeth…"

"No, Mrs Malfoy, that's just his way of saying he's enjoying it." Harry chuckled as Simon's upper lip twitched. "He'd try and scratch me back with his teeth, trying to be friendly horse-style, but it's a bit rough for a wizard."

"I imagine it would be. What a strange creature, showing happiness by baring its teeth. It's almost human."

Harry showed his own teeth at her in a wide, genuinely sunny smile. "It is, isn't it?"

Draco wasn't smiling. "Where'd you get the liniment? What's it for? He's not _sick_, is he?"

"I ran into Luna on my way out of the castle. She was on the way up to the library – no, I don't know why – and when I told her I was going to see Simon she gave the liniment to me for his neck, which is sore, as well as the potion for the stone bruises."

"Probably she didn't want her nails to go purple for the next three or four days."

"Luna? She'd love purple nails! But she wanted to know how he'd strained the muscles…"

Draco smiled and leaned on the fence, arms crossed, well aware the wheels in his mother's head were spinning at the sight of her son and Harry Potter interacting like they were (these days Draco didn't have to grit his teeth quite so hard to admit it) friends. "What'd you tell her? That it was the bit where you fell off by the bridge?"

Harry laughed. "Not a chance. I told her it was the bit where Simon picked up old Voldie and shook him like a rat."

"It's only the truth."

"There were some Aurors up looking at him earlier. I confirmed Simon had bitten Voldemort – Tonks had already told them that – so I had to tell them that much, so don't give me that look, Malfoy. They were going to ask more difficult questions but then Simon started biting them."

"He doesn't like Aurors?"

"He doesn't like anyone pointing a wand at him when he doesn't know them. I'd already warned them he's twitchy, so fair's fair. Tonks was with them and said she'd tell Moody on them if they annoyed me. Simon likes her."

"How could you tell?"

"He didn't bite her when she touched the spell in his chest."

"That's a glowing recommendation in his case. Er… I thought it'd be okay to tell my mother about him…?"

"Yes. That's fair enough under the circumstances."

Before Narcissa could turn into an icicle over the implication that she might have had something to do with Voldemort's death (or, rather, before she could turn into an icicle over the implication impertinently voiced aloud _before_ she'd decided how to use her part in it for the good of her family), Potter was adding, carefully focussing his gaze on the horse, "And, er, did you tell your mother that the last time I saw her, she was seventeen or eighteen years old?"

Narcissa didn't frown but Draco knew his mother so well that it was as plain as the Cleopatra-perfect nose on her face that she was unimpressed with Potter being enigmatic. "Not yet. She just arrived at Hogwarts. I've only told her about Simon so far. Perhaps you'd like to show her for yourself what you mean – uh, can you still do the spell? You never actually showed me how it works."

"Huh. Must have slipped my mind. Severus gave me the sketch – it's in my trunk but the resonance should work just fine."

"Severus?" Narcissa's eyes narrowed fractionally. All her self-possession came to the fore. Even Draco couldn't read her when she was like this. "You don't mean Severus Snape? I thought he's… I thought he died."

Draco took her hand. It was soft in his – the horse had given him calluses. In so many ways he'd grown past his mother this year. Grown past, yes, but never outgrown. He smiled at her, glad to have the sight of her face to put to the series of passing emotions the thought of her evoked. Home wasn't Malfoy Manor – it was his parents. One day it would stretch out to include a wife and children as he added to his lineage. "Potter went back in time to get something to help break the barrier."

"_You_ didn't go, then?"

"No."

"Oh, thank God!"

"No, because I was kind of blind at the time – wait until I tell you about how Simon saved me from the vrikolaki… er… but don't worry, I'm all better now and there aren't any more vrikolaki around that I know about," Draco added hastily at his mother's expression.

Narcissa had gone very pale again, like when he

'd mentioned the spiders. She swallowed. And went back to the previous subject. "Severus was your friend, Mr Potter? Forgive me, but that seems unlikely."

"Yes. Funny how time-travel works." Harry took out his wand. "I had to travel back through about twenty years – there was a bit of an issue because I looked like someone he really hated – that'd be my dad – but we got past that."

Her scepticism seemed to be rising along with an eyebrow. Draco drummed his fingers on a post, hoping everyone would remember how to be polite. "How, if you don't mind me asking?" Narcissa asked.

"Er… as a matter of fact I lied through my teeth and told him I was from an alternate dimension." Harry's face shifted in the weak sunlight, as if he wanted to smile but wasn't quite sure how to. "We couldn't have me running around the castle looking like James Potter, so… here. Let me demonstrate." He lifted his wand.

Simon flicked an ear but otherwise didn't seem to mind. That was a good sign.

A flick later, and –

"_Lovegood?"_

Even Simon looked puzzled. It was the first time he'd seen this, Draco realised. The horse sniffed Harry's elbow.

Harry nodded, patting Simon's nose to let the horse know he was still Harry. "Good boy, Simon," he murmured, and with another flick of his wand he removed the illusion. To Narcissa he added, "You've got an amazing memory for faces. Sorry about the deception."

He was being polite. Draco could scarcely credit it – he'd thought Potter had been raised by Muggles, yet here he was being polite to Narcissa Malfoy.

She managed a weak smile. "You could hardly announce your real identity. My goodness – that was that sketch-spell Severus was working on, wasn't it. He gave up on it in sixth year for some reason… but it looks like he had some success with it before he did." She turned to her son. "Well. What exactly have you been up to? It might be handy to know how many people are aware of our correspondence."

Draco sighed. She was going to spit sparks when he got to the point where Granger was involved. "It's rather a long story. Care to sit down?" He waved his wand and conjured a nice big comfortable Chesterfield sofa.

"That's a good spell."

"Thanks. One of Harry's friend taught it to me. But I'll get to that later," he added hastily, deciding it better to bring Granger into the story as late as possible. "Harry? You might want to add some details."

"I'll just go and have a bit of a wash. Shall I have a house elf send up tea?"

"That'd be lovely, thank you, Mr Potter."

"Not at all. Although to be honest" – he squinted up at the sky – "I think it's going to start raining again. Would you like to come down to the castle instead? I've done about all I can do for Simon just now – well, apart from put his cover back on…"

Another wave of the wand, and the cover floated up to cover Simon like a neutered Lethifold.

"He seems very… well-trained."

"Oh, he's just an old softy. Right, Potter?"

ooOOoo

They had tea and scones in a small gazebo covered by roses. It was all very civilised, very polite, but the conversation quickly turned as sharp as the thorns, getting straight to the point in a way Harry appreciated and was surprised to find Mrs Malfoy capable.

In retrospect, he thought that night as he lay in bed and let the afterimages of the day wash through his tired mind, Narcissa Malfoy was a mother who wanted to find out how her son had been endangered and exactly how much danger he remained in. She was only interested in Harry as a participant in Draco's adventures, although it was clear she respected the effort he'd taken to overcome generations – perhaps centuries – of Slytherin/Gryffindor antagonism, something Harry in turn was pleased to find she was capable of recognising. She was certainly the first adult of his acquaintance who'd come out and stated it as a fact. She took Draco's dangers with an extra strong cup of tea and two lumps of sugar (dropped awkwardly into the cup so that a splash landed on the stone table) as her only outward signs of how appalled she must be to hear about how he'd been attacked by spiders and blinded, nearly dropped three floors, attacked by a vrikolaki, attacked by more spiders, taught by a werewolf, thrown into a pen containing a wild animal, chased by Dementors, chased by Fluffy, chased by Death Eaters, and hexed by his aunt.

It had been an effort for Harry to suppress the jealous knot tightening in his chest: _his_ adventures had been as dangerous as Draco's if not more so; _he_ had travelled through time, gone to Helga's crazy psychedelic glasshouse of horrors twice; _he_ was even the one who'd managed to befriend Snape! (Oh, and he'd been possessed by the Forest and killed Voldemort – mustn't forget that.)

He was also the one who didn't have a mother or a father. He didn't have someone with the depth of connection between parent and child that allowed them to thrum with the degree of empathic horror or joy Narcissa felt from hearing of Draco's exploits. No matter how hard she tried to hide her reaction, her eyes, her breathing, her mouth, the faint colouring of her pale cheeks and even the slight flare of her nostrils when she was surprised weren't quite schooled enough to completely mask her reactions. At the end of the day, she was Draco's mother, not Harry's. Harry would just have to comfort himself with the thought that he'd revenged his parents. This didn't make him feel better. Revenge was a poor substitute for resurrection. But when he countered with the point that because he'd killed Voldemort other people wouldn't lose their parents the same way he had, this was some comfort. So while it didn't completely wipe away the jealousy, he gained satisfaction of a sort from knowing most of his friends still had their parents.

Useful parents.

They reached some sort of agreement, that Narcissa would help hide Simon from glory or retribution (or reclamation, although none of them went quite so far as to put it in those terms – from what he could understand of the unspoken Malfoy Code, it wasn't theft until you admitted it). She had friends with properties, friends who were neutral politically, friends who wouldn't betray either a Malfoy or the destroyer of Voldemort (Harry, Draco and Simon all fitted into that category, as did Narcissa and all the others who had worked on the potions).

They would shelter Simon. And Harry, Draco and Narcissa, if the need arose.

Lying awake late into the night, Harry considered the possibilities and then, still thinking of Narcissa Malfoy and all the other parents who'd come that day to find their children and rejoice in their company in a way the Wizarding World hadn't seen since the last fall of Voldemort, he used the privacy of a Silencing Charm and the curtains around his bed to grieve for his own parents. And for himself, because he would have liked to have known the man his father could have become – the man who'd held onto a scrap of paper and proved himself worthy enough to marry Lily Evans; the man who would have come to Hogwarts with Harry's mother and listened to Harry's adventures and hugged him and told him how proud they were and how much gladder simply to have him safe.

ooOOoo

Author's notes:

[1]The song Hermione and Tyrol sang does indeed come from a Muggle story. Ron's opinion notwithstanding, _Badjelly the Witch_ is up there admiring the view from the snowy mountaintops of Muggle literature. Go, Jim the Eagle!

Keen lurkers will have spotted that the episode of Babylon 5 Elmsworthy refers to (_Day of the Dead_) aired on the 11th of March, 1998, and will be asking how in Valen's name Elmsworthy learned the 'Small Fish' joke – a joke that demonstrates Minbari humour – when he couldn't have seen the episode in question. True, the Blockade was already affecting things by then, but Elmsworthy's cousin who knows someone who knows someone who works behind the scenes in distribution or something nabbed copies of upcoming episodes and sent them to Elmsworthy for Christmas or some other pre-Barricade present-giving event.

ooOOoo


	99. Chapter 99

Disclaimer: Ah, you know the drill.

A/N: When a horse is cantering, one pair of legs appears to move ahead of the other. If the horse is cantering clockwise, the right leg will lead. When the horse changes direction it will change the leading leg to the left leg (or canter awkwardly). With a relatively unschooled horse the rider will bring the horse down to a trot and then back into canter to change the leading leg. When the horse changes leading leg while staying at the canter, this is known as a flying change. At higher levels of dressage, some tests involve a series of flying changes on every other stride, and the horse looks as if it is dancing. I never managed that last one – I had enough trouble stopping my otherwise trusty pony, who _loathed_ dressage, from jumping out of the arena. Sadly, that was not the kind of flying change the judges were looking for.

Shoulder-in: _very basically_ this means that instead of travelling directly forward, the horse moves diagonally (eg travelling north-west while looking north). A horse will do a rough version of this on her own, for instance when coming over to get a carrot from her human while she's trying to keep her backside into the rain (horses prefer to face away from bad weather, and who can blame them?). For a better definition than I can give of any and all dressage movements, Google them or better yet go to YouTube.

Two whole points (yeah, feeling generous here) to the House of your choice if you spot a Monty Python reference. There's at least one deliberate one. Possibly more unintentional ones. They sneak up on you...

ooOOoo

Chapter 99: Flying Changes

With the wards down and the quarantine lifted, over the weekend Hogwarts was host to a stream of visitors that turned into a river. An expanding proportion of this river was composed not only of parents but politicians, medi-witches and -wizards, reporters, researchers from various departments of the Ministry, hangers-on, lost hikers, photographers, and an eclectic selection of people from all walks of life who thought it seemed like a good idea at the time to go to Hogwarts and see what all the fuss was about. Professor McGonagall tended to sort out the latter and made sure they thought long and hard about future good ideas. But even she couldn't get rid of all the undesirables.

For some reason there was a phenomenal number of people who thought they had a Merlin-given right to annoy the back teeth out of Harry Potter simply because they could find him. Like Cornelius Fudge, for example, who had all number of wonderful suggestions for keeping the Boy Who Lived Again safe now that Voldemort was no longer out for his blood (or any other part of his anatomy). Luckily Dumbledore ushered him and his retinue away before Harry could blow a blood vessel in a fit of irony.

By Sunday afternoon Harry was fast getting sick of the ones who wanted to congratulate him and give him awards and other fluff. Sometimes he wondered if his father had felt a shadow of this after getting the cup for not saving Severus. It had become so bad that this morning they had followed him out to see Simon, the one place he'd thought he would be safe to be himself. Whatever her reasoning, Luna was right about the wards on the fence: they didn't stand up to lots of people wanting to get past them. One witch actually sat on the gate, flicking her hair. It might have looked more alluring if there hadn't been a breeze blowing it into her eyes and mouth. Hair being spat out was not a sexy look.

Simon had sulked behind the barn and wouldn't come down to the gate. Belatedly realising that this was a good thing because all the people tagging around after Harry would start taking photos of a horse which had an opaque history of ownership and if photos were splashed around the papers the owner might step forward and Draco and Luna would never forgive Harry for that, Harry had decided to leave the horse to its own devices, and kept walking.

When an elderly warlock asked why Harry was up this way – was he interested in anything in the paddock? – Harry had quickly claimed that he hadn't been interested in anything up on Squirrel Hill other than the view, while in the privacy of his own head wished everyone surrounding him a fast trip to hell.

Harry would have asked Dumbledore to lay on some extra strong wards, but he hadn't had the nerve to go and see him yet.

Maybe he'd do that tomorrow.

Harry leaned back and crossed his legs. With the curtains pulled around his bed, it was easier to pretend he was alone in the world. If he was alone, he didn't have people coming up to ask what he was going to do on Tuesday when the school would finally close for the summer.

He had two days to sort out an alternative to number four, Privet Drive.

He tried to interest himself in his book again, but every time he came across a dog in it he thought of Sirius.

Bloody Sirius.

As of yesterday afternoon his case was back under review, yes. Harry had found that out this morning over breakfast from Hermione, who'd heard the news from Remus. Peter Pettigrew was in Ministry custody and listing Death Eaters as fast as he could squeal in his frantic efforts to get some sort of amnesty… which would happen over Harry Potter's dead body. But Sirius himself been avoiding Harry as much as Harry had been avoiding him. Whether or not Harry would be staying at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, was anyone's guess. While Sirius' original conviction was no longer legal, it didn't mean he was officially free. His case would need to be put before a court again – or for the first time, Harry remembered. Sirius had never had a proper trial the first time around. Where would he stay until he was declared not guilty?

Where would Harry stay?

The Burrow was still under repair, so although the Weasleys would have welcomed him, it would only make things harder for them. Much as he loved Hermione, he didn't think he could cope with a month of undiluted Granger study fever. He also had the nagging suspicion that he could be putting her Muggle parents in potential danger. Staying with wizards and witches who were well aware of Harry's fame/notoriety (delete according to allegiance to Dumbledore or Voldemort) and magically able to defend themselves was one thing. Muggles were too vulnerable. Had Luna asked her father and uncle about having Harry along with them on whatever summer expedition to far places they went on? Even Draco had made vague and vaguely-embarrassed noises about Harry being able to stay at Malfoy Manor if his Muggle relatives let him down again, but the idea of sharing a roof with Lucius made his skin crawl.

That plan of renting a quiet cottage with a field for Simon was looking more and more enticing the more he thought about it. Maybe he could find something close to the Burrow. Didn't Luna live down that way?

He thought of a meadow dotted with flowers, Simon grazing his way peacefully through it, tail swishing languidly at the occasional butterfly; Luna kissing Harry once the horse was out of chaperoning range; happy bunnies hopping through the grass –

No. Not the happy bunnies. Not if he wanted Luna in that picture.

"Coo-ee! Knock-_kno_-ock!? Harry Potter? Are you in here, dearie?"

Harry instantly recognised the predatory voice behind the smarmy words, and sucked in his breath in horror. Questions swarmed through his mind. Where was his wand? Where was a phial of that explosive potion Elmsworthy had given him? Poison? A holy hand grenade of Antioch? And the biggest question: How the hell had Rita Skeeter managed to get into the Gryffindor dormitories?

There was an irked sigh. "Could be in the shower… just in case he is, get your camera ready for the shot of the century, Brian. Think of it – Harry Potter: the exposé! It'd be front page all around the worl-"

"What are you doing up here?" a chilly voice demanded.

Hermione! Harry could have thrown the curtains back and kissed her, but wisely stayed put.

There was a malicious hiss that could have come from a basilisk but sounded like Skeeter. "The door was open –"

"No, it wasn't. You told a first year that he'd never get home to see his parents unless he gave you the password! Maybe you should… _scuttle_ off and stop _bugging_ people before Professor McGonagall gets curious about how you managed to get in. Go, and take your little photographic toad with you."

"You'll regret making an enemy of me, Granger."

Hermione snorted. "Really? I rather think you'll regret not being my friend."

Harry heard them moving off down the stairs. It sounded like three people and there was a lot of scolding going on, so he knew Hermione was shepherding them all the way out of Gryffindor Tower.

He untensed and breathed out. That was a narrow escape.

Safe for the now, he picked up his book again.

Rita Skeeter was bad enough. Even more embarrassing were the mothers of students who used the excuse of visiting their son or daughter to slip into the castle and tell Harry that what he needed was the loving experience of, ahem, a witch with some experience under her girdle. He'd nearly lost his lunch.

Luna hadn't been jealous. She'd been amused.

Harry had fumed. Shouldn't a regular girlfriend be put on the offensive, perhaps declaring her territory with public kisses and long walks in the meadows – a good place for kisses – and under leafy trees where the walks incorporated hand-holding and yet more kisses?

Luna had kissed him, yes, a chaste peck on the cheek (as he'd been eating chutney on cold meat for lunch at the time she could be forgiven), and then started to laugh when a witch with elongated eyelashes like the legs of mutated centipedes and a _very_ low-cut robe had interrupted, asking for Harry's autograph.

Draco didn't help either.

Instead of going home like a few of the other students had managed to do, taking the first opportunity to get away from the school (and taking their autograph-hunting parents/siblings/aunts/uncles/great-grandparents/third-cousins-twice-removed/long-lost-best-friend-from-kindergarten-who-wanted-to-meet-Harry), Malfoy was sticking around like the proverbial bad smell. The Slytherin common room had been re-warded to muffle any hex or curse and there were so many spells to prevent blood being drawn from one Slytherin by another that Elmsworthy had been heard complaining that his potions were sulking, but there was still danger that a student could slip something through to do damage to someone from the other side of the war.

Someone had let slip that Draco had been just as involved in Voldemort's demise as Harry. Breakfast had turned ugly at one point, and Pansy Parkinson, two seventh years – one Slytherin, one Hufflepuff – and a bewildered Vincent Crabbe had been walked out by Professor Sprout and two Aurors and not returned. Draco, the flashpoint of the disagreement although Harry had been too far away to hear the specifics, was taking a risk sticking around while emotions were running so high, but when asked he shrugged off any speculation with the reply that Comrade Millicent would smash to a pulp the head of any fascist bully-boy with an inert, de-Spelled Beater's Bat.

Luna's opinion was that Draco wanted to make sure nobody came to claim Simon before he got his chance to do so, but Harry was sure that it was for the simple reason that without Draco there mightn't be anyone giving The Boy Who Lived Yet Again a hard time. He kept saying helpful things like: How is your fanclub going? and: Can I have your autograph please, Mr Harry Potter Famous Person?

Telling him this was so old its white hairs had white hairs didn't help.

Ron thinking Draco was being funny helped even less. Why hadn't Ron gone home? Hermione had been packing her bags – that must have been why she'd caught Rita Skeeter – what was wrong with Ron? What was wrong with Ron's family not to have taken him out of Harry's embarrassment? Well, yes, the Burrow was in a shambles after a Death Eater raid only two weeks ago and Molly and Arthur were probably going crazy getting everything back into rough order before Tuesday, but that was no excuse, not when Ron kept egging Malfoy on.

Traitors. Harry was surrounded by traitors.

He hunched his shoulders up against the headboard of his bed and turned to the next page of _Animal Farm._ He'd just got past the bit where Boxer was taken away in the van (this was the part Severus had found upsetting, he just knew it) and when he heard another pair of footsteps coming up the stairs to his bedroom he knew he was going to do something terrible to the next person who -

_Knock knock._

– knocked on the door.

But it was Hermione, taking a break from packing and throwing out the rubbish. Harry was pretty sure he wasn't allowed to hex her. Apart from the bonds of friendship and what he owed her for defending him from Skeeter, she could hex him back with twice the imagination.

She pulled back one of the curtains, her eyes shining when she saw him reading. "Oh, Harry – you're reading Muggle literature!"

"If you say you're so proud of me for it, I'll never forgive you."

"I'd never do that. Even though I am. Look at you, reading a book without pictures!"

"If I didn't owe you such a huge favour for chucking out that cow I'd be sending a note to Crabbe telling him you want a date. Is it safe to come out yet, or should I hide under the bed?"

She tilted her head and smiled. "Don't worry – that horrible woman is gone. I've given a new password to the Fat Lady."

Harry nodded, wanting to be pleased, but still feeling a little cornered. It was one of those unfair things in life that she could come into his room and he couldn't go into hers because she was a girl. Maybe there were advantages to being a Dark Lord and Ruling the World… Harry would be an Equal Opportunities Dark Lord, something he really should look into later.

"Um, Harry? There's someone who wants to see you…"

"Oh, Merlin… I thought you'd been up here to pack."

"I finished ages ago. I was coming up to see you when I saw Rupert Everett and he told me about Skeeter. I think you'll want to see this person. Maybe there will be autographs involved."

Harry rolled his eyes.

Hermione laughed. She stopped when Harry glared at her, but he could see the laughter dancing in her eyes. "Coming?"

"I'll just get mobbed again."

"Oh, you might be surprised."

"I think I'd rather not have any more surprises today." He picked up his book.

Unusually, given that this was Hermione, a book was not an effective shield against the outside world. "Get up or I'll…. I'll…" Her grin turned evil. "I'll tell him to go away."

Intrigued, Harry closed the book and followed her downstairs and out through a side passage out of the castle. He cheered up almost immediately when he found himself outside without being thronged, but his suspicions were aroused when she led him down to the meadow where he'd watched Luna first riding Simon that long-ago mist-shrouded morning. High overhead a bird trilled a crisp tune. An easterly breeze was whispering through leaves and smelt faintly of pine, lifting his fringe to flop against his scar in a small reminder that his scar was truly inert now, but the air stilled and was sheltered down in the meadow.

Harry sighed as he and Hermione reached the bottom of the slope and strolled through the tall grass, relieved at arriving unmolested in this place which had joined the Quidditch pitch in his list of favourite spots. He didn't mind staying at Hogwarts, not really. When his unwanted fanclub was somewhere else Harry loved the place with an emotion so deep he didn't think it possible there could ever be another place on the planet for him. Simon didn't have an official home, and if he was kept here and Harry stuck around to keep an eye on things, well… maybe he could 'accidentally' throw any wizards who might be missing a tall, black, bad-tempered horse off the scent.

Luna was being annoyingly vague on the topic – queerly so given the fact that it was her beloved Simon's future in question – but now the few Aurors who'd been allowed up to Squirrel Hill had stopped bothering Simon (some of them nursing nasty bites after trying to check the spell in Simon's chest or committing the cardinal sin of taking out a wand in the horse's presence), Harry had a few plans that involved Hagrid, the caves Grawp had been hiding out in, and a bleaching potion to turn a black horse grey. If that failed, there were Draco's plans to fall back on. He didn't like the idea of stashing Simon with a friend of Narcissa's. That was only slightly better than leaving Simon at Malfoy Manor, something Harry wasn't going to give the nod to when that snake Lucius was on site, but he trusted Draco when it came to Simon's welfare and he suspected he could work well enough with Narcissa if he kept the principles of Horse Muttering in mind.

So long as Simon stayed with the people he belonged to, Harry didn't really mind where he was.

(But he really, really liked the idea of renting a little property somewhere, a few acres, and Luna could come every day…)

There were some people in the meadow already. A grey stone balanced on the end of the log they were sitting on gleamed in the sunlight.

One of the people was Draco. He turned his head and gave Harry a curt nod of welcome, then resumed his study of horse and rider.

Someone was out on Simon, slowly trotting circles. Harry shaded his eyes. Luna. She had her stirrups crossed in front on the saddle and her hands on her thighs rather than holding the leadrope of an unusually thin rope headcollar that was taking the place of the bridle, yet Simon seemed quite sure of where he was meant to go. The horse had his ears angled back as he concentrated on his rider. The long black tail swished like a counterbalance as it always did when his brain was working or there were flies around. No flies, so Simon must be thinking, and thinking hard. His hooves flashed in the sunlight – the lost shoe had been replaced: from the slight dullness of the metal it was iron rather than silver. Draco must have looted all the available silver for the first set.

The others watching Luna were Hooch, Trudi (who seemed to be quite happy sticking close to Draco even though he'd been outed as a traitor to Voldemort's cause and at least as big a target as Harry) and a man. Harry couldn't make out who it was from this angle; the man was half-hidden behind Hooch and had his back towards Harry. At first he thought it was Remus from the greying brown hair, but the shoulders were too broad and he was wearing Muggle blue jeans and a soft cotton shirt so worn that the Dursleys would have approved of it being given to Harry.

"Come on," said Hermione, still holding back a grin.

_No._

_No. It can't be._

_… Can it be?_

_Oh Merlin! It is!_

Harry felt a little faint, dizzy with the prospect of meeting someone he'd been wanting to see without knowing how strong the want had been.

The man stood as Harry and Hermione walked over to the little group, walked over to meet them and held out his hand. Harry took it and reminded himself that breathing was a good thing. What were all the stupid things people had been doing around him this weekend? He'd kill himself out of sheer and utter mortification if he did any of them now –

"Mr Python."

"Call me Rob."

"Oh. Okay. Um. I'm, I'm Harry."

"Pleased to meet you at last, Harry. Luna's told me a lot about you." For an insane moment Harry thought the man might be Luna's uncle. But no. He remembered Luna telling him once at her mother had taken her uncle on a course. Apparently the uncle had learned a lot from Mr Python. Robert Python – Rob – was a little older than the photographs in the book had shown, but his eyes were clear and just as calm. He nodded towards the horse and rider. "She says you're coming along just fine as a Mutterer."

"Did she?" Harry was trying not to blush. "That's kind of her, but really, I've only been practising for a month…"

"I've been practising for a lifetime, and there's always more to learn. So long as you've got patience, and Luna tells me you've got a whole mountain of that."

"It… it helps to have a good horse."

Rob smiled. His mouth didn't shift much, but the creases around his eyes deepened with the sort of all-encompassing approval Harry had only ever seen in Dumbledore. "That it does. You've done one heck of a job, Harry. May I offer my sincerest congratulations to you as I've already done to Draco."

Harry's brow furrowed. "Well, the horse was already trained – all I did was take a few riding lessons from Luna, and she – oh, you meant Voldemort."

Draco, just within earshot, was rolling his eyes. Luckily Hermione hadn't heard – she was chatting with Trudi.

Rob nodded. "Poor man."

Harry was surprised. "He brought it on himself a bit," he offered, trying not to sound callous.

"True. Free will is a great and a terrible thing. But to be so twisted by fear of death… That is a thing to pity."

Harry looked away, remembering the Forest reaching out with Harry's hand and voice and magic to remove Voldemort from the world. "Perhaps he'll be better off," he said softly, not wanting the others to hear.

He looked up again and met the Mutterer's eyes. Some recognition passed from them to Harry. "Perhaps he will," Rob replied.

They went and sat down. Harry spared a glance for the stone. It was a smooth grey river pebble with a shut eye painted on it. Odd. It radiated magic like warm embers and when Harry looked over his shoulder back towards the castle and saw a few people going about their business without deciding that he should be central to it, guessed that it could be some sort of warding stone. That curved centipede with all the legs down one side missing could be a shut eye.

"Luna thought you might want a bit of peace," said the Horse Mutterer.

Harry smiled. "Absolutely."

There was a small movement from the shadows that caught Harry's eye. Snuffles, lying in the shadow of the log. He hoped Rob hadn't noticed his quick frown. "Simon's looking a lot better today," he said, just in case. "Very clean."

Indeed, Simon was extra glossy and his mane had lost that lank oiliness it tended towards.

"Luna stole some pet shampoo from Professor Lupin," said Hermione. "Doesn't Simon look handsome?"

"He always looks handsome," said Draco, miffed.

"Extra handsome, then," she said equably.

Simon's coat was polished up to the gloss of a fresh spill of ink. His tail had always billowed dramatically, but today his mane rippled in soft blue-black waves down his crest.

"Why does Professor Lupin need pet shampoo?" asked Trudi, who never failed to attend DADA or Potions whenever Lupin was teaching it. He'd become a surprise hit with the younger Slytherins in particular.

"For Snuffles," Hermione informed her. "He gets some special concoction from an apothecary in India – it has lots of herbs in it, and something called neem oil. Just got a new bottle with the post this morning."

"Never heard of neem oil," Draco said. "What's it for?"

"Pests, like fleas."

"Horses don't get fleas." Draco arched an eyebrow, throwing a snooty my-God-you've-got-_fleas?_ look Sirius' way.

"Lice, then." Hermione shrugged. "They can get nits. Snuffles is allergic to most flea-potions, but the neem oil stops them without him getting a rash."

"Simon doesn't have nits. Whatever's in that shampoo, it's certainly put a gloss on him. Can't say as Snuffles has come out of the wash half as well as my horse has." Draco smirked.

Snuffles twitched an ear but remained aloof.

"He's not the least bit lame today," said Harry. Although he knew he had to talk to Sirius sooner or later, now that they were not three metres apart he didn't feel up to the task. Changing the subject was fast becoming his favourite tactic in times like these. "Simon, I mean. That bruise potion really did the trick."

"It certainly did a trick on your nails." But Hermione smiled to show she was joking.

Snuffles sniggered.

"Some of the second years were asking how you got your nails to go such a lovely shade of purple," said Trudi. "I told them you'd bought the nail polish in London but been annoyed because you couldn't find the exact shade of magenta you wanted. Expect a range of red and purple nail polish from your devoted fans."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're a friend. You know that, right?"

Trudi grinned.

"He's still a little stiff," said Draco, eyes firmly on Simon.

"No airs above the ground today," sighed Hooch. "Even so, he's the best thing I've had between my legs in years."

Hermione looked shocked. There was a little rabbit squeak from Trudi, who was trying not to laugh.

"Never mind," said Draco, pretending innocence. "I hear there's a new Firebolt out on the market. Now that you can teach Quidditch again, you should apply for a new broom for yourself."

"Hah! As if the Governors would splash out on a new broom for an old thing like me!" Hooch scoffed.

"Try," Draco said mildly, twiddling a stem of grass between his fingers, eyes never leaving Simon. There was a plain brown paper bag on the log next to him. One hand rested on it as possessively as his eyes did on Simon. "You never know your luck."

Hooch snorted, then raised an eyebrow and smirked. "You never do, do you. Very well, Malfoy. I'll apply for one."

Draco nodded distractedly. "I'm sure the Board will look favourably on your application – after all, you've done a lot for Hogwarts and it's time that was recognised."

Harry took it to mean that even if the Governors didn't appreciate Hooch's skills, Lucius would be buying her a broom if Draco had to twist his arm personally.

"You've done a bit of riding yourself, ma'am?"

Hooch smiled at Rob. Snuffles made a sound to show he'd been appropriately named. "I have, Rob. And please just call me Xiomora – we don't want you sounding like one of the students!"

Oh Merlin, thought Harry, his toes curling with mortification inside his sneakers. She's flirting with Robert Python.

"…I used to ride just for a hobby. But, well, Quidditch took over at some point."

"It's a demanding sport. Never played it myself, but my brother turned pro."

"Oh, of course – you're Theodore Python's older brother."

Harry had heard of Theodore Python, but hadn't connected the two names before. "Theodore Python, who was Beater for the Seattle Sasquatches? Does he ride?"

"Matter of fact, Teddy's allergic to horses. He's a Quidditch Mutterer." Rob smiled. "You've got to be good with people to coach."

"Tell me about it," Hooch grumbled, stealing a caramel out of Draco's pocket while he wasn't looking.

Snuffles made that little snuffling sound again. Harry wished he wouldn't – Robert Python was watching the Animagus out of the corner of his eye. He might discover that Sirius was hiding as –

Wait a minute.

Sirius was innocent, so why wasn't he in human form? Harry shot him another glare.

"Draco here was telling me you found my book useful," Rob said before Harry could get too angry with his godfather.

"Yes. It was fantastic. Not just for horses – for people, too."

"Teddy likes to put some of the principles into action on his students."

"Maybe I should use that book," Hooch said thickly. The caramel was gluing her teeth together. "Interesting initial trust-building exercise you use."

"I'm not sure we'd be terribly pleased to be chased around in circles by someone for an hour until we bonded with them," Harry said before she could get too many ideas.

"Oh, you get some funny people around here," put in Draco. "I hope you don't know who I'm talking about, Trudi," he added when she made another of her I'm-not-really-laughing noises.

"Unfortunately I do. It's not like there's anything better to do in History than gossip, you know."

"Even I can't argue with that," Hermione said unexpectedly, earning her a bonus smile from Trudi.

"I think he's warmed up enough. He's listening and supple, and those half-halts were perfect. Try him at flying changes," Rob called out to Luna.

She looked disbelieving. "Are you sure?"

"Let's see what he remembers."

"But… without reins?"

"He was fine with your mom. Magic of the mind. Imagine you're holding the reins and asking with balance and legs and seat for the change of leg. Don't push too hard – it's a big thing to ask him. Go on – try it. Flying changes. Two strides on each leg."

She nodded. Simon, in a slow canter, took many tries to understand what Luna was asking. His tail swished harder and harder. Harry judged Simon was starting to get frustrated, almost at the stage of sticking in a buck to say he'd had enough, when his head dipped with sudden understanding and he seemed to skip across the meadow (albeit skip in a stately manner befitting a dignified stallion strutting his stuff in front of an admiring audience).

Harry found himself moving slightly as if he were the one riding the horse. He looked right and saw Draco doing the same. They grinned at each other in a moment of sheepish near-telepathy.

"Just like watching Quidditch," said Hooch. "Those in the know always lean in the direction they know the broom should be going."

"It's harder to watch the rider than the horse," Draco remarked to Rob. "It must make it a bit more difficult when you're meant to be teaching the human."

Rob gave him a quick smile. "Tell me about it."

Harry privately thought Luna was well worth watching, but decided not to say that.

"Lovely," called out Rob.

"Just like Mum?"

"Just like your mom."

Luna glowed.

What was that about Luna's mother? But Harry was too distracted by the sight of horse and rider, and lost that thought.

Simon seemed to pick up on her happiness. He shook out his mane, stretched his neck and snorted, trotting in a wide circle with a steady, elastic movement that made Harry itch to be the one on the horse.

"I'll try it again." Luna leaned back slightly, her hands on her thighs, turned Simon on his hindquarters and cantered back across the meadow in another series of flying changes.

Those on the log clapped. Even Snuffles looked impressed, his tail wagging through the long grass.

Luna beamed with pride and patted Simon enthusiastically on the neck. Simon seemed just as pleased by the applause, and put an extra bounce into knees and hocks, prancing with his neck arched as Luna trotted him in across the meadow. Harry had no idea how she was managing it without a bridle, but Simon seemed to be picking up on what she wanted by telepathy, the horse curving his spine as if he were trotting in a circle while his legs carried him off at a tangent. It was a dance like the flying change, but to a different music.

"Look! He's doing a shoulder-in!" she said proudly. "Without reins! Isn't he great?"

"Well, yes," Draco said, surprised she'd taken so long to stumble onto this fact.

Harry knew cold shoulder but he'd didn't know what a shoulder-in was for. He shook his head. It was too hard trying to work it out. He turned to Rob. "I wish I had that book here. I'd ask you to autograph it," he said with a small smile. "Then again, the way the librarian gets it's probably safer for us if you don't."

"There's no book written that can help you become a Librarian Mutterer," Rob said seriously, but with a twinkle in his faded eyes.

Harry chuckled. "Do they get scary over in America, too?"

"You can bet your last brass Razoo on that. Speaking of books, while I'm here I was hoping to get some feedback from someone who's really put my book to the test."

Harry frowned. Tell the ultimate Horse Mutterer how to make his book better? There wasn't really anything he felt he could say to this. Not without some heavy-duty blushing.

"I told him to have more on shoeing," Draco said.

Robert Python nodded. "That was a good patch-up job you did on that damaged hoof," he told the Slytherin.

Draco puffed out his chest.

It seemed a bit cheeky, but: "You could put something in about longeing horses," Harry said awkwardly, not sure if he was committing some sort of unforgivable offence by offering a suggestion. Draco never seemed to worry about committing unforgivable offences and went around offering the most outrageous suggestions, but he was Draco.

"Nicely spotted. That went in after the second edition."

"Oh. I've only got the first."

Rob smiled, sun-deepened wrinkles crinkling warmly. "I was warned Hogwarts only had the first. And I thought you might want a copy of your own." He handed Harry a flat object wrapped in brown paper – it looked just like what Draco was resting his hand possessively upon. Hardly gaily-wrapped, but the down-to-earth practicality pleased Harry more than any moving wizard gift wrapping could have.

Out slid a book; familiar cover, familiar name, unfamiliar odour – too new, nothing of Hogwarts or horses to the smell – and when Harry opened to the title page, he found it was the fourth edition. The frontispiece opposite showed an unmoving Muggle-style photo of Robert Python sitting on a fence with a glossy bay horse standing next to him, looking out at the photographer. The horse, which looked like the one on the cover except for the perfect diamond of white between its eyes, had no harness yet gave the sense of being completely under the direction of the wizard sitting next to it. Not because it had to, but because it confidently allowed it as a friendship. Harry's brows drew together. "Do you need a special horse to be a partner like this?"

Python peered over Harry's shoulder and nodded. "It helps. That's Zeke. Quarterhorse stallion. Son of Maloney, who's on the cover. Maloney died a couple of years back."

"I'm sorry."

"Old age – sudden heart-attack. He had a good life and left a great legacy. Zeke's as good as his sire – different personality, of course, but an excellent horse with the same great heart to him."

Harry frowned, trying out this new perspective. "Oh," he said, not knowing what else to say.

"That's the thing about horses. They're all individuals. You might think you have one that's irreplaceable, but if you look hard enough and have maybe that little bit of luck, well, you can get yourself another just as great. You just have to be ready to adapt yourself to the change. Like me and Zeke."

Was there some sort of message in there? The words left Harry uneasy.

"You'll have to come and meet him some time."

"Zeke? Really?" Harry beamed. "I'd love to."

"I've talked to Albus. He seemed to think you might like to come and stay at my ranch in Montana for the summer."

Harry glanced at Draco. Draco shrugged, suggesting Harry would be a mug for turning down this offer and if he, Draco, hadn't already had something planned he'd be madly jealous.

Harry could only grin. But wouldn't Simon be –?

Dark eyes bright, Simon trotted up to the log. Luna smiled down at Harry. "Hello Harry!" she said brightly. "Did you see the flying changes?"

"I did. Lovely work. How'd you do it?"

"Magic. It's real, you know."

"So I've been hearing."

"Hello, old fellow," said Mr Python to the horse, holding out a hand, palm down as he'd said in the book. Simon sniffed at the fingers without much interest, then nosed at Mr Python's breast pocket.

"Ah – a horse looking for his peppermints and I'm clean out. Same old, same old. Sorry, my friend." Robert smiled, running his hand down Simon's neck. "No peppermints today, Simon. It's Simon, isn't it?" He raised an eyebrow at Luna.

Luna nodded happily. "Yes. Still called Simon." Then she blushed as Harry and Draco turned to glare at her. Even Snuffles and Hermione looked guardedly surprised. Trudi's face went carefully polite. It was impossible to tell if she knew something or was being a diplomat's daughter.

"Whaddaya mean, 'still Simon'? And didn't you just say that your mother rode him? You – you knew this horse from before we found him in the Forest and you didn't tell us?" Draco snapped.

For once Simon wasn't perturbed by the angry outburst. The horse seemed to be taking its cue from the unruffled Horse Mutterer.

Harry was indignant. What sort of game did Luna think she was playing? But he didn't want to show anger in front of a Horse Mutterer – you must lose points for doing that.

She sighed. "He's my uncle's horse. And I didn't tell you because it would have raised too many questions."

"About your uncle's horse?" Harry said.

Luna's brow creased. "About my uncle."

Draco's face had gone pink – he looked highly sceptical at the idea of Luna's uncle being a horse-owner – whoever that uncle might be, because Harry kept forgetting to ask.

But before Harry could lose control of his rising horror and blurt out that her uncle must be a Death Eater to have brought a horse into the Forest on that night, Python (who had stepped back and left Harry and Draco closest to the horse) cleared his throat to get their attention. "Whatever you do or don't know about Simon or his owner, I think you should know that if you argue around him, sooner or later he'll give the both of you a nip," he said in his soft drawl.

Harry looked at Simon. Now that Python had allowed Harry and Draco to dominate Simon's immediate area the horse was getting back that familiar gleam in his eye, the one that suggested that as he couldn't take points off Gryffindor, Slytherin or Ravenclaw, he'd settle for taking points out of their hides.

That gleam faded as Rob stepped forward. Simon yawned.

A hand rested on Harry's shoulder. "Here comes Albus," said Rob. "I imagine he'll want to talk to you."

It was Dumbledore. With Remus.

Simon had a headcollar on with the leadrope draped across his neck – Harry could stop him running away if he had to, but there were several students around whom Simon went into mega-protective mode. What would Mr Python think when he saw Simon attacking Remus? He might give Harry a really disappointed look.

Harry swallowed. It seemed like everyone knew what was going on except for himself. Even Simon smelled odd after the new shampoo – whatever neem oil was, he didn't think he liked the way it eclipsed the more familiar scent of horse. He really didn't want to talk to Dumbledore right now, not when Luna was… he didn't want to think what Luna might be.

"Would you like a quick lesson on Simon?"

The man was a Harry Mutterer. "Love one."

Luna had already dismounted and was avoiding eye contact. Rob gave Harry a leg-up. "Er, won't I need the reins?"

"Nope. And you won't need the rope."

Simon's nose seemed to be connected by a foot long invisible thread to Rob's shoulder as the horse followed the Horse Mutterer into the middle of the meadow, where Mr Python extended one arm and sent the horse out into a circle at the trot. Harry was worried at first that Simon would go charging off back to the paddock, but that invisible thread seem to have lengthened to twenty feet, a nigh-on psychic connection between horse and Mutterer.

It was a shame there was no connection between horse and Harry – keeping in the saddle at a trot wasn't easy without stirrups. Especially when you didn't have the reins to help you balance and your hands were sitting uselessly on your own thighs and you were fuming over your girlfriend keeping whopping great secrets from you.

Simon swished his tail and skipped sideways, testing the limits of the invisible line, sending Harry sliding in the saddle. He grabbed the pommel.

The Mutterer must have conveyed some secret sign to the horse, because Simon shook his head, sending his mane rippling, and resumed the circle.

"Concentrate. Be aware of your surroundings – let yourself be a part of them, you and the horse. Especially the horse. He's the important one here, and he knows it. If you're not fully engaged with Simon you'll put his nose out of joint."

Harry thought Rob was joking, but Simon's gait smoothed as soon as Harry turned his thoughts from Luna to the horse. _Touchy old stallion._ Harry thought with exasperated fondness, and focussed on Rob's voice as well as Simon.

The Horse Mutterer's voice was low, calm, and bordered on the mesmerising. "Stretch your legs down, Harry. Good. Hands on your thighs. Those bands keeping your shoulders hunched forward? Think of a pair of scissors cutting them. Now let your shoulders relax back – not too far, think of one of those pretty milkmaid girls carrying a pair of buckets on a yoke. Empty buckets! Now relax and know that Simon is carrying you around the circle. You're not a spooky prey animal that wants to run away, you're his partner. Relax, let him carry you, let him listen to you – you're listening to him just fine! Breathe in, breathe out… aaaand… relax…"

Harry did so. "That's amazing!" And so simple. Simon's rolling trot was as easy to sit to as his canter now. A home for the summer, Dumbledore and Lupin, Luna's mysterious uncle, Sirius being sneaky, and strange shampoos didn't matter now that he was on his horse and Simon was listening to him again, the horse ready to do what Simon liked best in the world after peppermints and having the itch behind his ears scratched: getting down to business and doing some work with one of his colts.

Under Python's direction it wasn't long before Harry drew Simon's attention away from the man in the centre and had the horse doing S-curves through the circle, at trot and canter, changing direction and paces without reins. Although Simon automatically made a flying change every time he changed direction at the canter, Harry knew he wasn't going to be able to do a succession of them like Luna had done.

With the amount of concentration involved, it was easy for him to forget who was watching. There was only him, Rob and Simon.

It didn't take long for Simon to warm up. The smell of sweat began to eclipse the neem oil shampoo. The horse was still recovering from his part in the fight against Voldemort. Harry was a little stiff, too; despite the potion Madam Pomfrey had given him, not all his bruises had faded yet.

"Okay, I reckon that's enough for now. He's trying hard, but he's no colt."

Harry had to agree. It was hard to tell if Simon listened to him, made up his own mind or sensed that Harry was looking at the Mutterer, but the horse came into the circle and stopped in front of Rob, head lowered to make it easier for Rob to scratch behind Simon's ears. Draco joined them as Harry dismounted. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry realised that Dumbledore had taken a seat next to Luna and was scratching Snuffles' ears. Remus was also sitting on the log, but as far away from Simon as possible.

"Can I borrow your dog, Albus? That is the one that was kicked, right?"

Snuffles looked guardedly interested. Dumbledore gave him a pat on the head. "Yes, he was. Go ahead, Snuffles."

When the Mutterer made a gesture with one hand, the Animagus padded over towards him.

"Er… Simon doesn't like Snuffles much," Harry said. "I don't think he likes dogs."

Rob crouched down and held his hand under Simon's stomach.

The shaggy black dog hesitated, then went and sat beneath the horse. Rob gestured with one hand to Simon, apparently telling the horse to stand still, then walked around the stallion.

"Come on, Snuffles."

Looking a little astounded at his own daring, Snuffles walked under Simon, then between the front legs, back around and under again, and finished off by squeezing between the horse's hind legs.

Simon didn't twitch through all of this.

"That was amazing," said Harry.

"Hmm," said the Horse Mutterer. It was hard to tell what he was thinking as he sent Snuffles back to sit with Dumbledore.

Simon yawned.

"Professor Lupin. May I have your help for a moment?"

Remus' mouth tightened. "I'm afraid that wouldn't be a good idea. This horse… I'm a werewolf, you see."

"Yes. I know the signs. I also know you and Simon have a little history. I want to see how far out of his comfort zone I can take him before he might start to react. If I think you're in the slightest danger I will stop the experiment immediately."

Remus' entire body was tight as a drum as he walked up to the horse.

Simon barely glanced at him.

"My goodness," breathed Lupin. "It's been a while… I have patted him before, but…"

"Just scratch down along his neck under the mane. Horses like that."

"As do I, at least when it's the full moon," Remus confessed, a sheepish werewolf, as he ran his hand down Simon's neck. "There's a good horse. Good boy."

Simon's eyelashes lowered sleepily. He yawned again, then turned his head and checked Remus' pockets for peppermints. A line of some deeper emotion Harry couldn't name creasing his brow, the werewolf rested his forehead against the horse's and sighed. "He's never been this docile. Not with me."

"Feel up to a riding lesson?"

Remus paled.

"That's okay. One step at a time."

"This horse has, er, tried to kill me before. Several times. It's enough just to stand here and not be attacked."

"Horses can be mighty defensive." Rob nodded sympathetically. "I've heard it's hard for a werewolf to have a pet. I think that might be one of the hardest things, myself. I don't know what I'd do without my horses."

For a moment that line deepened and Remus' face looked like it would crumple. Then he gave a tight smile. "I always wanted a cat."

"Well now, I'm not much of a cat person, but talk to a friend of mine. She breeds Knoxville Kneazles. Them cats are tough as a cinnabarmarine miner, but friendly with it. Know a bunch of werewolves down Arizona way who have them as familiars."

Simon chose that moment to turn and butt his head against Remus' shoulder. It was only because the headcollar was itchy, but the werewolf dug his fingers into the soft mane and held tight for a moment, then ran his hand down Simon's nose.

Remus cleared his throat. "Yes. I'd like that," he said, his voice even huskier than usual.

Rob studied him and the horse for a moment. "I'll give you her address."

Remus nodded. He put his hand on Snuffles' shoulders and led the dog back to the log, sitting down between Dumbledore and Trudi in silence.

"Well, old fellow, let's see what you remember." Rob undid the girth and removed the saddle.

"I don't have to ride him bareback, do I?" Draco asked doubtfully.

Rob shook his head. "Nope. Just wanted to show you a trick. Stand back a little."

He picked up the leadrope and pulled it across Simon's neck until Simon was looking away from him. He tapped Simon's closest foreleg.

"Bang!"

With a grunt, the horse kneeled and lay down.

"He used to close his eyes."

Draco was laughing, so were those sitting on the log. Hooch clapped.

Harry had to grin. "How do you get a horse to learn to play dead?"

"A little time every day, a lot of patience, and a horse that is either obliging or has a sense of humour."

"Which one is Simon?" asked Draco.

"You know what? I never did figure that one out."

"His eyes are closed now."

"That's only because he's asleep."

Simon began to snore. Snuffles sneezed and smirked. Remus seemed absorbed in his own thoughts as he watched the prone horse, but Dumbledore tapped the Animagus on the head with a fingertip and Snuffles took the hint.

Harry wondered if Rob had noticed.

The Horse Mutterer was crouching down, one hand on Simon's shoulder as he ran the other down the inside of the left foreleg. He looked across at Dumbledore. "There's a shadow left over."

"Can you remove it?" asked Luna.

"I'll try." Rob's lips were moving, but Harry could barely hear the words. It sounded like the man was chanting in some language mainly made up of W's and Y's.

Simon's eyes opened and he lifted his head to see what the Mutterer was doing, but it was only mild curiosity on his part. One ear flicked as a line of smoke spun out above the horse's knee and evaporated, blown away on a zephyr.

"All gone. It was pretty much done for already," Rob said. "But I'd like to check that spell in his chest."

Snuffles whined and tucked his tail between his legs.

"Er, are you sure?" asked Draco. "He can get really upset over it. He bit some Aurors when they tried to poke it with their wands, but Luna was there to stop Simon declaring war."

"I don't use a wand, Draco. If Simon doesn't want me touching the spell, I'll stop. It's his spell and I'll abide by his rules."

Harry and Draco shot worried looks at each other.

Initially Simon wasn't too pleased with the man touching the spell in his chest. He lifted his head and canted his ears back. Rob knelt and began to rub his hand over the horse's eyes, one then the other. Simon's head dropped back into the grass. His eyes were open but a little glazed.

"Did you hypnotise him?" asked Hermione, fascinated from the safety of distance.

"Nope, not quite; I've only gotten him to relax a bit. He trusts me."

True. Simon didn't so much a twitch the skin on his withers as the Mutterer poked at his chest with his scarred brown fingers. After a few minutes, Rob stood, his knees creaking, and gave a twitch of the leadrope. "Come on, old fellow. On your feet."

Simon gave him a look.

Rob smiled down at him. "I mean it, now. You know I do."

Simon considered this for a few moments before sighing and levering himself up onto his hooves. Rob scrubbed the horse's forehead with his knuckles. "Who's next?"

"Me, but only with a saddle," Draco said quickly before Hooch could.

There was just enough time for Rob to give Draco a riding lesson, then Dumbledore said he had some business to take care of with the Horse Mutterer – the Aurors weren't allowing anyone to stay until dinner time, sadly. Harry was disappointed, and his disappointment took on an edge of resentment when he didn't get a chance to talk to Luna, who went off with Remus, Hooch, Trudi and Snuffles before Harry could get a chance to build up a real head of steam.

Perhaps that was why Rob suggested that Harry and Draco take Simon back to the paddock. "…Take the rock. It'll give you some space from noisy people. It should last another three hours, but if you want the spell gone just give it a good shake."

"Thanks." Harry tucked the rock into a pocket. "Are you staying to dinner?" he asked Rob hopefully.

"No." He gave both boys his card. "Owl or floo me if you have any questions – or if you want to come visit. You'd both be mighty welcome."

Draco was grinning from ear to ear as he tucked the card away in his pocket – probably with the card he'd got from Elmsworthy's lawyer. Harry was slightly less happy as he slid the card into his copy of the book, giving it to Hermione who promised to see it safely back to the castle for him while Harry took Simon up to the paddock (Hermione had never been a fan when it came to allowing a book into dirty circumstances). He had so many questions to ask… and he wanted to ask them now, not put them in a letter… and would he be in a house with a floo? Cottages set up for horses in the back garden were Mugglish and it was doubtful if they had floo connections. He could hire a Wizarding house, of course, but it might be better to keep his whereabouts. Easier to do in the Muggle world, where nobody other than the Dursleys and some of Dudley's friends knew Harry Potter. They were hardly going to come knocking.

Draco must have sensed Harry's impatience. He didn't complain about brushing down Simon by himself and let Harry return to the castle as soon as possible. There was a near miss with Rita Skeeter, lurking near the front entrance. But thanks to the stone in his pocket Harry went straight past her and her photographer. He hurried up the stairs in case the magic wore off.

Harry had been avoiding Dumbledore, yes, but he figured that if Rob was there then things might not need to escalate.

He was one hundred percent wrong.

The password hadn't changed and Harry jogged past the gargoyle and up the stairs, hoping Rob hadn't left already. Pausing at the top to get his breath back, he realised from the soft voices behind the door that the Horse Mutterer hadn't yet left the castle and was in Dumbledore's office with the headmaster and Luna.

"… saying sounds like shock therapy," said Luna's voice. She sounded worried.

"Can't say as I like it myself, but that spell in his chest's been knocked clean out of sync. The only way to right it is to get in through his head, but even having a werewolf next to him couldn't put a spin on it. He's there, but he's gone too deep to right himself. You're going to need to find yourselves some fundamental energy. You up for it, Albus?"

Harry didn't quite hear Dumbledore's reply, but it didn't sound promising. He knew he should knock, but he also doubted that they would continue with this conversation were he to enter the room.

Rob was speaking again: "Ponyshaman might be able to help, but even he is a long shot. Once Simon's at my ranch I can get in some experts."

"I do so appreciate you taking him on, Robert. He'll have to be sedated to ship him across tomorrow night, but…"

Harry rocked back on his feet. More words from Dumbledore that Harry couldn't quite make out through the shock – they were taking Simon away?

He was just about to knock/blast the door down/mount a revolution to put the Republic of Slytherin to shame, when:

"I was a mite curious doubt that dog of yours…"

"An Animagus. Sirius Black."

"None of my business, but is there any animosity between him and Harry?"

"Nothing they can't sort out between themselves." The words sounded sure, but Dumbledore's tone introduced some doubt.

"Harry and Draco. Luna's right about them. Those boys have put their hearts and souls into their horse. They need to know, Albus."

Know what – that Simon was being stolen from them? As the castle wasn't burning down Draco couldn't know yet.

"Alas, it would only complicate matters. Such a conundrum."

Yeah, Harry thought viciously, it's a real conundrum when you assign me to look after a Death Eater's horse and then take it away again, just when it's part of my life! He had the horrible idea that maybe, just maybe Dumbledore was sending Simon back to the Death Eater. He forced himself to concentrate on Dumbledore's next words.

"…It really is a shame you can't stay longer, Robert. Teach a few classes, train a few students, psychoanalyse the staff."

Rob's chuckle rumbled through the door. "It's your herd, Albus," he replied amiably. "But if Remus wants to come and visit I'm sure I can hook him up with a local werewolf community. Things are different on our side of the Atlantic – werewolves are quite often respected shapeshifters, and even those who aren't are accepted parts of the community. Meeting some would be a healing experience for him."

"It would."

There was the sound of a clock chiming the hour.

"'Bout time to get moving. Luna, I'll get your mom's old room ready. It looks out over where Simon will live. He'll be in with some of the quieter boys. I think Zeke and he will get along just fine."

Harry heard her murmur Thank you. He felt a nasty twist in his stomach. Luna was going to America? What about Burghley? Harry?

Her Death Eater family?

Simon was going to America. Considering how besotted she was with the horse, maybe the rest wouldn't matter to her. Certainly not the Harry part, he realised. The thought curdled in his stomach.

"Don't stallions fight to the death?" Dumbledore asked, a note of worry creeping in.

_About time your conscience got to work._

"Not necessarily. In the wild they can form bachelor herds, and there are some steady geldings in there who know how to defuse tensions. I take the personality of each horse into account before I place him or her into a group. Simon's awful lonely up there on his hill. He's the sort who gets a lot of his self-respect from his job. Horse like him needs to be part of a working herd. He'll have his work cut out for him keeping some of the colts in line."

"He's quite the disciplinarian."

"If Ponyshaman can't help him then he might as well enjoy being part of a lively gang."

"And perhaps this one won't lead him into mischief… my apologies, Luna."

"He'll like having friends and bossing around the younger generation," Luna's voice said.

I'm_ his friend!_ Harry thought despairingly. _And he's never held back from bossing me about._

There was the sound of chairs being drawn back. Murmur of voices coming closer.

He stepped back just as the door opened.

"Ah, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Just the person I wanted to see. Luna, would you escort Mr Python to the gates?"

"Yes, Headmaster." She slid past Harry without meeting his eyes.

"Albus." Rob held out a hand to Harry. His eyes met Harry's and acknowledged without judgement the eavesdropping. Only a faint tightness at the corners of his eyelids suggested he was concerned. "Don't forget to use my card," he said. "I'll be expecting you this summer."

Harry shook hands mutely and nodded. He couldn't think of anything to say. He was too stunned.

"Harry?" said Dumbledore softly. "Would you like to sit?"

Harry took a chair. No sherbet lemons were offered, nor was there any tea.

"You're mad at me, aren't you. About the whole going through the barrier thing."

"No, Harry. I understand you did what you felt you had to do. It was dangerous and you could have died – I am still upset about that, true – but I am not angry with you. I have never been angry with you."

"You're sending Simon away. That's because I took him, isn't it."

"No, Harry. I would have been forced to send him away regardless of who rode him through the barrier."

"But if they catch all the Death Eaters –"

"Do you think they will? The Aurors will be years tracking down each and every Dark witch and wizard who followed Lord Voldemort. Simon, you and Draco are all in danger."

"I've always been in danger."

A spasm of pain crossed Dumbledore's face. "That is true. And yet there are so many avenues for you – future paths you may never have been looking for."

Harry nodded slowly. "It's true that I've only recently started thinking of my own future," he admitted, "but I don't see why I should keep running from Death Eaters."

"You are quite right. You don't need to run. But you will need to be conscious of your safety."

"What about Draco?"

"I believe you met Narcissa Malfoy yesterday."

"Yes. Oh." He wasn't sure he liked her. She had an obsessive undercurrent he instinctively shied away from, like Simon from a rustle in the grass which could turn out to be an adder. Her world revolved around her son. Harry was disposable or a valuable heirloom according to the whim of Draco. "Draco's probably pretty safe."

"Lucius won't allow harm to come to his heir."

"Not now he won't," Harry said absently.

"Hm, quite," Dumbledore chuckled.

"I don't know where I'll be staying yet, but I can find a safe place –"

"You could stay with your family, surely."

Harry stiffened. "Absolutely not."

"As you wish."

"I thought I could find a house with some land somewhere. Simon and I could stay there for the summer, then I can bring him back for the school year. He doesn't have to go to America!"

"Apart from the challenge of getting him on the train, I'm not sure that would be a good idea."

Harry gritted his teeth. Telling the ancient wizard to stop being so bloody facetious wouldn't help his case. "I won't tamper with the wards on the fence again –"

"It's a little more difficult than that, Harry."

"His owner might show up?"

"No. There is no danger of that."

"Oh, right. His owner is a Death Eater." Harry paused, but Dumbledore didn't argue. He felt his heart sink. "Luna's uncle is a Death Eater."

"Her uncle –"

"No, it's okay. She'll tell me about him in her own time. You're worried about other Death Eaters. I'll keep Simon out of sight. Draco and Mrs Malfoy will help."

"I am not letting Lucius Malfoy anywhere near Simon."

Harry fell silent. Dumbledore had said that flatly and without any hint of being ready to hear a counter-argument.

"While I trust Draco, he is young and he loves his father very much."

"He's not a complete idiot…"

"Neither, sadly, is Lucius. However, he is enough of an idiot to endanger his family and everything they value in his schemes for personal power."

Harry began to wish he'd told Draco No, send your father to Azkaban and be done with it… "There are other ways of keeping Simon here. Besides, Draco won't like you sending Simon to America."

"I know."

Harry's frustration was rising. "So he isn't going to be consulted either."

"No. He is not. While I assigned Simon into the care of you and Draco, the ultimate responsibility for his welfare has always remained mine."

"He's a horse! You – you yourself told me he's just a horse…"

Dumbledore's eyes closed for a fraction of a moment. "As he is. As you and Draco are just wizards."

"Then let me keep him. Me and Draco – we'll ask Hagrid to help hide him if you don't trust me!"

"I trust you, Harry."

"No, you don't! You never have! You never tell me what I need to know until _after_ I've found the Stone, killed the basilisk, let Pettigrew go, and raised Voldemort from the dead!"

"I trust you, Harry. I know you have reason to doubt me – any number of reasons – but I have always trusted your good nature and your infinite ability to find friends in the oddest of places."

Harry tried to rein in his temper. Robert Python had been sitting in this room not five minutes ago. He wouldn't want Harry hurling those stupid silvery devices across the room in a fit of fury. He counted to ten twice, and felt calmer, capable of rationality instead of reaction.

"Only since I found out I was a wizard did I start to have friends." He must have said that out aloud, because Dumbledore was nodding.

"It is a great strength and a greater magic than Voldemort ever possessed. In less than two months you managed to befriend an old enemy as well as an alien beast."

"Don't let Draco hear you call him an alien beast," Harry said. Although he wasn't fuming anymore, he wasn't in a particularly jocular mood and his words issued somewhat flatly.

"Indeed. I will be sure not to. The three of you looked after one another while on a most dangerous adventure. A true friendship."

"I don't think Draco would agree, and Simon may not see me as a friend exactly – he's got a very possessive mindset. He and Draco are similar that way, come to think of it." Not that Harry would _ever_ admit to Simon being a Slytherin horse, there were times when the horse seemed almost Machiavellian in its rope-untying and endless quest for peppermints.

"Draco's idea of friendship is a little out of step with ours. And Simon's understanding is that of a horse. Call it what you will, there was courage, loyalty, intelligence and determination exhibited by each one for the betterment of all. Is that not what friendship is, this conjunction of the best quality each House of Hogwarts has to offer?"

"I still think Simon's definition runs more to apples and peppermints."

Dumbledore did manage to laugh at that. He became solemn again as he stood to look out the window. Restless and with his hands twitching with delayed anger and nerves, Harry joined him there.

Far away on Squirrel Hill could be seen Draco, walking down from the gate. Simon stood watching his wizard go, then turned and climbed to the top of the hill.

"He will have other horses to run with, a gift of companionship long overdue for a lonely horse. Robert promises there is work to keep him busy – Simon is a horse who likes to be active, both mentally and physically. The climate gets warmer than it ever does in Scotland, a welcome thing when your bones are no longer as young as your determination, and in winter when it snows there is a warm barn in which for him to live with a large area for exercise. He will have oats and barley and molasses, and all the other treats horses care for. I will make sure he gets regular shipments of peppermints. He will have grooms and personal attention from Robert Python himself."

"He won't have me."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Will he not? Robert was most sincere with his invitation. Luna has already accepted."

"Won't she be staying with her Death Eater uncle?"

"Luna has chosen Simon. You judge her harshly, Harry. Has she ever struck you as one who hoards secrets for malicious intent?"

Harry chose to ignore that. It was hard to think, to decide, to know what was a true path rather than another hinkypunk light. The memory of Simon going through a rapid series of changes in direction while – seemingly effortlessly! – keeping to the same pace on the same straight line cantered through his mind. Simon could do this, the horse had an uncanny ability to find an even keel while being asked for the imossible, but Harry… Harry had had enough flying changes in his life to be able to deal with another one. "Is Draco going?"

"I expect he will if he can, especially once he finds out Simon will be there. He will be having a busy time of it this summer, what with keeping his family balanced between Light and Dark. See if you can convince him to take a holiday in Montana. He will need it, I am sure, and Robert works with other species than horses."

"Such as?"

"Witches and wizards?" Dumbledore smiled.

"It's lucky he's never decided to be a Dark Lord. People would follow him anywhere," Harry mused. He'd never in his life met anyone whom he so quickly and instinctively trusted as deeply as the Horse Mutterer, although Hagrid came a close second. "I wonder if he thinks I'd be better as an Auror, a Quidditch player, or a Mutterer."

"He can help you find yourself in the present, Harry; he is proud of being able to bring out the best of everyone, horse and human, who comes to be his student or his patient. Proud, yes, but never arrogant. He will not tell you your future, however, and he would never be so foolish as to tell you what path you should be taking in your life."

"Shame he doesn't take Divinations."

"Perhaps."

"Do you think he'd come and teach at Hogwarts? If we kept Simon here, then he might."

"Unfortunately he disagrees with many of our educational philosophies. He once told me that our system of competitive segregation – as he put it – churns out a high proportion of damaged adults, and he has enough work in various other parts of the world healing the results of this without being an active participant."

"Really?"

"It's not like him to be negative, so I didn't push the issue. His philosophy is co-operative rather than divisive."

"True. Have you known him long?"

"Many years now."

Yet Dumbledore had never mentioned this friendship. "How did you meet?"

"Oh, a long story for another day. One of many long stories. You have several of your own. The love of your family that protects you, for instance."

"My mother, yes." Thinking of Draco and Narcissa, Harry felt another twinge of jealousy.

"Not only your mother. Talk to Sirius, Harry. He loves you."

Harry couldn't speak. He nodded.

"Thank you," Dumbledore breathed. He looked tired, and his eyes had lost their twinkle. "Now, I must send you off to get tidied up for dinner so that I can deal with a subject at once both grand and terrible: how to announce that exams have been cancelled without riots fuelled by disappointment breaking out."

"I'll ask Hermione not to riot."

"It would be a great favour to me if you did." Over his half-moon glasses Dumbledore have Harry a mildly evaluating stare. Harry's automatic responses to the conversation were too wooden to be natural. "Very well then, I shall announce it over pudding. I shall see you down in the Hall, Harry."

"Yes, sir."

"And Harry?"

Harry, hand on the door, hoping he wasn't asked anything that would make this maelstrom inside him burst out in a mass of rage and subsequent shame, paused. "Yes?"

"There are many who love you. Talk to Sirius. And please, give Luna the benefit of the doubt."

He might be able to talk to Sirius, but he couldn't see the benefit of not doubting Luna. She had doubted him.

He left Dumbledore staring out the window, even though Draco was out of sight and only Simon could be seen on the hill, the horse watching over the castle, mane and tail flickering black flames against the grey sky as the evening wind strengthened.

ooOOoo


	100. Chapter 100

Disclaimer: The Hogwarts world belongs to JK Rowling. I'm merely passing through on a visitor's pass.

ooOOoo

Chapter 100

Harry picked at his dessert (the house elves had managed to make ginger custard and plum cake work together) and tried to ignore Hermione complaining about the declining standards of education. To hear her, Voldemort had been replaced by lack of proper assessment. He didn't want to talk to Luna, and she might have sensed that because she was nowhere to be seen in the Hall. Neither was Draco, but there had been some issue down in the Dungeons which had also taken away Bulstrode and three of the seventh years. Trudi, over there with a chattering flock of Ravenclaws, appeared relaxed and happy, which meant Draco was neither in trouble nor causing it. (For once.)

Tuesday. Everyone was leaving on Tuesday. Some were leaving sooner than others. Simon, for example. He'd be leaving tomorrow. Harry threw down his fork and left – he wasn't hungry. All the visitors had been shooed away from Hogwarts. It should be safe for him to go to the Quidditch pitch.

It wasn't Remus who found him out there but Sirius. Without a word, he sat down next to Harry. They sat there in silence until it started to rain, and Sirius put up an umbrella spell.

"Still haven't given that wand back?" Harry asked. His voice was a touch on the rough side. It felt like he'd been yelling, which was unfair as he'd been doing his best to keep his temper all day.

Sirius shrugged his broad shoulders philosophically. "Nobody's asked for it. So how was it for you, meeting Robert Python?"

"Good. Right up to the bit where Dumbledore told him to take Simon away."

Sirius sighed and looked away at the Hufflepuff pennants which were sliding wet and sullen in the breeze with a similar sound to the silken swish of Simon's tail.

"Did you know Luna's uncle was a Death Eater?" Harry asked.

"No. I never thought much about her family – not beyond her father's wonderfully iconoclastic paper. But I never would have pegged her as coming from a family of Dark wizards."

"Neither did I."

They sat and listened to the rain splattering on the shield for a while.

"I'm sorry I had to leave you standing up on the hill like that," Harry said. "You know. That night."

"Dumbledore took the illusion off quick enough. I think I make a very handsome Simon, if it's any consolation."

Harry choked out a laugh. "Now you even smell the same."

"Yes. He nicked half a bottle of my shampoo. So much for my late, late, late birthday present from Remus."

"Thought you smelt a bit, uh, erm..."

"Erm good, or erm bad?"

"Erm weird, as a matter of fact. Sorry."

"Don't worry; I can cope with erm weird if it means not having fleas. Really hate fleas, but I'm allergic to most potions to get rid of them. And… I'm sorry, too. I betrayed you."

"I know you were only trying to protect me."

"Yeah, because I do that so well…"

"At least you try." Harry had to admit that, although it nearly choked him.

Sirius' head dipped. "You know the Muggles have a saying about good intentions and where they lead?"

"Where?"

"I'm starting to think the bottom of a bottle of Firewhiskey for me," he muttered. "But no, it's meant to be 'the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.'"

"You know, that explains a lot… And I'm sure I've heard it before."

"It's a common issue. I'd be surprised if you hadn't." Sirius looked like he was trying to smile, but his face was drawn. In his case the road had taken a long detour through Hell in its wizarding incarnation of Azkaban. "I hear you might be off to America for the summer. Is that true?"

Harry toed the seat he was resting his feet on. "I've got a standing invitation. I think Dumbledore would like me to take it up."

"He's worried about you."

Harry pushed out his lower lip. "He doesn't have to be."

"You and Simon both have a lot of enemies now. That has him very worried. He wants you to be safe."

"But we both have a lot of friends. Doesn't that count for anything?"

"You know it does." Sirius tilted his head back.

Eventually the rain eased.

"Want to come up and see Simon with me?"

"Yeah, okay. I won't miss having my leg broken, but, Merlin help me, I will miss that horse."

"Yeah."

ooOOoo

The Horse is pleased to see them. He doesn't expect conversation, certainly not at this end of a busy day/week/month, simply company. The Horse's Black Colt and Sleepy Monkeystallion are unusually quiet, although their bodies bristle with comment. There is tension and sadness, much of the latter directed at The Horse. It is a strange day that The Competent One, The One at the Centre of All Circles, should come and The Horse's Black Colt should become sad. The horse rests his muzzle on the shoulder of The Horse's Black Colt, bares his teeth and presses them gently against the soft cloth/coat to remind him that his The Horse is here and strong and watchful against any and all Monsters in the Night, even though there are none in the world at this time. Sleepy Monkeystallion rests a forefoot on the other shoulder and The Horse's Black Colt breathes out a great gust of tension and rests his cheek against The Horse's jaw and his shoulders ease.

They are quiet, but much is said.

ooOOoo

Back in the castle, on the way to Gryffindor Tower, Luna finally caught up with him. After returning from the paddock and leaving Snuffles with Remus, Harry hadn't been happy but he'd been calm. Now the sight of Luna made his blood rise uncomfortably. Later he thought that if he'd been less tired, more rational, he could have dealt with the situation better.

"Harry…"

He kept walking.

"Harry…" Luna ran after him and caught his arm.

"Don't." He shook his head. "Just… don't."

"Harry…"

Harry grimaced. He couldn't have this conversation out in the open. He pulled her into an alcove. "Your uncle was a Death Eater, wasn't he."

He finally looked her in the face. She was very pale. Her lip, where she was biting it, was white. With her pale hair and eyes she looked almost like a ghost.

"Wasn't he."

Finally, she nodded. "Yes. But –"

"– But you didn't tell me. All this time, I've been looking after Simon, waiting for him to be reclaimed by a _Death Eater."_

She shook her head. Her lank hair flew and tried to settle over her face until she pushed it back behind her ears. "No – Simon won't be taken back by a Death Eater. He –"

"– Only because Dumbledore's sending him away! All that talk about keeping him away from Lucius Malfoy is rot. He's not the real Death Eater I should have been worried about. Your uncle is the true reason I can't keep Simon at Hogwarts, isn't he? Well? Isn't he?"

Luna stared into his face. Finally, she whispered, as if this was the most terrible secret she owned, "Yes. He is. But… my uncle… he…"

"So who is he? Mulciber? Travers? No – I'm sure I'd've heard if it was anyone high-profile. Were you hoping he'd come and pick you up from school?"

Luna was shaking her head. "He's not… coming back to the school now… because he's…" She gulped, her eyes darting around in case anyone, students, staff, ghosts or portraits, might be listening. She clutched at her hair, digging her fingers hard against her scalp, her shoulders hunched and angular and shaking. "No, Harry – his name is… he's –"

Dumbledore's request for Harry to give Luna another chance vanished from his mind. "Stop." Harry sliced a hand through the air, cutting her short, making her jump. "No. Don't tell me his name. I don't want to know. I don't want to know _anything_ about your uncle. The next thing you'll tell me is that he was one of those who had something to do with killing my parents –"

Luna looked absolutely stricken, as if she might faint. Her hands fell limp against her sides. The tension they'd been trying to restrain hadn't gone, merely been transformed into something that might have been despair. "Harry…"

And with that soft exhalation of his name, he knew he'd guessed correctly. Rocked, Harry had to lean back against the wall. He covered his face with his hands. "Oh. Right. Not the sort of thing you can casually drop into a conversation with your boyfriend, is it?"

There was a small noise. Harry dropped his hands. He was just in time to see one, two fat tears spill over her eyelids, leaving gleaming trails down her cheeks. She didn't seem to notice. Her hands still hung bonelessly, as if she'd forgotten they had purpose in the world.

"No," she said in a voice so small it could have belonged to a mouse. "It wasn't."

Harry could only nod.

"Harry…?"

"Go away."

She left before he had to tell her again.

Harry slumped down the wall until he was sitting on the stones, and crossed his arms over his head. First Simon, now Luna. How could he have won the war and forfeited that which he'd thought solid?

ooOOoo

He was so angry that it took him hours to get to sleep. He tried to make himself drowsy by reading his new copy of _The Horse Mutterer_, but the section he'd chosen was about setting realistic boundaries, which made him think of Sirius, which made him think of Simon, which, in turn, led on to Luna… When he finally did, it was to plunge into fragmented dreams, bits of stories where people shouted and his friends bet his life on the roll of a die and cliffs crumbled and Simon fled and however many darts he threw that tree _would not_ die.

He dreamed of an eclipse.

He'd dreamed of eclipses before, and at first it was a comfort after all the shouting and falling and grief and frustration clenching his chest to find himself back with something verging on the familiar.

But then he realised that this one differed markedly to the usual eclipse. Instead of the rim of the sun glimpsed around the dark disk of the moon that became the limned eye of a frightened horse, in this eclipse it was the world which cast the moon into shadow.

The pure silvery lunar light dulled into the dark red of old blood, and when the shadow of the world moved away, all light went with it and the sky was dark and dead with the corpses of stars.

Harry woke up to discover his cheeks were wet.

ooOOoo

Harry's mood didn't improve overnight and only worsened through Monday morning. Everything was making him annoyed now – nothing to do with Voldemort. This was the frustration at being kept outside Luna's range of trust. Even taking Simon out for an early morning ride with Draco didn't help. Simon, picking up on Harry's mood, twitched his head when a swallow flickered down over his head at the very moment Harry pulled the headstrap forward over Simon's ears.

Harry was so cross he wasn't paying proper attention and nearly poked Simon's eye out with his thumb.

"Watch it, Potter," Draco scolded. "When you read the future in the flight of swallows you're supposed to work out if leaders are about to get assassinated and important whatnot like that; you're not meant to get auguring down to fine details, such as someone losing an eye, and then turn it into a self-fulfilling prophecy."

"Hey, _he_ moved." Harry sighed and reined in his temper, hearing an embarrassing amount of petulance in his own voice. "Sorry," he said to a miffed Simon, who was blinking hard. "That was clumsy of me."

"Yeah. He's a horse. He's allowed to move his head at random, especially when a bird flies across his nose. Doesn't mean some disturbed young wizard has the right to go around blinding him for it."

Worried now, Harry asked, "Do you think I hurt him?"

Simon was investigating the bag of brushes for apples. Draco pulled his head up. "I think he's fine."

"Good. Hey – since when was I a disturbed young wizard?"

Draco smirked in his best 'you'd better pray I never become a psychiatrist' manner. "Shall I write down a timeline?"

"Don't. It would have to start before I was born, what with all the time travel," Harry said, finally managing to smile. Simon was fine. Draco was harassing him. Life was normal. People were keeping him in the dark on significant issues and making key decisions in his life for him such as (to take a random example) sending his horse across the ocean. The smile faded. "You don't seem too upset about losing Simon. You, ah, you do know about that, don't you?"

Harry really should have told him, but Draco had skipped dinner last night and Harry hadn't wanted a row while working Simon.

"I do – Dumbledore told me. And I'm not upset because I'm _not_ losing him. He's going to America, not the moon. He'll be safer there than in Britain. I don't mind if Rob borrows him for a while," he said magnanimously. "Just until I've got things sorted out here. Simon'll be safer than if Gringotts had him in a special vault. The Americans have loads of wards up to filter Dark wizards out from the rest of the travellers – comes from living next door to all those cannibalistic warlocks in Canada, I guess. And Montana is ancient shaman territory with the sort of animal magic that goes down to the bedrock – it's about as safe it gets for a horse like Simon. Come on, Potter, you _must_ know that. Besides, aren't you going to stay there with him? I expect if you want to move over there one day they'd welcome you – and sooner or later it'll be safe enough for us to bring him home to Britain. Sooner, one hopes."

Harry didn't answer. Yes, he knew Draco was right, although his optimism wasn't quite up to the Slytherin's. The safe time to bring Simon back to the UK was definitely going to be later unless Lucius met with a terminal accident and put the world out of its misery, but it still felt like losing his horse. "Aren't you going over, too?"

"If I can. But Luna will be there to look after him."

"Yeah. Her and her Death Eater family."

"As opposed to my Death Eater family?" But Draco took pity on him. "Come on, Potter. It's just Luna. You know she has her own take on the world; it barely overlaps with normal reality at the best of times. Besides, one Death Eater isn't representative of the totality, and there are Death Eaters and Death Eaters… not all of them were psychopathic murderers." He seemed to be biting off another sentence to follow that – Harry assumed it was something to do with Sirius.

"I guess," Harry said sullenly, tying Simon's leadrope to the twine on the post. He pushed the end of the slipknot through the fence so Simon wouldn't be able to reach it. "Did you know that her uncle was a Death Eater? Because you know who her uncle is, don't you? You said once that you'd never seen him as the sort to own a horse."

Draco handed him a brush then turned over a bucket and sat down. It looked like Harry would be the one doing the work. No change there. "Yes. I know who he was. He's dead. I told you that, too."

"Oh." Harry had forgotten that. Part of him cringed as he remembered the terrible things he'd said to Luna last night. "Yes. You did."

"…And it's about time you learned to do research yourself rather than relying on Granger all your life." Harry scowled at him until Draco shrugged and changed the subject. "That Robert Python was amazing, wasn't he?"

"Yeah." Harry set to work. The motion was familiar now, soothing. He brushed harder where the saddle had been, intent on getting the black coat lying smooth again, buffing away the last of the sweat marks.

"I don't know why you're complaining about Simon going to America. I would have thought you'd be dancing for joy. Mind you, I've seen you dance," he sniffed.

"Mm." Harry ignored the insult. Hard to deny something so patently obvious as his dire performance at the Yule Ball. But he didn't know why he wasn't more pleased by Python's offer. Logically, it was the best option for Simon. But…

"Better do his feet."

"Why don't you?"

"I'm busy."

"Busy sitting on your arse."

"I'll have you know I'm keeping an eye on Simon to make sure he doesn't untie himself, eat all the apples, and die of stomach-ache. Important job, this."

Harry shook his head. "Just pass the hoofpick…"

Draco was right. Montana was the best place for Simon.

But it didn't mean Harry had to like it.

ooOOoo

Dobby found him on the way back from the paddock with a message from Dumbledore. Dobby had probably found him some time before he left the paddock, but the house elf preferred to avoid Draco. Cornelius Fudge, holding onto the reins of government by the skin of his teeth (Tonks had already hinted that Kingsley Shacklebolt would be in power in the next two months), had come to the Headmaster's Office, lime green bowler hat in hand, to beg Dumbledore to release Harry into Ministry custody rather than leave him to his own devices. Harry, dragged up to Dumbledore's office at the tail end of this visit, had been pleased to have Dumbledore point out that as soon as Harry turned seventeen he would be free to choose wherever he wanted to live.

"But… we – the Ministry – we can hide you in a safe place –"

"Thank you, Minister, but I'll be making my own arrangements."

Fudge grimaced out a smile that managed to be desperate and patronising all at once. "You won't be seventeen for another month, Harry…"

Harry gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay calm despite the pounding in his temples and the red tint that the world had suddenly melted into. "It's only a month. If the Ministry forces the issue then I will be making a statement to the papers that it is trying to capitalise on the work of myself and my friends. _I_ will be making _my_ _own_ arrangements!"

Fudge went purple at this point and Harry was sent on his way by Dumbledore, glad to be gone, because he was shaking and ready to curse anyone in his way, and he'd had a nasty vision of the Minister as a more cunning version of Vernon Dursley, and he didn't trust himself not to hex the current leader of the British Wizarding World.

Tired and feeling unaccountably bruised, he went for a nap before lunch. It was easier than spending the rest of the morning avoiding politicians or listening to everyone talk about going home to their families. Once he put up a silencing spell on his curtains he didn't have to listen to the excited burble of his dormitory mates packing.

Harry slept for an hour before he woke up, sweating. He got up and wandered into the bathroom. It hadn't been one of those awful nightmares he'd had through his scar from Voldemort, but it had been nasty enough.

In the dream he'd been angry. So angry he couldn't speak. He'd been up at the paddock with Simon and Simon kept untying himself. Harry had been furious with the horse, taken the bridle and hit Simon across the head with it. Simon galloped away and Harry spent the rest of the dream pursuing him, knowing he'd been unutterably stupid, hating himself and worried sick Simon would run into the Forest. He'd chased the horse for hours, it seemed, always seeing Simon in the distance, never able to reach him no matter how fast he ran because his feet were weighed down, and finally waking with the horror of seeing Draco load Simon into a van and drive him away.

Now that he was awake it was obviously just a dream. Draco would never drive a van.

But Harry felt terrible for hitting Simon, even in a dream.

He threw cold water into his face and leaned on his elbows, feeling the porcelain cold and slick under his arms, eyes closed as the water dripped off his nose and chin. _ Admit it to yourself, Harry – Montana is the best place for him. And it could be the best summer in my life, spending it over there. I'd be learning about horses from a master. I'd be overseas for the first time in my life! All these good things._

Luna will be there.

Luna… __

Luna, thinking about all the horrible things I said to her.

So why was I angry at Simon in my dream? Maybe it wasn't Simon I was mad at. Not Simon I took out my temper on. Maybe it was…

…Luna. The lunar eclipse.

Oh, Merlin… she was trying to tell me something incredibly important, the biggest secret she has, and I…

I hexed her out of the sky.

He realised his head was starting to hurt because he was digging his fingers into his scalp. Just like Luna had done, she'd been so upset.__

Have I lost Luna? I have. I am the world's biggest –

_Fwoosh!_

If it was Rita Skeeter he'd commit murder and there would be a new ghost to haunt a Hogwarts toilet.

"Hi, Harry!"

Harry had never counted to ten this fast. "Colin, how many times do I have to tell you not to take photos of me in the bathroom?"

"Oh. Right. Well, my parents have come to get me – me and Dennis are leaving early, so we'll miss all the fun tomorrow! I just came to say goodbye. See you after summer, Harry!"

"Oh. Well. Bye, Colin. Have a good summer."

_Funny how Colin _leaving_ can make me feel sad. I must be mad. I suppose I'd better get a better psychiatrist than Doctor Draco._

Harry dressed slowly. He hadn't quite missed lunch, but most of the good food was gone, as were most of the students by the time he made it down to the bottom of the stairs. He passed Justin and Dean in the Entrance Hall. They were arguing. Dean broke off to join Harry on his way into the Hall.

"We're breaking up," Dean grumbled.

"What? Already?"

"Suddenly he likes Hannah Abbot. So much for Hufflepuff loyalty, the tosser."

"Oh. Sorry." Harry decided not to tell him that perhaps it was the thrill of a forbidden romance that had held the two together for so long. Besides, why should anyone else be happy in love? Change of topic… "I keep forgetting to thank you for those wrestling moves you taught me. Been really useful."

Dean goggled at him. "Don't tell me you used the headlock on Voldemort?"

"Nah. Not quite."

"Malfoy?"

"No. You wouldn't believe me." Putting a successful headlock on a young Severus Snape on two separate occasions would probably be lauded throughout Gryffindor, but Harry didn't want to stir up Slytherin/Gryffindor tensions now that there was a cease-fire.

"I'd better not tell Luna – she might use it on you."

Harry clenched his teeth and forced his face into a smile. There was a good chance it made him look like Fudge, however.

They joined Ron and Ginny.

Ginny smiled at Harry, her face bright. "Neville and I have been talking to Luna," Ginny began. "Did you know that she –?"

Harry managed to completely ignore the smile as he made a snap decision she must be about to take him to task for being nasty to Luna. "I don't want to know anything about bloody Luna," Harry snarled, feeling his face heat with a mixture of embarrassment and fury.

Ginny flung her hair over her shoulder. "Fine. Be a prat." She flounced off, leaving Harry feeling even worse. Now he was driving his friends away.

Ron sighed. "You do know that we're leaving this evening?" he asked.

Harry scowled down at the table. He knew they were leaving. He also knew he was behaving like a troll with a sore tooth and had no right to take out his problems on poor Ginny, and not only because Poor Ginny was a sorceress who might be able to turn him inside-out without a wand, but because Ginny obviously hadn't been about to give him a hard time after all… or not until Harry demonstrated _yet again_ how he was a complete idiot. "Yes."

"Got Sirius problems again?"

"No."

"Going to stop being a surly git any time soon?"

"No."

Ron gave up and he and Dean followed Ginny to another table, leaving Harry alone.

Everyone was leaving. Leaving the table. Leaving the Hall to go and pack and swap owl-mail addresses with friends. Leaving Hogwarts.

_Simon's going to leave this evening. I can't believe it. I know I'm welcome any time, but America? It's so _far._ I won't be able to stroll up to the paddock to see him. Yeah, the Dursleys barely tolerated Hedwig and wouldn't have allowed a horse through the front door, but if I was going to be with Sirius –_

A hand rested gingerly on his shoulder, not quite sure of its welcome. "Harry."

"Sirius!" Finally, someone who didn't hate him. Maybe if Harry kept his temper under control for ten minutes he might keep Sirius from running away, too. Harry moved sideways on the bench, giving his godfather space to sit. "Seems a bit weird not having you sitting under the table scrounging all the good bits of steak from the firsties."

Sirius grinned, face relaxing into hints of pre-Azkaban laughter lines when Harry didn't shun him. Not that Harry wanted to – for some reason Harry couldn't define he was angry with just about everyone, but not Sirius. That quiet time up with Simon last night had given him the space he'd needed for Sirius, a quiet acceptance of the fallibility of his godfather and the balance where Harry was strong enough to cope with this. Sirius was deeply flawed. But he was family. Harry really needed family right now.

Sirius reached for a roll and stuffed it with ham, avocado, potato salad, a slice of chicken, beetroot chutney, pineapple chunks, orange segments and a spoonful of mustard. Harry was hard pressed not to ask if Sirius was pregnant.

"Yeah. You can get away with it as a dog. Bit dodgy as a bloke." Sirius gave a nod to the scar-faced Auror witch as she escorted yet another Ministry flunky through the Hall.

Harry admired the way she diverted the man's attention away from the fact that he was in the same room as Famous Harry Potter. "Nice to be able to put your own meal together, too?" he asked.

Sirius beamed with pride at his culinary masterpiece. "Glad to have pineapple and avocados back at Hogwarts. We're getting all sorts of food now – a box of mangoes was sent in by Trudi Ricci's family for her favourite werewolf, but that greedy sod Remus isn't sharing."

It sounded like there'd been a row over that. "Remus likes mangoes?"

"After chocolate they're his favourite food. I wonder if there's such a thing as mango-flavoured chocolate? He'd have joined the Death Eaters if Voldemort had offered him a mango. Or a really big bar of chocolate."

"Hmm." Now that he wanted a truce with Remus, finding him some mango-flavoured chocolate could be a good peace offering from Harry. He leaned his chin on his hands and stared across the Hall. Where was Remus? At his elbow, Sirius made small scoffing noises as he gulped – 'wolfed' might be more appropriate – down his lunch. Spending so much time in dog form had affected his table manners, but at least he didn't talk with his mouth full and bits spilling out of it like Seamus was doing over there with Dean – they seemed to have made up their differences, and both of them were giving Justin Finch-Fletchley the evil eye. It could be that Seamus' issues with Dean being gay stemmed from jealousy, but there was no way in a million years Harry would ever suggest that to Seamus. He had enough relationship troubles of his own to start playing marriage guidance counsellor. "Speaking of Death Eaters, Wormtail walking, talking and trying to smarm his way out of trouble should be a hint that you didn't murder him. So are you off to the Ministry today?"

"Mm. I finally get that trial I was wanting for Christmas."

"Wow, and I wanted a pony." Harry had meant that to be amusing, but it came out bitter. "Sorry – I'm really pleased they're finally looking into your case. And letting you stay somewhere other than Azkaban – that's a step up, although Kreacher won't see it that way. Dumbledore won't let them get away with sweeping you under the rug twice. It's handy they've got Wormtail, isn't it?"

Sirius shook his hair back. "True. Thanks to you and Malfoy. I hear Cousin Cissy was involved, too. That's the weirdest bit."

Harry shrugged. "Voldemort threatened Draco as a baby – he remained a threat, for that matter. She wasn't going to let that stand." The Hall was nearly empty – one benefit of his bad temper was having a wide circle of empty seats open up around him. Nevertheless, he spoke quietly.

"Ah. Well. Those three girls always were a bit unstable. Andromeda was the nicest, but I lost touch with her after she left Hogwarts and married that Muggle-born bloke. Big scandal in the family, that was, but, well, those girls…"

"Tonks' mum? I guess it would have been a bit of a shock to the Pureblood fanatics."

Sirius leaned back against the table, picked up an apple and began to peel it with a small knife and an intense stare at the peel as it wound between his fingers. "Don't let Narcissa's alliance with you against the Dark Lord fool you – she's a Pureblood fanatic to the core. All of them are more than a bit obsessi- bugger!"

The strand of peel had broken.

Harry grinned. "Nothing fanatical running in the family, nope."

Sirius didn't smile. His face was tight. He picked up another apple. This time the sinuous line of peel looped and fell unbroken as the green skin was peeled away. Sirius bit into the white flesh with a sigh of relief. "Thank Merlin. Last time I sat at this table and peeled an apple for luck and didn't do it properly I lost the Quidditch match. I thought I'd be back in Azkaban before sunset…"

"So… nothing to do with being obsessive?"

Sirius grinned. "Nah. That runs in a totally different family, Harry. Not the Blacks. But getting back to Christmas – because I'll be tied up in legalese for the next few months and the brainless bast- I mean, the Ministry officials in their wisdom won't let me take guardianship of you until it's all sorted."

"Yeah, I gathered that."

"I heard you told Fudge off earlier. Sounded like you couldn't wait to be seventeen in and told them to go to hell prematurely."

"I didn't tell him to go to hell! I just… told him I would be sorting out my own life from now on."

"Perhaps it was the tone you used. He's got his robes in a knot, that's for sure." But Sirius wasn't looking the least bit disapproving of Harry's conduct. "Anyway, why are we worrying about that idiot? The rest of the summer looks like being a bit of a write-off for me, but I had a question for you: come Christmas, where do you want to be?"

"Well, if you're allowed, do you want to have a holiday somewhere with me?" Harry asked, trying not to sound too keen, just in case Sirius had something else he had to do. They still weren't back to the easy-going relationship they'd had earlier on in the year, but Harry wanted to be. Now that he could see Sirius' flaws more easily he was determined to draw his own boundaries, such as letting his godfather know when he was pushing Harry into doing something stupid in an effort to resurrect James. Despite everyone over the age of thirty spending the last six years expecting him to be James, Harry wasn't. So long as Sirius was ready to meet him halfway… and Harry knew Sirius wanted this chance at a family as badly Harry did.

Sirius' eyes sparkled. "Love to. Where?"

"Somewhere warm?"

"Tropical warm? I know just the place. Buckb- er, Witherwings and I hid out in the Caribbean after we escaped. I left him with a voodoo witch I met there. Hope he remembers me."

"He will. I'd like to learn to swim. Properly swim – I had to swim in fourth year and didn't like it much – it's freezing cold in the lake – and we could sunbathe and – and go snorkelling like Muggles."

Sirius smiled at Harry's enthusiasm. "I prefer Gillyweed, but living like a Muggle is always an adventure, although having sunburn without a good potion to counter it isn't the kind of fun I care to repeat."

"Ouch."

"We could stop by Montana."

"Would you want to?" Harry asked guardedly.

"What, and miss seeing my old pal Simon? It wouldn't be Christmas without the festive colours of bruises."

Harry chuckled. "He's much more forgiving with you now. He must like you."

Sirius cut slices off his apple, sharing it with Harry. Something drew tighter in Harry's throat as he remembered Severus. But that wasn't a memory he could share with Sirius. Not yet. Perhaps when things were stronger between them, but…

…not yet.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"You were miles away."

"No, just… sorry. What were you saying?"

"Just that next summer, if you want to, I can look at getting a property and warding it to death until it's safe enough to bring Simon back – that's if you still want to live with me when you're a venerable wizard of seventeen going on eighteen, newly graduated and off to take on the world. You still want to join the Aurors, don't you?"

"Not so sure of that… I used to want to, but now I'd like to see what else is out there."

"Good thinking. But if you want to practise your warding spells it's more fun to do it on your own property."

"Wouldn't you want to stay at Grimmauld Place?"

Sirius' face shadowed. "I don't have fond memories of it. I'd like something fresh. Something that's mine, without ghosts. Kreacher can stay there – he'll be happier without me. If that git Malfoy – Lucius, I mean, Draco's grown on me – if Lucius can run a farm, surely I can cope with a small herd of horses. We can get Simon a girlfriend. A couple of girlfriends. As many girlfriends as he wants. Baby horses frisking happily through the daisies in green meadows would give a place a certain cheerfulness my ancestral home has never managed to rise to."

Harry grinned as he chewed his slice of apple. "You want to be a horse farmer?"

"Why not?" Sirius leaned back and stretched out his arms expansively. "Or hippogriffs. Something equine that won't drink all my Firewhisky like those damned flying things do.

Harry shrugged. "Yeah. That could be good. Although we'd have to fight Draco for possession of Simon." He couldn't bring himself to name Luna. Let Sirius think that this was one of those lovers' spats that would blow over in time.

Sirius' grin became a grimace. "He's welcome to come and visit."

"That was heartfelt."

Sirius gave a gusty sigh. "I'll make him welcome. But he's not allowed to be a git in my house. And if Lucius steps foot over the threshold he'll lose his leg."

"Fair enough. So where _are_ you staying this summer?"

Sirius shot him a surprised look. "Back at good old number 12, Grimmauld Place. I thought you knew? Didn't Dumbledore tell you?"

"He only told me he was sending Simon away."

"Oh. No wonder you've been so down in the mouth today. Well, are you going to come and live with me? Fudge wants you to stay at some safehouse of his choosing, I know that, but I've just been talking to Dumbledore and he pointed out that you'll be safest at the old headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. So if you want to come there, you would be officially under Albus' protection – that means the Ministry can't get nasty about me having guardianship of you. I won't be around as much as I'd like, but you can have your friends come and stay and we can have adventures on the weekends when the lawyers are roosting in their belfries. Or are you too cool to be seen with your grungy old godfather now that you're a big hero?"

Harry punched him lightly in the shoulder. Even a punch with real meaning in it wouldn't have made much impact – Sirius was even more solidly built since his student days. The last year of exercise and Hogwarts' good food had gone a long way towards making up for the years in Azkaban. "Yeah. I'm a big hero. You'd better remember it when I walk in the door."

"Showers of rose petals are on hold until I can convince Kreacher to clean the house properly." But his grin was filled with relief, and Harry was reassured to see how important it was to Sirius that Harry join him.

"I guess I can cope with the lack of rose petal showers."

ooOOoo

There were no classes that afternoon and there would be none tomorrow. Some students wanted to throw a party, but despite all the reasons for one there was surprisingly little motivation. Most students were too busy thinking about going home to want to spend time with their friends. Monday afternoon passed with a steady trickle of parents coming to pick up their children, not wanting to wait another day.

Harry went and hid in the library for a few hours. Elmsworthy found him reading old Quidditch manuals there and paused in his return of several dozen books to fold himself into the chair next to Harry and wish him luck for the summer. The Slytherin was already dressed in Muggle jeans and a T-shirt bearing a picture of a lanky racehorse which would have been a closer image of Simon if it had been black rather than chestnut.

"Nice T-shirt. You off tomorrow with everyone else?" Harry asked.

"No, in about an hour. Trudi and I are being sent out together to an Amnesty Point – it's a sort of diplomatic point of transfer for officials and their families only – by-passes all the checkpoints and strip-searches and annoying customs officials."

"Sounds quite handy for international travel. Do you normally travel that way?" Harry was genuinely curious. If he went to Montana, would he get to travel through an Amnesty Point? Strip-searches didn't sound fun, and Elmsworthy's sneer suggested the customs officials themselves were even worse.

"No, usually I just take an International Portkey. But things are a bit up in the air at the moment, and while I don't think either Trudi or I are in danger, you never know. The Ministry doesn't want to take any chances. From there on, I'm off to spend a month relaxing and hopefully eating in some very fine Japanese and Greek restaurants. What about you? Have you thought of going into hiding until some of the furore dies down?"

Harry had overheard speculation about Elmsworthy being involved with the potions to destroy Voldemort and the barrier. It was bad enough that Harry was a target. He'd feel terrible if any of the others who'd helped were harmed. "Is that what you're doing? Hiding out in the Muggle world? You already look the part."

"Not exactly. I was booked to go and visit my Muggle grandparents, and my cousins don't know I'm a wizard. They just think I'm a geek."

"How'd they get that idea?"

"Buggered if I know. It's not like I still wear my Yoda T-shirt."

"No, just one advertising the Melbourne Museum."

"Museums aren't geeky."

Harry decided not to argue. "Is it a horse museum?" For a second he thought it might be fun to take Luna there before the depressing reality of his current foot-in-mouth situation returned.

"No, it's only got the one horse. And that's stuffed."

"Ugh."

Tyrol shrugged. "That's the trouble with being famous when you're a horse – sooner or later someone's going to turn your hooves into snuffboxes or your hide into a chair."

"Simon won't be having that problem," Harry said quickly.

"Good – keep it quiet about him. Too many people might want to take out their disappointments on him now the world is down one Dark Lord."

"I always knew you were fond of Simon."

With a look of pain, Elmsworthy admitted, "You can't hate a horse that's interested in Potions. Did you see how he'd check my hands when I came to the paddock?"

"And he was very curious about your little bottles, too. He was the one who sniffed the Worse-BSM and knew it was dangerous even before the lid was opened."

"Maybe horses aren't that stupid."

Harry leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. "Well, have a good summer." He nodded at the T-shirt logo. "Are you going to be in Melbourne? Hopefully it'll be warm up there."

"This Melbourne's in Australia. Winter there. I'll be a few hours drive from the city in a town called Ballarat."

Harry really should have guessed it wasn't the Melbourne in Scotland (he had been sure there was a city called Melbourne somewhere north of Hogwarts) by the fact Elmsworthy was travelling internationally, and was glad the Slytherin didn't get supercilious over Harry's appalling grasp of geography. "Nice place?"

"Jolly nice place, actually."

"In that case, have a good winter. You can tell me about it in September – it's about time I started thinking about seeing the rest of the world."

"I've finished here."

"Wha-? Oh, of course – this was your last year! Congratulations. What's next? After the holiday, I mean?"

"Dad wants me to get into the family trade." He scowled like a gargoyle. "Thankfully I'll have a month's holiday until he gives me my assignment. To be honest, I think I'd be better off in Potions, and if I end up a fully-fledged ambassador you might need to come out of retirement to stop another war, what."

"Oh, you won't be that bad."

"Don't patronise me, Potter. I'm hideous at diplomacy – I'm even worse than you are at geography."

"Yeah, okay, you are pretty dire. Well, owl me if you get bogged down in angry Dark Lords who want their paperwork handled faster. I can threaten them with Simon or something."

Elmsworthy almost smiled. "The funny thing is that I may actually need to take you and your horse up on that. Come and visit if you're in the part of the world where I'm assigned – it'll be the one with the exploding embassy if you're wondering."

"I'll be sure to," Harry grinned. "Hope you find a way of reconciling Potions and Diplomacy."

"God, me too, or I'll die of boredom. Look after yourself. Comrade." He extended a hand.

Harry took it. "You too. Comrade."

And that was that. Another end. Or another beginning. Harry was losing track of the difference. Flying changes again.

ooOOoo

The Weasleys would be leaving after dinner, Harry was told by Hermione. A special Ministry car was coming to pick up Ron and Ginny.

Tomorrow afternoon the castle would be almost empty with only Harry, a select few students, the staff and the ghosts rattling around inside it. Not even Hermione, Draco or a horse on a hill would remain.

Sirius' plans to take Harry home with him for the rest of summer had come as a huge relief to Harry, who hadn't known what he'd do otherwise (only that there was no way this side of Hell he'd go back to the Dursleys'); however, Sirius would be busy with the Ministry for another two months at the least and he didn't want to have Harry sitting around getting increasingly bored all by himself in a house where not all the Dark artefacts had been found and destroyed.

Remus couldn't babysit (as Sirius had put it with one of his more annoying grins) as he had to stay at Hogwarts to help Dumbledore and the other teachers. Draco was still avoiding the topic of his own parents, but Harry suspected Lucius wasn't out of the woods by a long shot, and the Malfoys were only the visible tip of the iceburg. Many students had 'complicated family affairs', a Ministerial phrase which meant that their parents were dead, missing, overseas, in jail or had pending trials to ascertain innocence or degree of guilt. Quite a few students, Slytherins in particular, had parents that came under more than one of the above category, and it had come as a bit of a surprise for Harry that as far as the Ministry was concerned, he was lumped in with them: his guardian, Sirius, had a legalistic journey of his own to complete. While waiting for places to be sorted out for them, they would stay at Hogwarts for a few extra days.

To the amazement of everybody (Remus included), the werewolf was one of the few staff members accepted as an adult mentor for those students hardest hit by 'complicated family affairs'. The flabbergasted werewolf was the only professor students from all Houses were comfortable mediating for them – he was highly flattered and taking his unasked-for responsibilities as seriously as a born-again sheepdog, but the job was soaking up any time and energy he had free after the work Dumbledore was asking of the staff for healing Hogwarts. Thus Remus couldn't act as guardian _pro tempore_ for Harry.

_Huh. As if I need one. I'll be seventeen in a month…_

But not all the Death Eaters or their supporters had been rounded up yet. So Harry, darling once again of the fickle Wizarding world, needed to be kept safe.

Safe? Harry wasn't sure he was safe, not with the legions of wizards and witches (mostly witches) trying to get into the castle on the pretext of coming back to their beloved Old School or the School their Dearest Offspring were Attending to gawk at him and ask for his autograph (and occasionally propose marriage). Some of the people didn't even have children attending, or weren't graduates from his time at Hogwarts.

Maybe it would be best to go to America after all.

At least no witches or wizards there other than Robert Python would know who he was.

No witches or wizards other than Robert Python and Luna.

ooOOoo

The Aurors were setting up the equipment to transport Simon down in the meadow. Harry and Hermione went down to take a look. Fat amethyst pyramids twinkled at the corners of a square, their sloping sides greasy with waiting magic. When activated, Hermione told Harry, a central amethyst would rise up into the air, forming a pyramid of magical power that created an interdimensional channel between Hogwarts and Rob's ranch. Simon would be sent through a twinkle in the world.

The Aurors working on the project were being overseen by a small man, vague or brisk by turns, with a great froth of white hair radiating around an otherwise bald head rising through it like a full moon through cloud. He'd been introduced to Harry as Kew.

Kew was perhaps the first visitor to Hogwarts uninterested in Harry. Right now he was walking around the meadow with a forked stick twitching in his hands as he mapped out the leylines, muttering to himself in some arcane dialect of Arithmancy. Even Hermione didn't know what he was on about. Harry decided to leave her to the puzzle, and went to visit Simon.

He was met halfway up the hill by Draco, running down.

"He's gone!"

"What?" Harry didn't need to ask who 'he' was. Draco looked like someone who hadn't decided on panic, tears or apoplectic rage, so it was hardly going to be Elmsworthy he was upset about. "Who took him?"

"I don't know," Draco gasped, winded by running and panic. He must have been searching the entire paddock. The Aurors? Maybe they sent him to Montana early…"

"No, they're still setting up."

"Death Eaters?"

Harry had been thinking the same thing. "Probably not," he said quickly, not wanting to send the Slytherin into complete hysterics. "Maybe someone took Simon somewhere out of sight until he gets shipped out."

Draco shot him a look like Harry was mentally challenged.

"Think about it," Harry persisted, warming to the idea. "After we took him last week, do you think Dumbledore trusts us not to nick off with him?"

Draco's nose twitched and his eyes sharpened with a predatory gleam as he began to calm down. Some days he had an uncanny resemblance to that ferret he'd once been. "Good point. So where would he have been taken? They wouldn't send him away without us there, would they? I mean, who else is there he – …Luna. Luna must have gone up to catch him." He exhaled loudly through his teeth. "She would think she was doing Simon a favour… somewhere in her odd brain she would have found justification for my heart-attack!"

Now it looked like Harry was going to have to protect Luna. "Well, we don't know it was Luna –"

Grey eyes raked him with scorn. "Who else, Potter? Hagrid can't catch Simon, and Flitwick's scared stiff of him. And I just saw Hooch down by the lake talking to some parents. It _has_ to be Luna. Where would she have taken him?"

Harry shrugged. "The big pen Hagrid and I first put him in? The one down by the stables?"

"I suppose it's as good a place as any to start."

They hurried to the pen. The gate was shut, but they didn't need to open it to know Simon wasn't inside. The muffled bangs and thuds coming from inside the barn were as good as a flashing neon sign pointing out the horse's direction.

Harry and Draco shoved the wide doors open and stood for a moment, letting their eyes adjust to the shadowy interior. Dust drifted down from the ceiling high above as something crashed against a wall down the other end of the barn. There was the unmistakable sound of hooves on hard-packed dirt.

They took out their wands and ran to the closed door of the loosebox, Draco's shoulders tilting with apprehension as they reached it. He'd been blind when the monster had attacked him here, but perhaps his feet remembered the way.

There was another crash. It sounded like a large, frightened horse was kicking at the walls.

"Quick! Something's attacking him!" Draco grunted, yanking at the handle of the door, which wouldn't lift the latch. He kicked the door.

Something on the other side kicked at a wall again. More dust shivered down. Muffled voices exclaimed; there was a yelp.

At least two people in there – Harry was sure he recognised the voices, but he couldn't quite put names to them yet.

Harry watched the Slytherin wrestle with the door for another second. It seemed to have been locked from the inside. "Move out of the way, Malfoy. _Alohomora!" _he cried, and there was a bang and the door swung open to reveal yellow-lit chaos.

"What the hell are you doing to my horse!?" Draco screamed, his face scarlet.

Harry stopped, equally appalled. "Like Malfoy almost said – what the hell are you doing to Simon?"

Inside the loosebox, light globes hovered above the mayhem, casting far too many shadows, shadows that seemed to fight and merge with each other.

Her hair a blazing beacon, Ginny had her hands pressed against Simon's shoulder and neck and was engaged in a weird tarantella to keep her feet out of the way as the horse plunged around the loosebox. She seemed to be staying upright by hanging on to the edge of the horse's cover.

Simon had the whites showing all around his rolling eyes like an eclipse and sweat was turning his neck slick, and he seemed torn between making a break for it through a solid wall and not trampling over Luna, who was hanging on for grim death to the horse's head.

Up in the hayloft perched Neville, industriously stirring a cauldron of foaming purple muck that was starting to ooze over the brim. He gaped at Harry and Draco. "It's okay, Harry, I'm just –"

"Just about to blow everyone up," Draco shouted, hurrying forward with Harry at his heels.

Luna glared at him and unclenched one hand from the headcollar for the second it took to wave her wand, first to shut the door before Simon could wheel around and charge through it, then:

_"Petrificus totalis."_

Harry was just quick enough to stop Draco pitching face forward onto the ground, but the weight knocked him off his feet and he dropped his wand. "Argh… Malfoy… Are you -? Damn it! Luna, are you completely insane?" he snarled as he groped through the straw for his wand. He got it, then quickly dragged Draco into a corner before Simon could trample him in his panic.

"I'm in the middle of something, Harry," Luna replied grimly. "Come on… I know you can do it… come on… Poseidon…" She was speaking to the horse now, and Simon reared, Luna swinging from his head and gasping with the shock, and Ginny Weasley doing her best to keep contact with the juddering, shifting neck of the terrified beast.

"Don't let go!" Luna cried.

"I'm not," Ginny muttered, her face locked in concentration. "Merlin's sake, Luna, he's not doing anything, he's…"

"Poseidon! Poseidon!" Luna was shouting. "More dry ice, Neville!"

Neville, wide-eyed as Simon, threw in fuming white pellets.

The cauldron hissed. Bubbles began to ooze over the rim.

"That's it! Now the sparklers!"

In went the sparklers from Weasleys Wizard Wheezes.

The cauldron rocked on its base and sent up a cascade of phosphorescent foam.

Simon made a hoarse, gasping noise of panic. He had his tail clamped down hard, just like Padfoot being chased by something very scary, and he thrashed his head from side to side, nearly throwing Luna across the stall. "Poseidon, for Merlin's sake! Po- ouch!" she gasped as her leg smacked against the manger.

"Poseidon?" Harry said faintly. Luna had said that when she'd had concussion. He'd asked Hermione once what was special about some old god of the ocean, and she'd said –

"He's going bonkers!" Ginny shouted. Simon was trying to rear again. She clung to his mane and the cover. "He's – oh my goodness…"

Harry felt it.

Stone out in the wider area of Hogwarts vibrated as the magic stirred. The ground beneath the straw began to shift and spit out long-buried stones which glittered with little sparks as they answered the demands of a sorceress. They burst like exploding puffballs, releasing magic into the air along with the acrid smell of dying rock.

Ginny's hair crackled with power and she cried out: "Oh dear… here we go…" and was enveloped by a whirling indigo haze that spiralled out of her fingers where they were suddenly glued to the horse.

The haze hovered around the horse, curling without actually making contact with Simon's blanket. It was frighteningly like the silvery mist that had attacked Voldemort, but he sensed on the deepest level of him, that place where magic came from, that this was a different type of enchantment. Where Voldemort had been fighting against the power of unicorns and Forest, the magics of Simon and Ginny were seeking a consensus of power. Yellow and graphite arced from the anti-theft charm in Simon's chest, a flare of power visible through the blanket and straps over Simon's chest, the magic juddering against the spinning light of the charm, and threaded through the indigo mist, mapping out new roads as magic sought equilibrium.

A brief spike of light pulsed through the loosebox as an answering spell – the second spell in Simon's chest – sparked to life.

Harry blinked, trying to clear the lights popping behind his eyes. It took a moment before he could be sure that he wasn't imagining the spells shifting over Simon. There was a pale light spinning like a top that had managed to lodge itself in Simon's chest despite all laws of physics. It lay just off to the right of the more slowly turning anti-theft charm. Sirius had pointed it out to Harry that day he'd got his leg broken, and Draco had also seen it and described it as being at the wrong angle.

The second light shifted, gliding towards the anti-theft charm until it was overlying it, both spells spinning in the same direction but at different rates.

Somehow this position looked _right_ – Harry couldn't explain how he knew, but he was certain it was back in place.

And yet that sorcerous, indigo light wasn't actually contacting the spell… it was as if the spell and the light were both freewheeling, straining towards each other, with the whirling light unable to catch the cogs of the spell and activate and Ginny's magic pushing at the boundaries with all the strength it could muster from bone and sinew in a supreme effort to get spinning light and charm .

The effect on the horse was crippling.

Simon wheezed, standing like a new-born foal or a dying horse with all four legs spread and head lowered.

"It won't catch," Ginny shouted. The ground was shaking as badly as Simon. Ginny was beginning to look terrified rather than merely worried. Sparks flew from her and sizzled in the straw. Some of it twined itself into miniature figures that skittered away on two or four legs into the corners of the loosebox before disintegrating. Draco twitched as the spell holding him broke under all the wild magic crackling through the stable.

"Poseidon! Come on, Poseidon!" begged Luna.

Simon gave an almost human groan and his knees began to buckle as the twirling lights of the anti-theft charm and the second mystery spell stabbed into his chest, seeking, seeking, seeking…

Harry felt his stomach drop as he finally remembered what Hermione had told him… Poseidon wasn't just the god of the ocean but the god of horses as well. What better trigger-word than the name of a god?

"Poseidon reversed," he said faintly, hearing his own voice as if from a great distance, the words spoken by some Harry Potter who was in this place instead of him.

"What?" said Ginny.

"Poseidon reversed," said Harry, louder against the ringing in his ears. Nothing could be as bad as Voldemort, but – "Poseidon reversed."

Ginny gasped and sparks flew from her fingertips and raced up and down Simon's spine, ripping paths through the mist surrounding the horse, paths that immediately flooded grey and yellow. The world stopped quivering as sorcerous magic found itself a focal point.

There was a soft pop as two charms merged into one, and a release of pressure that made Harry wince at the pain in his ears.

Ginny shook her head – everyone was shaking their head or swallowing hard as their ears popped – and gaped at him. "You – you… what did you do?"

But the sorceress' attention was immediately drawn back to Simon. The mist sighed, fluttered, then sank into the horse. Lines in graphite grey and buttercup yellow briefly mapped out all the angles and curves making up the horse's body, shining through the blanket. Simon froze like a sketch of a horse trapped on paper and then the paper shifted in a breeze not felt by mortal skin, as the white rimming his dark eyes made its own dimension, an eclipse of the moon by the sun –

Simon looked up and it was as if a light went on behind his eyes, like that day on the roof when Harry had looked into Simon's eye and sensed _someone_ looking back at him.

It blazed.

Simon collapsed in on himself, a sketch of the horse folding like origami with the dark and the light fighting for ascendance, the headcollar falling empty in Luna's hands and the blanket rippling and dropping to cover the suddenly smaller body sinking down to sprawl in the straw.

Harry teetered, about to run forward, hoping against hope he could still rescue his horse and deny Ginny's powers and Poseidon Reversed. Hope shattered at the sight that hit him like a Stunner to the chest, and he groaned, unconsciously mimicking Simon when the light burrowed into his chest.

Simon dissolved into his own eclipse. The light flared up in one last crackle of grey and yellow and vanished in on itself.

"No! Simon!"

But the horse was gone. All that remained of Simon was a blanket-shrouded figure collapsed in the straw.

Hands instead of hooves emerged from under the cover and, trembling, pushed the former Simon up until the figure was kneeling. The edge of the cover slipped back to reveal a fall of hair as long and black as a horse's mane and a pale shoulder gleaming with sweat.

Luna crouched down and, with a wave of her wand, transfigured the canvas cover into black robes that billowed and settled over a rangy human form. She stroked the long black hair and tucked it gently behind an ear.

"Welcome home," she said.

ooOOoo


	101. Chapter 101

ooOOoo  
**  
**Chapter 101

WizSPCA disclaimer: No gila lizards (Ninja Brigade or Shaolin), Space Bunnies or cows were harmed during the writing of this fanfiction. One Dark Lord and multiple Acromantulas and Dementors were pulped, assorted Death Eaters were hexed (some with extreme prejudice), a werewolf was bitten, a biting buttercup received a stern look, the students who hurt Luna are now receiving therapy from Gilderoy Lockhart, Lucius Malfoy's nose was broken twice (putting it forever out of joint) and his hair mussed. Sirius Black was savaged by a badger, kicked twice by a horse, and will carry the memory of his riding lesson to his dying day. It was a story of two halves, and benign dictatorship was the winner on the day. Although at least one sufferer of Mad Cow Disease was fatally kicked in the head, the cows themselves are OK and currently being tended to by Hagrid. All violent incidents fall within the established ethical parameters of fanfiction as set out by Space Bunny Central Control Literature Committee. (For a full copy of ethical procedure in regards to the arts, underwater basket-weaving, rugby league, or zombie manufacture, apply in person to Comrades Megaflopsy and Mopsytron, Section FF, Martian Colony Gamma.)

Intellectual copyright disclaimers: Elmsworthy's bandoleers stocked with potion phials were first used by Rabbit (no, not in the least way a Space Bunny) in her wonderful story "Balance", so credit goes to her rather than famed Mexican revolutionary Pancho Villa (and it was _completely_ coincidental that Elsa saw a movie based on the life of Pancho Villa as he was depicted by Antonio Banderas). And, of course, characters and imaginary settings belong to JK Rowling and the legal-eagles at Warner.

I can honestly say, hand on heart rather than on left lung, that this long and winding fic that leads to your screen would not have been finished had it not been for the people who reviewed along the way. My thanks to you guys for your support and for making this a better story with your suggestions and sharp proof-reading eyes that spottted typos and badness grammar. So give yourselves a hearty pat on the back (try to do it without dislocating your shoulder) and sit back wherever you are for the last chapter. It's for you.

And now…

… on to the end.

ooOOoo

There was a moment's silence.

It was broken by the cauldron burping up a final purple gassy bubble.

Luna muttered a spell and an opaque blue wall shot up across the opening to the loft to block their view of an open-mouthed Neville and the cauldron which was still sending out bubbles and sparks.

Draco made an inarticulate sound and rushed forward, pushing the stunned Ginny out of the way without seeming to notice she was there. He dropped down to his knees and threw his arms around the transformed Simon, who lifted his head and squinted against the light of the globes, clearly confused and still frightened, although the anxiety faded when Luna stroked his arm and whispered something Harry couldn't hear.

Draco sat back on his heels, wiping his eyes on the back of a shaking hand. "Professor. It's really you?"

"It's him, Draco," Luna said.

"Hah! I knew – I _always_ knew he was a Slytherin sort of horse! Professor, welcome back!"

Luna put a finger to her lips. "Shh, he's still a bit unsure of who he is. Just be patient. Don't startle him."

"You knew who he was all this time," Harry stated hoarsely.

At the sound of his voice, eyes just as dark as Simon's blinked from behind the black hair that had fallen forward like a forelock to curtain them. They turned, found Harry, and the tension ebbed from them as if they were glad to see him.

Dazed, feeling vaguely horrified and inexplicably betrayed, Harry turned on his heel and let his legs march out of the loosebox before any more lies could happen. He nearly walked into Dumbledore, who put out a hand to stop him.

"Harry."

it took a moment before Harry could sort through the dozens of automatic denials and accusations before he managed a soft, "You – you knew?"

"Yes."

"Is there anyone out there who isn't laughing at the giant cosmic joke that is my life?"

"This is no joke, Harry, nobody is laughing, and the only one outside of Hogwarts aware of Simon's true identity is Mr Python." Dumbledore's hand tightened on his shoulder. "It is vital you take care for no-one else to stumble across this secret."

Harry blinked at him. He couldn't find any words that fitted a situation like this. He wasn't sure if he wanted to congratulate someone or vomit.

"Mr Longbottom, Mr Malfoy, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore continued, his voice rising to carry past Harry, yet remaining soft and calm. "I trust to your discretion on this. The story will go that a pocket was created in the barrier as it formed, which trapped Professor Snape out of time."

"Sir?" said Ginny, who had followed Harry. With her face blanched around her freckles, she looked almost as shaken as Harry felt.

Neville squeezed around the wall of sky spell and climbed down from the loft. He tripped and landed in the hay with a thump and a softly spoken apology. His pale face flamed with embarrassment, and he stared at his feet rather than make eye contact with the trio sitting on the ground as he hurried out to join Harry, Ginny and Dumbledore. He stared back into the stall where Luna, sitting in the straw with Draco (who hadn't seemed to notice Dumbledore's arrival) and Snape, was buttoning up the neck of Snape's robes and talking to him and patting his shoulder as if the man were still Simon. Neville shook his head in disbelief and stared at Dumbledore as if the headmaster had gone around the bend, up the wall, and taken a swandive into new realms of insanity. "Really, sir?" he quavered. "But why?"

"For the safety of Miss Lovegood as well as Professor Snape," said Dumbledore. "Professor Snape has many enemies. They won't hesitate to use Luna against him."

"I… don't understand," said Neville. "Just because she looked after him when he was a horse? That makes her a target? But if Ginny turned him back –"

"Ginny isn't his niece," Harry said bitterly.

Neville's eyes bulged. "She what?"

"Harry…" began Dumbledore.

"I won't tell anyone," he said. "If you don't mind, sir, I have things to do back in the castle…" He ignored Dumbledore's outstretched hand and sad blue eyes and hurried out of the stable.

ooOOoo

Harry didn't stay in the castle. Some deep restless itch of the spirit drove him out again, and he went for a walk in the Forest. He didn't come back in time to see Ron and Ginny go. There was a shameful relief in this, and he spent the rest of the evening avoiding Hermione and Draco. Sirius tracked him down near the lake and silently handed over a packet of sandwiches to Harry, who was far more hungry than he'd thought he was. Harry knew his godfather thought Simon's leaving was what had upset him, but for once Sirius had the tact not to ask.

Trailed by a large black dog where once he might have been trailed by a large black horse, Harry prowled the grounds until Remus, even more reserved than usual, came out and herded them inside, whether seeing himself as a teacher enforcing the curfew or as a werewolf that now rounded up straying students rather than eating them, it was impossible to say. Remus was definitely holding _something_ back, but it took several minutes of walking before he found the words he wanted to explain a delicate situation, or perhaps he simply gave up and went for the truth.

"You won't believe this," Remus said as they came up the hill from Hagrid's towards the castle, "but that barrier had some very odd properties. It actually trapped someone inside a little bubble of time."

"You're kidding." Now back in human form, this was the first time Sirius had spoken this evening in Harry's presence. "Not some random Death Eater, I hope." He snorted. "Mind you, I'd like to see his face when he finds out Voldemort's snuffed it."

Remus shot him a sideways look, and in that look was all the wariness he'd been radiating so strongly. "Not exactly a Death Eater, no."

"I know there's been someone taken to a private room in the Infirmary. No-one's allowed in or out. Hah, It's not Voldemort is, it?"

"No. It's, er, it's Severus. Severus Snape."

By the expression of horror on Sirius' face, Voldemort was the preferred option. "No. Moony, tell me you're joking."

Remus looked tired, something he did quite well. "As far as he's concerned, it was only a few moments between getting caught in the bubble and coming out of it. Doesn't know what's been going on the last few months; apparently his health is fine although Dumbledore is keeping him under very careful scrutiny."

Sirius made a noise of scorn.

"Don't start anything, Sirius. The headmaster is over the moon to have him back, and has ways and means of keeping him safe in the Infirmary. Thought I'd better warn you," Remus said quickly, with a glance at Harry to catch his reaction. His eyes sharpened. "But did you already know, Harry?"

"I'd heard, um, a rumour…"

"Hmm. Sirius, I shouldn't have to tell you to stay away from the Infirmary. One Auror has already been sent to St Mungo's after barging his way in because he wanted to question Snape."

Sirius' mouth pinched thin. "I'll mind my own business. Dumbledore should know I won't do anything counter to the war effort, even if Snape _did_ sit out the occupation in a happy little bubble of time. But… all right."

"Harry?"

"I'm trying to stay out of the Infirmary. For the sake of my health." He forced a smile.

"Well, for the sake of my health, maybe –"

"Sirius. Just… don't start anything."

"Fine, Remus, fine. When did you stop being fun?"

"When you tried using me to commit murder," the werewolf snapped.

Sirius' face went red. He nodded, and had the wisdom to stay silent.

"So-oo… are we going to be allowed to play Quidditch again?" Harry said.

Recognising Harry's clumsy attempt to smooth things over, Remus gave him a look of mingled exasperation and fondness. "So long as no fatalities occur – or more inter-House rivalries sprout up, because it's fifty percent Slytherins stocking the student population after the train leaves tomorrow and I don't need cocky Gryffindors or know-it-all Ravenclaws spoiling the peace me and the Hufflepuffs have spent so much time arranging – then perhaps we could think about it."

Harry put his hand over where he thought his heart was. "I'll be good. I never start the fights, anyway. Promise."

"You swear on your left lung?"

"What? No, it's meant to be my heart."

"How come nobody teaches anatomy here, Remus?" Sirius said, shaking his head.

Remus shrugged. "I asked about it for teaching DADA, thinking it would be helpful, but one of the members of the Board of Governors thought it would be too much like a lesson in butchery having a werewolf teach human anatomy."

"Bet it was Malfoy," growled Sirius.

"It might have been Malfoy," Remus said peaceably. "But no matter."

"I think that if you want to teach anatomy next year," Harry said slowly, "you might be in luck. There's a new Malfoy in charge."

Remus looked away, but not quickly enough that Harry missed the grin. The way his shoulders shook could have been from grief, but under the circumstances he decided not. "So should I run my curriculum past Draco?" Remus said once he'd got himself back under control.

"Actually, he might have a few ideas," Harry began slowly, then was hit by a new idea. "Hey, how about having students write down what they want to learn? You could send out a survey over summer! I'd like to learn more about other races, like centaurs, and whatever old magics the Founders felt they had to work with or against – I reckon things would have been pretty different a thousand years ago. Are the wards you're helping repair different to those we use today? And edge creatures – or maybe Hagrid should teach us those…"

Remus held up his hands in surrender. "I need to rethink all my classes. Maybe a survey _would_ be useful… How about it, Harry? Care to help me think up some more examples for students to choose from? Or we could even have an extracurricular class, or a club like you had with the DA. So many of the students, like Millicent Bulstrode, were useful in organising groups that we mightn't need them to be run by teachers. It's a shame Elmsworthy has finished, but then again we don't need extra lessons in how to blow things up."

"Seamus could teach that.

"Quite right. And there must be other things students would like to learn – Colin Creevey is quite artistic. I wonder if Dobby would teach cooking? That would be novel – a house elf as a tutor."

"We could have another ghost teach specialist history – some of them might know about the Founders and they mightn't be as boring as Binns – Sir Nick can be pretty interesting."

"I'm not having Peeves take classes – some of the weakening of the wards dates from a year or two ago – the castle is still recovering from Fred and George."

"I'm pretty good with Charms and Transfiguration," Sirius offered.

Remus nodded. "That's true."

"If you have time next year, perhaps you could get special permission to help tutor," said Harry.

Sirius scratched under his chin. "Yeah. Yeah, I could do that. As soon as I get that full pardon, I'll need to be busy with something. Aurors wouldn't take me, not unless they were arresting me again, but I think I could probably teach a special class on how to become an Animagus… What do you think, Harry?"

_I think having you and Snape both on staff could destroy all those wards everyone is working so hard to resurrect. _"I'd sign up for that. Although maybe you could have it as a private class – that way you don't have to worry about the Governors, and you could teach in your own time at your own school… maybe in Hogsmeade… lots of adult wizards would like to learn, I bet!"

Sirius nodded, and Remus shot Harry a grateful look. Perhaps he'd been thinking the same thing as Harry had belatedly realised: putting Sirius and Snape in the same building was as clever as putting a kneazle and a crup in the same sack. "Harry's right, Sirius. You'd be better at teaching adults. They have less qualms with telling you to go to hell when you're being overbearing."

Sirius managed a rueful grin. "Good point."

As they came back into the castle, Filch was waiting. He gave Harry a sour look, unimpressed by the Slayer of Dark Lords, and closed the doors. Sirius ignored him, and Remus gave him a nod of acknowledgement that was not returned before leading the way up the stairs, but Harry was already frowning upwards.

Dumbledore was waiting up on the landing. "Ah, there you are," he said as the three approached him.

"Is it true that Snape's back?" Sirius said, voice straining with the effort of appearing politely interested in someone's welfare.

Dumbledore, like Harry, wasn't fooled. "Yes, he is, and no, you can't visit him. Or send him a get well card, or any sort of gift." For once Dumbledore wasn't mincing words.

"I wasn't going to. I'd ask why everyone thinks the worst of me; however" – Sirius gave his successful pirate grin – "I must admit that history has certain flashing red lights of warning in my background. But I'm behaving myself – for Harry's sake if nothing else."

"Good. I really don't want you waiting out the weeks until your retrial in Azkaban."

Sirius gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I'll behave."

"Glad to hear it. Harry, do you have a few minutes before you return to Gryffindor?"

"Er…"

"Excellent. Remus, Sirius, I bid you two a fond good night, pleasant dreams to you both."

Remus led Sirius away, Sirius grumbling almost under his breath "…like I'm going to have a pleasant dreams with Snape back in the world…"

"Sometimes I get the oddest notion, that Sirius has his little grudges running like one of those golems they use in the Levant," Dumbledore mused. "A lot of unthinking – perhaps you could say thoughtless – action, all stemming from a few ill-considered words given uncounted years earlier."

"I think it might have stemmed from more than a few words, sir."

"Hmm, yes."

Dumbledore and Harry walked in silence to the Headmaster's Office. They woke the guardian gargoyle, which complained about the late hours, and allowed the spiral stairs to carry them upwards. In the office, Fawkes trilled a greeting. Dumbledore stroked the bird and took his seat.

"Tea, Harry? Cocoa?"

"No thanks."

"Have you eaten since lunch?"

"Sirius brought me some sandwiches for dinner."

"Kind of him. Have you decided if you wish to stay with him over the summer?"

"Yes, I will." Harry exhaled sharply. "I don't think I was ever that comfortable with going to Montana for some reason."

"Indeed. Perhaps you picked up subconsciously that it was the wrong place for you and Simon."

"There is no Simon. There never was." There. He'd finally said it.

Dumbledore turned his eyes to the window for a moment, seemingly in a reflex action, for the sky was dark and stars shone down on the distant, empty hill. "Please sit down, Harry."

The last time he'd been in this office he'd been bristling with a crackling energy he couldn't name, let alone find a focus for. Now, all Harry's bones felt old and brittle, abandoned by the strength the energy had lent them. With more relief than concession and a creak from his knees, he lowered himself awkwardly into the chair. Lifting his glasses with one hand, he rubbed his face with the other. His eyes were gritty; his hands smelt of decaying leaves from sitting on the Forest floor, and also vinegar… oh, the sandwiches Sirius had brought him had had chutney in them, he realised tiredly.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers. "The charm used to create Simon is a dangerous one."

"Sorry?" Harry felt as if he'd missed half the conversation.

"Keeping up the pretence of a horse with no past while Professor Snape was trapped in the guise of Simon is self-explanatory, but you deserve an explanation for the continued need for dissimulation."

Harry couldn't argue the fact that keeping it secret from the students that the most hated professor at Hogwarts was a vulnerable animal was self-explanatory, but part of him twitched at any opportunity to argue. He had a good case to argue: as one of the three people responsible for the horse, shouldn't he have been told the exact nature of his charge? Then he could have told Malfoy and Luna to look after the bad-tempered brute by themselves. Things would have been completely different. He – He squelched the rising anger and resonating guilt with a quick count to ten. Able to think again, he tried to keep his mind clear, although he was vaguely puzzled by why he should feel wretched over not wanting to look after Simon-who-had-never-existed. "Oh. Okay."

Dumbledore watched him for half a second longer than strictly necessary before saying, "Currently, the Animagus transformation is strictly regulated by the Ministry, and for good reason. Rita Skeeter – a bug, I believe – provides a case in point of how unregistered Animagi can create mischief. Now, imagine a world in which a witch or wizard of unremarkable power but a talent for drawing can alter themselves into the animal of their choosing."

Harry frowned, thinking of the fig Severus had eaten. "I think you need more than a little power…"

"In its earliest form, the charm developed by the Snape siblings did require a catalyst. Severus was unsure of what the original one was, although if his memory of that time returns he may be able to reveal –"

"It was a fig. From Hufflepuff's Glasshouse."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. His fingers, which had been lightly stroking his beard, froze for the barest moment. "My goodness. How remarkable. Also fortunate that neither you spontaneously combusted from contact with an unripe specimen."

"The tree dropped fruit for us," Harry remembered. "It wanted us to eat it."

"Helga was reputed to have had a gift for creating communicative flora, although no records were left of methods nor results."

Harry filed that fact away in his memory for later consideration, although after the Forest speaking through him it didn't surprise him in the least. "So if Se-nape ate the fig, maybe that was all the trigger he needed. You mightn't have to worry about other people using the spell to change into lots of different animals."

"Unfortunately his sister was also able to change form. While possessed of an inquisitive, intelligent mind, she never had half the power Severus has. The charm itself is time-consuming to effect, but once stabilised within the magical field of witch or wizard it is self-sustaining and open to a range of morphologies. Once the charm was developed, I gather she managed to change into three different animals even without the help of a fig, although it has never been made clear to me why she was unable to spend more than twenty minutes in one form at any one time."

"But she was only able to take on a form for twenty minutes?"

"Yes."

"That doesn't make sense – S-nape was a badger overnight – we had to wait until we'd rested before we could change him back."

"You changed him back? He didn't do so by himself?"

"Well, I said the reverse spell…"

"Hmm."

"… And he was Simon for months! You said he's more powerful than his sister was, though…"

"Yet the spell drew lightly from his magic. Neither Severus nor Selene found themselves significantly lessened energetically in any way after deactivation of the spell."

Selene? Oh, that must have been the name of Luna's mum. It was embarrassing that Harry hadn't bothered to find this out before now. "So when they changed back from some animal form they weren't tired?"

"Not particularly. There are arithmantaical formulae which they used to calculate the magical input necessary to change shape, but they only confirmed what they felt: once the spell is embedded, the energy needed to activate it and hold the animal shape is minimal."

"But with Luna's mother it only lasted a short time."

"Yes. Perhaps it was the initial boost given by the fig that gave the activated spell its longevity in Severus' case. He did not quite understand how it would remain active on him for significant lengths of time and not his sister."

"What happened if she tried to stay in an animal form for longer than twenty minutes?"

"The spell would snap and send her back into her human form."

"Sounds safe enough…"

"Superficially, so it would seem. The only caveats of the spell is that the picture it uses for a template be accurately representative of the target species, and drawn by the witch or wizard who wishes to take on the form of that creature."

"Maybe she wasn't such a good artist."

"As a matter of fact she was an excellent artist, as is her daughter."

"Oh." Harry leaned back in the chair and stared at his thumbs, which were tapping at each other. He didn't want to consider the chances of Luna getting stuck as an animal, her mind falling away into dimensions beyond the ones she'd successfully returned from. "Would Luna ever – of course she would." He shook his head, trying to dislodge the unwelcome thoughts. "So the Ministry doesn't want people running around in all sorts of disguises. Seems a bit unfair – there could be ways of marking people who've changed shape with that charm."

"That is true, and lawyers do sell charms to protect patents, although tagging it with a tracking charm makes it only slightly less difficult to police. The Ministry is highly suspicious of new spells of such a – shall we say – _transformative _nature." The blue of his eyes took on the sharp edge of sapphires. "Ministry officials would start bandying around words and phrases such as 'ramifications' and 'disruptive social engineering'. The originators of the charm would be challenged as to their motivations when they put the effort into the charm's creation, and suspicions would be raised over their backgrounds."

"But Severus wasn't a Death Eater when –!" Harry began hotly, then snapped his mouth shut when Dumbledore splayed his fingers and nodded.

"Ah, true, but it makes no difference to the Ministry. The Ministry works to its own prejudices. In addition, Harry, and one must never underestimate the importance of the formidable weapons available to the Ministry, there is a horrendous amount of red tape in the patenting of new spells. Professor Snape has always hated paperwork." For a moment his eyes regained their twinkle as they regarded Harry over the half-moon spectacles. Then Dumbledore's hand stilled on his beard again. "But there is another, greater reason for keeping it secret. When I say the charm was developed, I am not informing you of the most dangerous issue concerning it, one that was in effect since Tom's attack on Hogwarts, the effect which took a combination of a sorceress and your remembrance of the counterspell to undo it. As far as I can tell, for Severus is not always forthcoming about his research, the charm was never fully perfected. While it is self-sustaining once in place, there is a certain lack of cohesion to the coordinating magics that leaves the charm open to the sort of fragmentation that can trap the user in the animal state without retaining consciousness of his or her human identity."

"But that only happened when Malfoy tried to kill Snape, didn't it?"

_"Professor_ Snape, Harry, and while it was a particularly violent curse, deadly and painful enough to provoke Professor Snape into instinctively trying to manifest another body which could shake off the curse and thus trapping himself as the unwitting Simon, there could be others, superficially innocuous, which might damage the charm in a similar manner. In an environment like Hogwarts, where students throw around spells without fully understanding the laws that divide a charm from a hex, it would be courting disaster should he – or others who have learned to use the charm – attempt to activate it. It would be best if he removed it from his magical field altogether."

"It – was it the charm that killed Luna's mother?"

Dumbledore shook his head and half lifted a hand. "No, no. That was a different experiment."

"But did the charm weaken her somehow? You said it was never perfected – what if it set up some sort of dangerous resonance with the spells she was practising?"

Dumbledore smiled softly if a little sadly. "It is gratifying to hear your concern, but no. Selene had removed the charm from her magical field to give herself more scope for her research, and she was working on a very different set of spells at the time. Luna and Severus were aware of her research. I believe Severus to have had exactly the same concerns as you. He was searching for any explanation for the death of his sister and rather distressed to think that any project they might have been working on could have destabilised her magic and resulted in such a tragedy. But the post-mortem inquest was very precise in its conclusions. It was reported in the papers at the time, but if you wish to study them I would ask some discretion from you – Luna is very good at concealing the depths of her true feelings, and I do not believe she has yet to recover from witnessing her mother's death."

"I understand." _I'm an idiot and Luna's had enough to deal with in her life without me making her feel worse. I should just leave her alone – say I'm sorry for how I've treated her, then leave her alone to get on with her life._ He rubbed one hand through his hair, vaguely registering the fact that it needed a wash. "So this means Simon is gone for good."

"For Professor Snape's good, yes."

Harry rubbed his palms over his knees and looked at the bookshelves, wishing he was somewhere else. It didn't really matter where. "Was that what you wanted to tell me?"

"Not quite." Dumbledore took a breath. "I wanted to thank you for helping Hogwarts with more than Lord Voldemort. When you told me all those years ago that I could trust you, I am so glad that I listened. Thank you for defeating Tom Riddle, Harry. I will let the Ministry give you all the accolades you deserve for saving the rest of the world, but from me, both officially as Headmaster of Hogwarts and unofficially as your friend and someone who loves you and deeply regrets the tasks I and Wizarding society have forced upon you, I wish to thank you for rescuing Hogwarts. Thank you for giving aid to a man who is a valuable member of staff as well as one of my friends while he was caught in a dangerous tangle of fractured spells. Thank you for your bravery and your tenacity and most of all, thank you for the loyalty you have given your friends. Thank you for extending your friendship to people who were once your enemies. I hope that you will one day be rewarded for your daring in that last, most difficult of challenges. For without friends – good friends, true friends, friends who love and value us in return – without friends we may never reap the sweetest harvests of the lives we live. You, Harry Potter, you have worked hard and deserve all the golden bounty life has to offer. That is what I wanted to tell you."

Harry's throat had closed over. It took a moment until he could swallow properly to clear it and he took the time to wipe his eyes, which were blurring. "Thank you, sir."

He wasn't sure he could choke out anything else and dreaded being asked questions, but all Dumbledore said was a quiet, "Good night, Harry," and Harry nodded and left, with a soft, lingering chirp from Fawkes, a falling note as sweet as anything Dumbledore had suggested Harry's life should contain, to lighten his steps down the staircase.

ooOOoo

Harry slept deep and well and not even Neville's snoring woke him. Luckily Dean was thoughtful enough to poke his shoulder until Harry woke up or he would have missed breakfast, because after his hurried shower Harry discovered he was ravenous. Was Dean the only one brave enough to risk waking him? Because as he walked down to the Great Hall most of the other students were stepping warily around Harry. It was as if killing Voldemort had suddenly turned him into something dangerous… but it was also possible that the way he'd been snapping at everyone yesterday might have had something to do with it, he decided with a yawn.

He found a table in a quiet corner.

Hermione wasn't afraid of him. She joined him at the table, and they chatted about her summer plans. She hoped to spend some time at the Burrow, and although she was tactful enough not to actually tell Harry he'd behaved badly yesterday, he picked up on her hints that he owed Ron a letter. He promised to write one as soon as possible. Judging by the way Hermione perked up, Ron must have been quite hurt by Harry's absence last evening, and Harry hunched his shoulders as the guilt settled on him. "How are you going with the packing?" he asked.

"Oh, everything is done. I'm going to help Luna look for a few books later – want to help?"

"Er…"

"Oh, sorry. I thought you two were…"

"No. Don't try and fix it. Please."

She lifted her hands in surrender. "I may not be the most experienced at relationships, but I have enough book smarts to know when to stay out of something!"

"There's a book? Where?"

"There are lots of books, Harry. Honestly –"

"This isn't going to be one of those _Hogwarts: a History_ moments, is it? Because if there was a book entitled _Girlfriends: a Beginner's Guide_ I would have found it in the library by now!"

"No, it isn't going to be one of those _Hogwarts: a History_ moments. Honestly, you'd think I'd only ever read the one book…"

"The trouble is that you never stopped with just the one."

Hermione sniffed, but she was trying not to laugh. She elbowed him in the ribs. "Sorry," she said, when he squeaked, ticklish, and dropped a forkful of scrambled eggs.

"No, no, I deserved egg – it's just I was kind of expecting it in my face, not in my lap."

She winked. "Must be all that talk about relationships."

"Hermione! Right, that's it. I'm going to see if I can find Sirius. See you before you go?"

"You'd better. It'll take more than a letter – especially one of _your_ letters – to butter me up again if you don't."

"Right. Hint taken."

"I saw Professor Lupin being followed by a certain big black dog of our acquaintance going up to Professor Flitwick's office. I think they are going to take a look at the wards up around the hills later."

"Excellent. I'll try and catch them before they set off. Want a hand with your luggage later?"

"Yes please."

Harry made it to Flitwick's office after bumping into McGonagall, who hijacked him to help her calm down some first year students who had managed to somehow invert a Cheering Charm, sending four of them into hysterical fits of weeping, torrents of tears flowing down their faces. Harry helped her counter the charm and then shepherd the soggy students to the Infirmary to check they weren't dehydrated. Inside the Infirmary, all the doors were open, all the rooms were empty, and many of the beds had had their mattresses turned sideways to air. It was as if all battles and illnesses were packing their bags and leaving for the summer, along with the students. Harry couldn't help asking, "Where's, er, Professor Snape?"

"Oh, he's back in his quarters," McGonagall said over her shoulder. She was preoccupied with stopping one of the students from floating up to the ceiling – Harry's counter-charm had had unexpected side-effects. "Mr McManus, come down this instant!"

She sounded quite cross. Pomfrey came charging to the rescue. Harry decided to let them do their job in peace, and tiptoed away.

If Remus and Sirius had been to see Flitwick, they had departed before Harry. When Harry knocked and Flitwick squeaked, "Come in!" it was to find that the Charms master was the only one in the office.

"Mr Potter, what can I do for you?"

"Er, just looking for Professor Lupin. Hermione said he was with you."

"Just missed him. He's off to check the wards in the hills. They've been undulating from the north somewhat."

Whether it was the wards or the hills themselves which were undulating, Harry wouldn't like to bet his last Galleon. He quickly thanked the professor and closed the door.

He was on his way towards the stairs when he heard a familiar voice coming closer and closer, about to turn a bend from one of the corridors leading away from the one Harry was on.

Harry's heart sped up to triple-time. _Luna! I could talk to her now, say I'm sorry, say –_

Harry dived behind a tapestry before she could come around the corner.

A voice breathed in his ear: "Well. This is cosy."

"Oh, er, hello, Stephanie."

"Not hiding, are we?"

How did a painting get into a tapestry? The knots on the wrong side of her seemed to make one eye wink.

No – that wasn't a trick of the material. She really was winking. She had one hand out to pat the unicorns which had come to investigate Harry. Hopefully they wouldn't call attention to him.

"Unicorns seem to like you, Harry. I guess the chastity wards are still in full force. My goodness, but that's a patriotic shade of Gryffindor red you're going… bit like when Hermione made you blush over breakfast… but I'll leave you alone now, shall I?"

"Please," he ground out. "That'd be lovely." Much as he wanted to ask her about unicorns and Helga Hufflepuff and what exactly the centaur had done to him when he'd painted his eyes with silver blood – and that _voice_ that had sounded through him to send Voldemort somewhere outside all the boundaries Harry could conceive of – Harry Potter was busy with the far more serious business of avoiding his ex-girlfriend. There was a time and a place for the mysteries of the universe, and right now the mysteries of the universe were taking a firm second place to the social embarrassment resulting from the criminal extent of his ineptness as a boyfriend.

Luna was a mystery of the universe in her own right. As was Harry's ability to destroy every chance he had of doing the right thing by her.

Stephanie left. To his relief. He heard Luna and Hermione's voices pass him by, chatting about the possibility of Nargles stealing books (Hermione was unconvinced, countering with the theory that a member of the far more common species _Homo sapiens idioticus_ was involved). Hermione didn't disagree when Luna pointed out that the amount of her things which disappeared had dropped almost to zero since she'd become friends with Draco – Hermione murmured something about hearing how someone who'd accidentally borrowed Luna's Arithmancy book without asking had been hit so badly with a tickling hex that they'd needed to take a particularly nasty potion (brewed by an unusually helpful Elmsworthy) for three days to counter it. "…And when we find where the rest of your books have gone, the 'accidental borrowers' will wish they were dealing with Malfoy," Hermione finished with that grim note in her voice which meant she'd had enough of people playing silly buggers.

When he was reasonably sure there was no one else around, he re-emerged. He was alone. That was lucky. Now he didn't have to worry about either hurting Luna or leaving himself vulnerable thanks to his stunning social abilities, which must be alongside those of the average Dementor.

So why did it feel like he'd just done something even dafter than usual?

_Homo sapiens idioticus Harrii._

ooOOoo

Harry wandered, kicking at thistles, glad to have made it out of the castle before he did something stupid, like opening his mouth. Sparrows chased each other and chattered between the nodding grassheads of the hill he was climbing. A swallow flickered around his head and he scowled. He was halfway up when he realised his feet had been moving on automatic, but stubbornly kept going. Perhaps Remus or Sirius were up this way, although it was a long hike out along the trail leading from here through the hills to where the barrier had once been. Harry had ridden out to it a few times, and even at the canter Simon had taken –

He kicked at a thistle, then, when it sprang back at him, took out his wand and exploded it.

No sign of Remus or Sirius, but Draco was already up at the paddock, writing furiously in his notebook. Harry wasn't sure if he was intruding, and hovered by the gate. He was on the point of walking away without having announced himself when Draco looked up, started at finding he wasn't alone, then relaxed in the next second when seeing it was only Harry.

Amazing, how easy it was for Harry to read him now.

Harry crossed his arms and rested them on the gate. The wood had soaked up some of the warmth of the day and felt almost friendly under his forearms despite the potential for splinters. "Ready to go home?" Harry asked, preparing to go at the first mention of Luna, Snape or Simon.

Draco gave a one-shouldered shrug an exact match for the one Sirius tended to use when he didn't want to admit to some deeper issue. "Pretty much."

Harry's forehead creased. "Will you be alright there? You've got, um, difficult circumstances, I think they're calling it?"

Draco's smile matched his shrug. He closed his notebook and folded his hands across it. "Potter calling the cauldron black."

"I hope you're packed. The train's leaving in an hour."

"I've sent everything down to the station already. Thought I'd get some peace and quiet before the long train ride."

"Oh. Sorry."

"You're not a third-year screaming that she can't find her familiar, or Crabbe looking for his brain, or Bulstrode throwing a seventh-year down the stairs because he's being a bully –"

"Compared to all that I'm a travelling sea of tranquillity."

"I've always tended to think of you as a travelling lightning rod of disaster, but never mind. Things the same in Gryffindor as Slytherin?"

"Probably. I'm avoiding it until I have to go and help Hermione later." When Draco grinned, Harry climbed over the gate (the hinge end, of course – he was no longer a townie barbarian) and sat on a rock next to him. The grass was short, cropped to the roots by a hungry Simon. It would have lots of opportunity to grow long now, Harry thought with a sudden burst of anger that surprised him.

"What's wrong?"

Perhaps Harry's ability to read other people wasn't as unidirectional as he'd assumed. "Nothing." He nodded at the notebook before Draco's sceptical scowl could become words. "How's the Great Wizarding Novel going? Got a title for it?"

Draco looked down at the worn canvas cover, Slytherin green with silver trim. "Thought I'd call it _The Little Green Book_. A certain theme to the contents, but no actual plot just yet."

"Really? I thought it would be abounding with plots, or schemes at the very least."

Draco rolled his eyes. "That was quick. Granger been giving you some of her brain enhancing potion?"

"No, sometimes me uses me own brain. For thinking jobs."

Draco opened his notebook. "_Today Potter… claimed ability to… use brain… for something other… than Bludger target,"_ he wrote, saying each word out loud as the quill etched it onto the page in purple Phoenician ink.

Harry considered making some sort of witty remark about the ink, but thought a Pureblood wizard mightn't get the joke. Ron hadn't, when Hermione scathingly described one of his Divinations textbooks as being an excellent example of the sort of purple prose that could be written by a failed romance writer.

Whether the purple ink lent itself to purple prose, the mental picture of Draco as a romance writer – a more pillowy version of Rita Skeeter with a pink feather boa draped around his neck – brought Harry out of his brown study.

"So when are you off home?" Harry asked.

"Pleased to see the back of me, I bet."

Harry snapped his fingers like a villain whose dastardly plot had been uncovered. "I was putting off the party until then."

Draco's mouth twisted into the embarrassed version of his traditional sneer. "Huh, my mother wanted to throw a party when I got home."

"I thought you'd be totally up for that?"

Draco's shrug made it to both shoulders this time. "Too difficult. Insensitive, both politically and personally. If I invite someone and leave out someone else, it could cause certain divisions in Slytherin I'd rather avoid at this point in time. A number of people who were meant to stay at Hogwarts because of 'difficult family circumstances' have either been taken by distant relatives or will leave on the train today. Like me, for example. And Crabbe and Goyle, although I don't like to mention them in the same breath as my good self."

"How about in the same breath as your evil self?"

"Ha, ha. You're halfway to being quite the wit. Er, did you know Nott went yesterday afternoon?"

"What? No, I didn't." It was embarrassing how relieved Harry felt. But that meant one conversation Harry could defer until another time, a time which with a bit of luck might never arrive. "Who took him?"

"His mother's sister. Mousy little woman. You probably blinked when she came in and missed her. She's a Ministry official – low level, quite apolitical, definitely not a Death Eater."

"Oh. Good." Harry shoved at a clod of dry dirt with his heel until it broke. "I hope they're nice to him."

Draco didn't question Harry's sympathy. It might have meant he couldn't be bothered with an argument, but on balance Harry thought he and Draco had both changed enough to be able to put aside some of that inter-House antagonism which had become instinctive some time during their first year. Maybe there was hope for the world after all.

"Hard to know who I'd want to invite," Draco went on, grey eyes shrewd, and Harry could almost see the juggling of personalities and allegiances going on behind them. "Could end up with the Aurors being called, and they'd jump on any opportunity to come and arrest my father."

Harry couldn't disagree with that, and privately thought arresting Lucius a sterling idea.

"You're being unusually tactful today, Potter. That was an excellent opening I gave you."

Harry started to laugh. "Just wanting to rub in how much better I am than you at being the moral majority."

Draco grinned and raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement of the hit. "I thought I'd play it in the key of low for a while. What about you?"

"I suppose so. I just want to go and stay with Sirius, try and get some normality in my life – or as close as I can hope to achieve."

"Hmm. Be careful."

"What? Of Sirius?"

"No, of everyone else. You're the hottest thing in the Wizarding world. You're going to have a lot of people trying to use you."

Harry lay back and rested his head on his hands. He stared up at the sky, trying to think where Draco might be heading with this. "You were there for the whole defeating the Dark Lord thing, too."

"Yes, but I'm used to manipulative bastards, I've seen how they work, and I can give them the disadvantage of the doubt. Plus I'm using you as a stalking horse."

Harry was amused by the image, and by how blatant Draco was in his own manipulations. But: "Isn't that supposed to be giving people the _benefit_ of the doubt?"

"Why on earth would you do that?" Draco looked genuinely puzzled. "Not when you're a Malfoy. You've met my father, I believe? I hate to say this, but staying with Cousin Sirius might just be the best thing for you. He's a reckless idiot – prime Gryffindor material – but he's cannier than he used to be and he is fanatically loyal to you. You're his last chance at family – well, you and the werewolf. Go and spend time with him. Don't rule out Montana. I'm not. But it's time to get away from Hogwarts for a while. If you're planning on running around giving people the _benefit_ of the doubt then you certainly need a break!"

Harry slanted a look at him. Draco's grey eyes were focussed over on the distant towers of the castle. "Get away from Hogwarts? You mean get away from Dumbledore, don't you?"

"You've spent your entire life being shuttled around according to what he thought was best. Perhaps it was for the best, and it's impossible to deny how he cares for you, but isn't it time for you to set your course for yourself?"

Not for the first time, Harry had the distinct impression of Draco using the subject of another person to work out his own underlying issues. He considered telling Draco about his conversation with Dumbledore last evening, then decided against it: it might lead to questions about Snape and Luna. "Yes, it is time. And I'll be doing so from now on, it doesn't matter if it's you or Dumbledore or Sirius or… or Ron." He waved a hand – the idea of Ron using him in some Machiavellian plan was outrageous. "But I'm open to the idea of consulting other people for options."

"Oh." Draco's brow creased and a hint of uncertainty shadowed his eyes. "It's a bit of a worry, not knowing who to consult."

Harry yawned. "Life's a risk. You want to get into politics, you'll need to learn to take risks."

Draco smirked proudly, as only he could do. "Like riding a horse through a magical barrier?"

"Somewhat, although I suppose you could learn the subtle art of delegation."

Draco snorted a laugh. "Now you're thinking like a Slytherin!" He tapped his fingers on the notebook, and before Harry could accuse him of acting like a Gryffindor, said, "I'll be sure to look into that. In the meantime, there are people I want to meet who might be able to help me in the long run – Elmsworthy's lawyer gave me some contacts – oh, and he's coming back this afternoon for something and hopefully I'll see him then –"

"Who? Elmsworthy?"

"No, he's long gone. It's the lawyer who's coming in this afternoon."

"Why?"

"It's rude to ask these things, Potter." Draco sniffed. "I want him to give me some introductions. That's the polite way to get ahead in society. Plus it would be helpful to find out what hoops I'm expected to jump through to get ahead in a career as fast as possible."

"So you've decided to be a lawyer, then."

"Right now it seems to be the best way to come to grips with Wizarding policy."

"You could do that as an Auror."

"Come on, Harry, there's no way Aurors would let me train with them. I'm to be forever seen as the scion of an excessively manipulative family. Being capable of coming up with cunning plans scares their poor little do-gooding brains. No, I'd be better off as a lawyer than some puppet of the establishment. I can see what's wrong," he continued before Harry could take offence to Tonks and his parents being described as puppets, "I just don't know how to alter it in a way that won't cause socio-economic chaos."

"Although you've got a few ideas."

"I might have one or two ideas, yes."

Harry bent his head to get a quick sideways look at the notebook. The edges of the pages were wrinkled with use. "Only one or two, yes, I can see that."

"Maybe a few more…" Draco sounding diffident was a novelty.

"Where would you start? I mean, the Ministry's rotten at the core."

"Not completely. It's got a lot of deadwood, that's true, but…"

Draco rattled away happily for a good twenty minutes about how he would go about changing the Ministry from the ground up, and Harry listened, astonished at the logic threading steel cables through Draco's Grand Scheme of Things. Harry's own future might be constantly in the wind, but it was almost calming to sit and absorb the plans of someone who could see the future bright and sparkling and coming close enough for him to reach out and pluck, some golden apple of optimism. Draco only broke off when Hedwig swooped down to land on Harry's knee. She nibbled at his finger in a friendly way when he sat up and stroked her chest, and flapped her wings, looking around in the manner of an owl eager for work.

"I wonder if Hermione sent her? Could be a bit of a hint… Borrow some paper and a pen?"

Draco dug in a pocket. It must have been magic, because a self-inking quill emerged that was easily three times as long as the pocket was deep. Another pocket produced a roll of parchment.

"Thanks. I owe Ron a letter."

Pale eyebrows arched. "I'm helping out Weaselby?"

"Don't call him that – his sister's a sorceress, remember?"

"Oh, right." Draco's brow furrowed. "You can start it with: 'Dear Weaselby, Draco passes on his regards to your sister and thinks she's pretty amazing.'"

"Right. Like that helps matters."

"It might. I'm being polite here, you realise."

"I know, and it scares me." Harry finished his letter and gave it to Hedwig, who took it and flapped away with a cheerful energy that matched the morning sun. Harry let out a sigh. Writing the letter had made him feel a lot better. Ron would forgive him – Ron was used to Harry being an idiot. What had Dumbledore said about having good friends? Harry was definitely lucky there. He lay back. "You were talking about educational facilities geared towards rehabilitation in Azkaban…?"

ooOOoo

Neville tried to leave as quietly as possible. If Harry hadn't been going back to Gryffindor Tower to get a sweater (the day had clouded over and rain was forecast for the afternoon) he would have missed him. Neville, still awkward, wouldn't meet his eye and stuttered out a greeting.

"Are you off down to Hogsmeade already?" Harry looked around for Hermione, but she wasn't in sight. She'd told him to meet her half an hour from now. "Have you seen Hermione?"

"She's up in her room helping Parvati. Don't worry, she won't miss the train – it's been delayed. Aurors want to go over it thoroughly before we get on board." Neville explained all this while looking anywhere but at Harry.

"Want a hand with your trunk?"

"No, I'm f- ow!"

Harry helped him lift the trunk off his foot. "I'll help you."

Neville blushed. "Thanks. I'm rotten at levitation spells."

"If the train isn't going for a while, how come you're off so early?" Harry hoped it wasn't because Neville was avoiding him.

"Oh, er, Hagrid only has a few of the carriages, so we – the students who are going – we're being taken down in batches."

"Oh, right. Makes sense." Harry had seen Hagrid harnessing the Thestrals as he and Draco walked back to the castle. "Thought you might be avoiding me."

"Erm…. Oh, ha, ha, why would I do that…"

Harry rolled his eyes inwardly but walked down to the carriages with Neville. It felt, in a sense, like making up for letting Ron go without saying goodbye last night. He asked what Neville was doing for the holidays, but keeping the conversation going was like pushing water uphill with his bare hands.

"I'm sorry you won't get to go to America this summer," Neville said in his first full sentence. The blush still hadn't gone. He kept his voice down: other students were also floating trunks down to the waiting carriages. There was a bit of a crush getting through the main doors and out onto the driveway, where Harry levitated the trunk onto the back of one of the carriages. Neville had to wait until several of the bolder students had said their farewells to Harry before beginning again, "If I'd known…" he began in a whisper, then Harry cut him off.

"If you'd known who Simon was – goodbye, Daisy, have a good summer!" he called out as the young Slytherin waved to him enthusiastically from where she was waiting to board the front carriage with a group of friends, then resumed the whispering. "If you'd known you'd still have done the right thing. You're – you're very brave like that." Harry couldn't quite keep that snap out of his voice. He took a deep breath. "Look, Neville, I don't think you did the wrong thing," Harry tried to explain, although in truth he partly blamed Neville for destroying his horse. Knowing it was unfair made him put the extra effort into a reassuring smile. "Just… have a good summer, okay?"

Neville nodded. "You too. Oh, and feel free to come up and visit if you get sent back to your horrible cousin's place."

"I don't think that's going to happen, but I appreciate the offer. I should be staying with Sirius. I know you don't live in London, but you must be going down to get school supplies for next year. So maybe we could meet in Diagon Alley before school starts?"

Neville smiled gratefully. "I'd like that."

"Okay, let's do it. Owl me. Oh – hang on… I've got something for you…" Harry dragged Neville into the shadow behind the carriage and dug into his pocket. The nearest Thestral turned its head and regarded them from white eyes. Harry gave it an absent-minded pat on the nose. "Here. Nearly forgot."

Neville pulled open the sticky bit of paper. "Seeds?"

"Shh! Ambrosial fig seeds. See if you can sprout them – if anyone can, you can."

Neville looked like he'd died and gone to heaven. "What, like the one Helga Hufflepuff used to create her Glasshouse?"

"From that very tree." He'd already given a slice to Elmsworthy, who, in his more sombre way, had been as delighted as Neville.

"Harry, that's, that's brilliant," he stuttered. "It's the best thing anyone's ever given me, ever! I'll plant a few – do you have a place to plant a seedling?"

Harry hadn't thought of that. "Not at the moment. They get pretty big…"

"– You can prune them if you're polite."

"Oh, well, I've never got on that well with trees… But someone suggested once that it might be fun to have one at Hogwarts."

Neville frowned. "I don't know about that… But I'll certainly ask Professor Sprout – that's if I get any of these to grow, of course…"

"If anyone can, you can." Harry slapped Neville on the shoulder. "Better let you go. Quick, jump in!"

Neville scrambled into the carriage as it began to move off. "Bye, Harry!"

"Bye, Nev' – see you over summer, I hope." Harry waved goodbye, then remembered that he was supposed to be helping Hermione.

Hurrying through the Entrance Hall, he heard muffled swearwords echoing up from the stairs leading down to the Dungeons. It didn't sound like anyone he hated, so he started down. Goyle, face definably red in the gloom, shoved past him without making eye contact.

_What's Draco done now?_

But it turned out Draco, who was nowhere in sight, had done nothing wrong – or to be more precise, he was innocent when it came to this incident.

Millicent Bulstrode was down on her knees, swearing under her breath and attempting to repack her trunk. It kept snapping at her irritably. Her black cat hissed at it from the carry-cage.

"Want a hand?" Harry asked.

She didn't look up. "I've already had a hand from one idiot," she growled, sounding very much like Harry imagined a bear would sound if it could use English. Her trunk spat out several quills and a small doll. Bulstrode fielded the doll and stuffed it into her robes before Harry could make out if it was a toy or a tool of Dark magic. Either way, Millicent wouldn't want him knowing she played with dolls.

"Who, Goyle? Thank you _very_ much for clumping me in with _him._"

She sighed. "Sorry, Comrade. It's been one of those mornings, Goyle trying to be helpful made it worse, and now I'm running late."

"They've delayed the train another hour. Aurors want to give it a thorough vetting. You're fine. Hermione isn't down yet – I'm off to help her soon… what did Goyle do?"

"Tried a levitation charm. Idiot. Anyone with half a brain can see this trunk is an heirloom – a grandfather trunk. No patience with young whippersnappers casting spells on it."

"You mean you have to carry it yourself?" Millicent might be a sturdy young woman, but that trunk had to weigh as much as Harry.

"It has a few lightening spells in it, but… they'll be on the blink now. It's been offended. Grumpy old trunk."

"Sounds like Simon," Harry said without thinking.

Millicent looked up at that, and paused mid-stuffing of robes. Her expression became less hard. "Did your horse get to America okay?"

"He's gone, yes."

She didn't seem to know what to say to that, and turned back to shoving her books randomly into the trunk. _The Monster Book of Monsters_ made a break for it, but Harry caught it and soothed it by stroking its spine. "Here."

She tucked it more carefully in amongst its less fractious brethren. "So how's your summer shaping up? Off to have a holiday, I hope." She sounded like someone trying very hard to be sociable with a limited repertoire of small talk.

"I'm not sure yet. I'll be staying with Sirius, I hope."

"Well, be careful. He's a nutcase."

"Hey!"

"He's my third cousin twice removed or something, plus he's Malfoy's second cousin. He's a nutcase. I know what I'm speaking of."

"He's also my godfather."

"Then you must know he's a nutcase."

Harry finally realised she was having him on, and smiled. "I should stop arguing against that. Too much evidence for your case." He gathered up the quills. "It sounds like just about everyone is related in the Wizarding world."

"Everyone's related, Comrade."

"What, even Muggle-borns?" he asked, unable to stop himself.

She gave him one of her level stares as she took her quills and put them in a special compartment in the trunk. _"Everyone._ You go back far enough, and you find some ancestral monkey. And as proof," she added, eyeing him critically as she shut the lid and locked it, "sometimes you get throwbacks."

A couple of months ago Harry would have hexed her or at the very least pointed out in a snide fashion that _she_ was proof of humans being descended from gorillas. But not now. He stifled laughter, and said, "Could explain why I'm such an amazing Seeker and keep thrashing you Slytherins at Quidditch. Lightning monkey reflexes you lumbering dinosaurs can't keep up with."

She smiled. "Dream on, Missing Link. We've got a team lined up for next year that'll hex you Gryffingits off your brooms."

"As I'm playing for the Gryffindor team, it'll have to be the most amazing team Slyther_ing_ has ever mustered."

"You taking that Lockhart for Beginners course? Either that, or Malfoy's been giving you boasting lessons."

"Malfoy's a good teacher of boasting, but no on both accounts." Harry realised he was handing her something small and lacy and… _girly_, and tried not to look too closely. "So, um, what classes are you taking next year? Could be tricky, what with no exams to place us – say, what happens to students who graduate this year? Do they get given their NEWTs?"

"They get a certificate of course completion."

"What, even the stupid ones? Elmsworthy's going to be furious if he gets the same grade as someone with the same IQ as Goyle!"

Millicent sat back on her heels. Her thick brows drew together. Harry gave her a moment to gather her thoughts. "I don't think he cares too much," she said slowly. "Scholastic marks don't matter to his family as much as socio-political results. But the teachers write references for the graduates – that can also make or break a career. If anyone wants to be apprenticed or get into the Auror program they have to pass special admission tests as well as have a glowing recommendation. If Elmsworthy's family ever lets him study Potions seriously, Snape will find him a Master to study under, just like if you miss exams next year McGonagall or Dumbledore will make sure you get into the Auror program."

"Who says I want to be an Auror?"

"Word was all around the school last year how you wanted to be one."

"Oh. The Hogwarts gossip mill at work again."

"Better than _The Daily Prophet."_

"Can't argue that." Harry helped her lift her trunk, each taking one end, Millicent using one hand so that she could carry her cat in the other, her shoulders bunching with an enviable amount of muscle under her robes.

He patted the lid. "It's a good weight on it," he said, looking up the stairs doubtfully. "But I'm sure it's strong enough to stand up to any knocks it might get if we drop it accidentally because it's so heavy."

The trunk immediately shed half its weight.

Millicent raised her eyebrows, impressed. "Sneaky."

"I was nearly sorted into Slytherin," Harry confessed. "But don't tell anyone."

She shook her head. "No. Especially not Professor Snape. He's still a bit confused, and I don't want him having an aneurysm right after getting him back."

Harry nearly asked how Snape was getting on, but the words lodged in his throat like stale bread. Easier to do some hard physical labour.

By occasionally 'accidentally' bumping the trunk into walls and praising it every time it lost another kilo, they had the trunk floating out of the stairwell into the Entrance Hall.

Millicent gave the lid a fond pat. "It's a good trunk, really," she said, putting the cat's carrier on it. The handles of the trunk rattled – all the attention had jollied the trunk out of its sulk. "I'll be fine taking it down to the carriages. Thanks for the help, Comrade."

"You too, Comrade. Er, is the Republic still going?"

"No. We're returning to a dictatorship."

"Sorry to hear that."

She stared at him. "Are you mental? All those committees were hotbeds of bourgeois counter-revolutionaries. No progress was being achieved. Drove me crazy keeping all the comrades in line. All those bruised knuckles after debate sessions! Who in their right mind _wouldn't_ want a benign dictatorship?"

Sounded like Millicent had been well on her way to providing a slightly less than benign dictatorship, but Harry wasn't sure she would like to hear that. "Well… what about democracy?"

She rubbed her heavy jaw as she gave this some consideration. "I suppose it has its merits, but compared to a benign dictatorship it's rubbish."

"Given the Ministry of Magic, you've not been given a lot of positive role models when it comes to a democratically elected government."

"In a democracy, Crabbe and Goyle can vote. And the stupid will vote however a Malfoy tells them."

"…I see your point."

"Harry, there you are! Where have you been? I've been looking all through Gryffindor Tower for you! Oh… you've been helping Bulstrode. Well, that's very kind, I'm sure…"

Hermione gave them a tight smile as she trotted down the stairs with her trunk floating behind her. Crookshanks peered through the wire grille of his cage, and flattened his ears at the sight of Millicent's cat.

"Bossy, isn't she?" Millicent remarked _sotto vocce_. "Better go before she patronises me some more."

Harry fought the disloyal smile. "See you next year."

Hermione handed him Crookshanks' carrier in a rather pointed way.

"Sorry," Harry said quickly. "I was up looking for you, and I found Neville, and after helping him Millicent needed a hand, but I really was going to come and help you with –"

"I can see how you were mistaken. After all, I look a great deal like Neville and Comrade Bulstrode."

"Yeah, the three of you all go to Hogwarts and wear robes."

She sniffed, but it sounded more like a laugh.

"What was wrong with Parvati? Neville said you were helping her."

"Oh, she had a spot."

"Spot of what? Bother?"

"No, a big red spot on her nose. Lavender tried to get rid of it, which only made it worse…"

"Girls."

"Excuse me? Remember when Ron stole half a bottle of foundation from Ginny because of that accident in Charms which sent his frec

kles luminous?"

"Luminous? He looked like one of those sparkly mirror ball things you see in '70s disco movies, only with lasers instead of the little mirrors. Luna kept telling him to stop signalling Elvis on Europa – or was it elves on Europa? Even McGonagall couldn't help smiling when she saw him – or she did until she was blinded in her left eye with a beam from one of his freckles. What's Parvati's excuse? That she's a girl."

"It's different when you're a girl!"

The bicker between the sexes continued all the way outside, where Harry and Hermione sat on her trunk in the weak sunlight and waited for the carriages to return. When they ran out of arguments, Harry asked Hermione about _Star Trek_. She suggested he and Sirius get a telly with a video player. "You are staying with Sirius, aren't you?"

"Yes. And if Fudge tries to muck it up again, I'll tell him to stick his head up his –"

"Sirius will be so pleased. I haven't seen him this happy in, well, _ever_, as a matter of fact."

"Really?" Harry tried to sound nonchalant and failed totally.

Hermione grinned at him and gave him a nudge with her shoulder. "Really. I think he's nervous, though – go easy on him."

"Why doesn't anyone go easy on me?"

"We already do, Harry. Trust me. Which reminds me: did Hedwig find you?"

"Yes, and I took the hint and wrote to Ron."

She gave him a wide-eyed look of mock-astonishment. "You took a hint? There's hope for you after all!"

"That'll be your carriage coming up the drive…"

"Was that a hint? Think you've progressed enough to be able to give hints, do you?"

Harry laughed and wrapped an arm around her in a quick hug.

The time to reap the sweetest harvest had arrived.

ooOOoo

Greatly buoyed by Hermione's warm teasing, Harry took the steps two at a time, not concerned about where the stairs led, simply enjoying the warm magic exuded by the castle as the wards resettled and stabilised. Remus and the other teachers were doing good work somewhere – hopefully he would bump into Remus or Sirius at some point in the castle; they must be coming back for lunch soon. Or maybe Luna was still here – she must be in the castle somewhere, too: Neville had caught the first convoy of carriages out and Hermione had been in the second (Draco, too, although he'd held up the carriages for a few minutes extra as he peppered Hagrid with questions about the Thestrals, which he was able to see now), and Luna had been in neither. Wandering around the castle gave him a good chance of either seeing her or meeting up with someone who could tell Harry where she was.

Because it was time for him to bite the bullet. Time to grab the minotaur by the horns. Time to seize the day. Time to –

As he followed the chattering group of Hufflepuffs around the corner and into the next corridor, the corridor with the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office, Harry caught his breath and the flush of energy driving him suddenly oscillated wildly between hot and cold. There, next to the gargoyle, stood Luna, her pale, slightly protuberant eyes fixed on the floor. It was her thinking-deep-thoughts-possibly-about-Nargles-or-Plimpies mode.

All he had to do was step out in front of her and –

Harry ducked into an empty office as the sea of Hufflepuffs divided around Luna. He was pretty sure she hadn't seen him, but…

Harry took a deep breath and smacked himself on the forehead. "Stupid, stupid, stupid…"

"That's not the way to cure headaches, young man," said a portrait pompously. Other than a vast tapestry covering one wall, it was the only decoration in the empty room.

"Shut up."

He had to open the door and go and talk to her. He couldn't just keep walking away or diving through doors or behind tapestries – sooner or later he'd go through a door and get eaten by a three-headed dog or fall into some unspeakable portal into hell. At the very least, sooner or later the classroom would be occupied. Knowing his luck, it would be occupied by a summer course given by Snape. Although there had never been summer courses before, there would be one taught by Snape just so Harry could stumble through the door and feel massively awkward. Hogwarts was reliable like that.

Gryffindors were meant to be brave.

Harry took a deep breath, poked his head out into the corridor, checked, saw Luna standing with her back to him, and slunk back into the office and took another deep breath. Time to go and say something to make things right again. If he didn't, he'd start hyperventilating with all the deep breaths he kept needing.

He put his hand on the doorknob and froze.

That grinding noise could only be the gargoyle stepping aside. Someone must be coming out of Dumbledore's office. Harry readied himself. Talking to Luna with Dumbledore present might help Harry keep on track, keep his wits around him, keep him focussed on the task in hand, keep him from procrastinating…

Voices. Luna's, asking a soft question, a second voice answering even more softly. It took a moment before Harry's brain made the identification with an _Argh!_ of horror he barely stopped himself from uttering aloud – that second voice was Snape's!

"Did Headmaster Dumbledore say…"

"I say," hurrumphed the portrait, and Harry jumped guiltily. "Listening to the conversations of others is dashed rude!"

"Shut it, or I swear to Merlin I will put you in the glasshouses for compost!"

The portrait puffed out its cheeks and went silent with indignation.

Low voices continued outside with their conversation. Wishing they'd speak up a bit, Harry pressed his ear against the door. _You shouldn't be listening to a private conversation._ Harry hated the way his conscience sounded like Hermione. But even if she were standing right next to him, neither she nor his conscience could win this fight – not when he had something so much more interesting to listen to just down the corridor. Nothing short of the door spontaneously combusting would shift him.

More questions, with the soft voice of Snape too soft for Harry to hear the answers, until:

"No." Snape sounded annoyed. Harry was well familiar with that one, although the patient undercurrent was new.

"Well, you must remember how you promised you'd take me to a gymkhana." Her voice was slightly louder for a second. Harry fancied she had turned her head in the direction of the dusty little office, probably to make sure she and Snape were alone.

"The reason I remember nothing of the sort is entirely thanks to my swearing blind I'd never do such a humiliating thing ever again."

'Again'? thought Harry, his eyes widening.

Luna's gusty sigh could be heard through the thick, muffling oak of the door. Luckily the tapestry held only a herd of deer with jewelled collars, so tame they hadn't scattered when Harry hid in the office. They watched him out of dark eyes and their heads dipped as they bent to take up new mouthfuls of the fading green grass. It was strange seeing creatures moving in such a bitsy fashion with the knots and stitches and wool stretching and jittering over the canvas as the deer grazed in their meadow. No buttercup-robed witches were currently in residence, although Harry peered into the shadows between the oaks which made up the backdrop to the scene.

"But I promise I won't take you in 'best paced and mannered'," Luna persisted.

There was a strangled noise from Snape, possibly like the one Harry only managed to catch in time. "I don't care if the only option is an egg and spoon race. I'm a stallion, so I'm not eligible. That was made" – a sigh – "evident last time. I shouldn't have to point out to you that it was to my considerable embarrassment. Although your mother was _highly_ amused." He sighed again. Harry could picture him glaring down his formidable nose at Luna. "How clear do I need to make this to you? I'm not a pony club pony. I'm not patient enough for that brand of stupidity. I. Am. Not. Going."

"Oh." There was a pause. Then: "How about a three day event?"

_"No,"_ said Snape, his voice rising half an octave with horror.

Was there a story there? _I guess I'll never know that, either._

"One day event?"

"No."

"Winter dressage series?"

"Ask me again and I will set you a five-scroll essay on the various meanings of 'no' throughout history, with emphasis on its function for expressing unwillingness to participate in the asinine."

"Oh." Luna's sigh was louder this time. Was she sticking out her lower lip? – she was adorable when she did that. Especially when she looked down at her feet and twitched her nose… but not like a rabbit, of course…

Snape's voice came as if issuing through clenched teeth: "Badminton or Burghley. Spectators only."

"Oh, goody." Luna's I-just-found-my-favourite-anti-Space-Bunnies-earrings voice. "You know, Professor Dumbledore suggested Hogwarts have a fancy dress next Halloween…"

There was a groan from Snape.

They were coming down the corridor now, slowly passing Harry's door. He gripped the door handle in a fist on the off chance someone tried to enter.

"A fancy dress is just what Hogwarts needs!" said Luna.

"Hogwarts needs a fancy dress party like Fudge needs a lobotomy. This is just a chance for you to dress up as Zorro – and for the last time, I am not an Andalucian. The first person who calls me 'Tornado' will be hexed. Or possibly kicked, depending on my form."

"Dick Turpin."

"Anglo-Arab. _Mare," _Snape hissed.

Oh, Merlin. If they found Harry now, he was dead, dead, dead. Harry stuffed fingers in his mouth to stop himself from laughing.

Luna seemed to finally take the hint Snape wasn't interested in playing dress-up. Not that it slowed her down much. "Er… Black Stallion? I could be Alec and it wouldn't be hard for you to –"

"Arab, nil with the Anglo. And why do you have this obsession with cross-dressing?"

"I don't. But all the good horsy stories with black horses don't have female protagonists."

"So how about the horse from _Kaleidoscope of Fate_?"

"What's that one? I've never heard of it."

"That's because it'll have to be written by you. Excellent title – give me five percent of the profits. Here's the basic outline: the story involves a daft teenage witch with a penchant for dressing up as a boy. She's probably some sort of deviant. She drags her debonair, intellectual giant, totally unappreciated within his time, long-suffering uncle, who just happens to be a horse Animagus – because I don't want news of this transformation charm in the hands of the rabble until I've had Elmsworthy's lawyer draft me a solid patent – she drags him into a series of increasingly improbable events that rely nothing on character development or philosophical insights into the plight of humanity, let alone plot. Nonetheless the book will be _highly saleable_ thanks to judicious tweaking of the story in a cynical manner to take advantage of the mindlessness of the sort of teenage twit who reads such twaddle." Snape's voice paused to take a breath (and possibly refill acid glands). "Mark my words, get that formula just right and you'll make a fortune. Be sure to put a good picture of the black horse on the cover – girls love stories with black horses. It's probably some deeply Freudian response I'm better off not understanding."

Given the fact that he was talking to someone who adored him, that was about as nastily patronising as Harry had heard, even from Snape. If he hadn't been busy hiding he might have slapped a hand across his eyes out of sheer contact embarrassment. What could Luna possibly say in reply to such a scathing dismissal of her love and care for her uncle and horses in general?

"Poor old Mr Grumpy. You just miss being Simon, don't you? There, there, things will be just fine, Luna promises..."

"Argh! Why do you always insist on _hugging_ me? Get off, get off!"

Harry wondered if Luna had a death-wish he didn't know about.

He might never find out – down from the other end of the corridor noisy footsteps clattered up a staircase along with a babble of disjointed sentences concerning summer plans. They all cut off suddenly at the point when they must have caught sight of Snape.

Harry heard Snape – _Professor_ Snape, rather, not Luna's uncle – snarl, "…And, Miss Lovegood, if you think you can excuse the quality – lack of quality, should I say – of your homework by my… absence rather than your own negligence, then perhaps I need to disillusion you with detentions to be taken up on your immediate return to Hogwarts this September."

A few sniggers passed Harry by – students pleased they weren't on the receiving end of the wrath of Snape.

Harry remembered what Draco had said after he'd researched Luna's family: some things were better left covered over. Snape, Draco must have realised (Slytherin that he was), would have enemies from here until eternity. The best shelter he could give Luna – the best way to show he loved her – was to grant her anonymity.

Harry had nearly blown that. He rested his head back against the ancient oak panelling, resisting the urge the thump it. That, too, would only draw attention.

After a while, when he was sure the corridor was empty again, he emerged. The deer watched him go with dark, trusting eyes. Reminded of Simon, he closed the door softly and rested his forehead against the wall. He gave it a thump just to remind himself not to do anything stupid, and realised he just had when he looked around and saw three third-year girls staring at him wide-eyed, their luggage and a tortoiseshell cat hovering behind them.

He gave them a wide, toothy smile.

"Yes, the ghost of Voldemort is trying to emerge through my scar."

They fled, screaming, the cat clinging to the top of a trunk with its tail lashing.

He'd regret it later, of course, but for now it felt satisfying.

ooOOoo

He returned from the Library to find Gryffindor deserted. A sense of cold emanated from the fireplace, and the red walls seemed to sulk and glower at him for not providing the energy they were used to. He climbed the stairs to his dormitory, which echoed the sense of abandonment of the common room. The only bed with blankets on it was Harry's. He flung himself down on it.

"Ow!"

Harry dug out a bottle of butterbeer from under his side. The attached note read:

_Lavender found this at the bottom of her makeup bag. Thought you could use it. I think she's trying to say sorry for not being nicer to you! Watch out she doesn't start jumping out on you and calling you the Harry equivalent of Won-Won. Would that be Ha-Ha?_

and was signed by Hermione.

Harry sighed as he drew the curtains around his bed. It didn't matter that he was alone – the enclosed space promised the privacy he craved. He smiled as he reread the note, but didn't feel like laughing. He closed his eyes and allowed the random images of newsprint and sepia ink to roll through the darkness, echoes of his research in the Library.

Luna was good at hiding things. Behind her vacant stare lay the witnessed death of her mother – as reported in the _Daily Prophet_, complete with pictures of a bewildered man with pale hair and eyes clutching a thin child whose own pale eyes were shadowed – nasty comments ranging up to plots of murder against an uncle she clearly (or clearly to Harry's understanding, private though it would remain) adored – the name of one Selene Snape could be read in a book in the genealogy section, Selene's own father ticked off as a simple box, implying that while her mother Eileen was a Pureblood, Selene's father hailed from the Muggle side of the tracks – plus all the snide remarks and practical jokes on the weird Loony Luna – although Draco and Hermione seemed to have put a stop to that while Harry had been off being a berk…

…and now Harry's rejection.

He'd seen her tears. Two tears. Two silent drops of shed moonlight. She'd cried when Draco had taken Simon out through the barrier, but those had been noisy tears. Worried tears. She'd been frightened on Simon's behalf, not Draco's. And he'd seen the tears on her face after Simon brought him out of Hufflepuff's Secret Glasshouse that time the Sickle had touched the mistletoe…

It had always been about Simon. Snape. Her uncle, brother of a witch who'd been keen on experimenting – just as Severus had described his sister. The clues had always been there. The lank hair falling over her face when she was upset; the tight upper lip that had reminded Harry of Simon about to bite or McGonagall in professorial mode about to take points, but was an exact match for Severus about to be caustic. It was even in the dusty old genealogy book in the Library, written in sepia ink, dates of birth and death and marriage… all there when he'd gone to find it. Harry had been too dense to look for it earlier – no, Draco had told him where to look! Harry was too lazy. Too ready to believe what he wanted to believe instead of what was real.

Harry groaned. She'd been about to tell him who her uncle was, and he'd told her to go away. She'd had tears running down her face, and he'd told her to go away. The tears had come from a place beyond worry, when the worst has already happened.

And she'd gone away.

She'd gone away because Harry had doubted her.

_She sent Simon to rescue me when I went into the Glasshouse. She risked him for me. Those tears on her face then – they weren't just because she was upset over Simon – she was terrified she wouldn't see _me_ again._

He was a fool.

Butterbeer couldn't take this bitterness out of his mouth.

Unable to handle his own company any more, he went to see if Sirius was in Remus' rooms. He was, along with the fading smell of wet dog and the even more overpowering odour of neem oil, so strong that Harry automatically looked around for Simon.

"How's it going?"

Sirius shrugged but looked pleased to see him. "Well, I've just had my bath –"

"So I smell."

"Luckily Luna didn't use up all that shampoo on Simon. Remus just gave me – or Snuffles, rather – a bath. When I'm human I'm quite capable of bathing myself."

"It's shaving he has trouble with. I think combs are still proving to be a tactical issue, too." Remus entered the main room from the little kitchen, clutching a mug of coffee. He looked like someone who needed it.

"Hello, Professor. Were you out working on the wards earlier?"

"Yes." A yawn. "They're coming back together gradually."

"The castle already feels different. I didn't notice it before, but it's as if it's become healthier again."

Remus perked up. "That's a good sign. Take a seat, Harry. Would you like a drink?"

"Just had some butterbeer, thanks. You're not doing a correspondence course, are you?" Harry asked Sirius, straddling a chair and peering at the papers strewn across Remus' desk. "That doesn't look like homework."

Sirius gave him a doleful look. "It's some of the paperwork I have to fill out to clear my name. As if having a bath with the stinkiest pet shampoo you've ever encountered wasn't bad enough, I have to fill out all these forms and have them verified."

"Ridiculous," snarled Remus. Was the full moon coming soon? He was very irritable, with dark shadows around his eyes. "You're innocent and yet they're imprisoning you with red tape."

Harry felt his brow furrow. "They aren't sending you back to Azkaban, are they?"

"Not quite," Sirius snorted. "But they're hobbling me from here to infinity. I'll be traipsing around the Ministry like it's my full-time job, leaving you rattling around that bloody depressing house of mine alone from week start to week stop!"

"Oh. If – if it would be easier for me to stay somewhere else, I –"

"What? No – Harry! It's…" Sirius broke off and raked his fingers through his hair. "That's not what I'm saying at all. You don't have to be alone there. Have as many friends come and stay as you like. Feel free to turn Grimmauld Place into Weasley Central. All I'm saying is… I guess I'm saying that it gnaws at me like a doxy bite that I'm free and I'm still not able to spend time with you and… and go places and meet people and try weird cuisine…"

"We can do that on weekends," Harry offered quickly, seeing that Sirius was genuinely upset.

"That's true," Remus said.

Sirius nodded grudgingly. "We need a break from this." He made a rude gesture at the paperwork. "Moony, you've been working your magic to the nub getting the wards back together. You look even worse than I feel. Let's go somewhere and get – well, we can't get hammered because Harry's still underage –"

"For another few weeks only," Harry said quickly.

"We are not supporting any plan where you get falling down drunk on your birthday," Remus said, but the repressive note was spoiled by a smile. With something approaching relief, Harry suddenly noticed how the tense energy Lupin had been ramping up over the year had eased back. Had Snape recovered enough to be able to brew the Wolfsbane Potion, or was it the promise of having someone take over the challenge of picking a way through the treacherous territory that was ministering to adolescent Slytherins?

"It's nearly lunchtime," Harry pointed out. "We could ask the kitchen elves to send up some food."

Sirius leaned back and stretched his arms above his head. "Or how about taking some food down to Hagrid? I've been meaning to ask him about manticores."

"We won't be getting one at Hogwarts," Remus said quickly. "We already have a half-giant and a werewolf."

"And a Snape," Sirius said, grinning. "We hardly need a manticore now we've got one of those again. What?" he said in injured tones as Remus shot him a stony look suggesting at least one person in the room was grateful to have the Potions master returned to them and unappreciative of anyone else who might endanger this state of affairs. "Believe it or not, Moony, but now that the shock of his return is over I'm glad to have the git back. I don't like him, but he was on our side." He spread his arms. "Hey, I can be magnanimous once in a while."

"And yet we are frightened when you are," Remus said, but he was wearing his small smile again. "Yes, let's go and visit Hagrid. I think he'll be finished now – I heard the whistle of the train just earlier."

"Can you hear Hogsmeade from these rooms?" Harry asked, looking out the window. It did have a good view in the direction of the village, although the houses themselves were hidden beyond a fold in the Forest.

"No, but I have super werewolf hearing. It goes with the super werewolf shaggy coat and appetite I get once a month, but tends to last longer than the full moon."

"Speaking of appetite, I'm well past peckish and getting into famished territory," Sirius said. "Let's go and inflict ourselves on Hagrid. If he's not there then we can camp out in his pumpkin patch and eat lunch."

Hagrid welcomed them with mugs of sweet milky tea and a smile so big they actually glimpsed his teeth through the thicket of beard, and the four of them talked about potential animals for next year's CoMC classes, and for a while Harry allowed himself to forget that he had one – no, two – two more bridges to either mend or rebuild from scratch as he basked in the glow of this, his very own family. Hagrid, Remus and Sirius. Any of the three would fight to the death for Harry. He'd been ready to do the same for them. Sirius would do just about anything he asked, as would Hagrid. Remus might take more persuading and tended (like Dumbledore) to think he knew what was best for Harry, but Harry trusted himself to be able to work around that now. If he wanted help all he had to do was ask.

But he couldn't ask anyone to help him build the particular bridges he had in mind, for they involved another family, and the ground between that family and Harry's lay studded with both recent and historical mines.

The chances of him managing to cross it on his own were slim, but Harry had hurdled so many other difficult obstacles that he would not allow himself to balk at this task. At least, he decided as he watched Sirius in a spirited discussion with Hagrid on the merits of teaching students how to race hippogriffs – Remus watching this with a resigned expression of 'I'm may have to pick up the pieces but at least I'll get to see some pretty fireworks first' on his face – at least Harry had his family now. It might be small – a nucleus of himself and Sirius surrounded in close orbit by their best friends – and it wasn't a traditional family of mother plus father plus two point five children, but it was his. He'd fought for it, he'd killed Voldemort for it, and now he was going to enjoy it to the fullest.

Building a bridge between this family and the other he had in mind seemed suicidal on the face of it, given the volatile dynamic between Sirius and certain others, but Harry was determined.

First, however, he would give himself the grace to enjoy this afternoon before the rain set in.

ooOOoo

When the rain announced itself with its first shower, Sirius asked if Harry wanted to accompany him and Remus back to Remus' rooms. Harry, suspecting his godfather of trying to get out of doing some work, said he had some things to tidy up of his own.

Sheer luck had him find Luna in a corridor after only twenty minutes prowl through the castle. Her eyes seemed extra luminous as they stared out at the diffuse light beyond a window which served as backdrop and frame, and she gave no sign of having seen him. He hesitated. Did he dare approach her?

Yes. There she was. Alone.

Harry shrugged away the apprehension prickling through his shoulders. It was time. He'd done enough procrastinating.

He went and leaned against the windowsill next to her. She didn't bother to turn her head. There was no acknowledgement of his presence.

"Y'know how I'm the world's biggest idiot?" he asked.

There was the faintest reflection of her face in the glass. When a cloud went across the sun the shadowed world outside the window lent her reflection just enough detail to show her eyebrows drawing together. Then the sun returned and there was only one Luna, gazing into a distance which did not contain Harry.

Harry sighed inwardly as he racked his brain for words and came up short. He'd known this would be hard, but he hadn't thought he'd be at a complete loss for something to say. He stared out the window at a world lying glossy in the sunshine between showers. From here he could see Hagrid's hut and the meadow where he'd learned to ride. Over there, if he leaned forward, he could just make out Squirrel Hill. And below, made small with the height from which Harry viewed him, was the unmistakable figure of Snape gliding back from the direction of Hagrid's.

In the ever-shifting, muted colours of the afternoon the black of his robes created a sharp contrast of grim permanence, much like the photos Colin had taken of a horse seemingly more solid than its surroundings. The irony of the effect wasn't lost on Harry, who found himself frowning, then giving his head a quick shake in relief as he realised that it was either a stroke of luck or judicious timing that Snape had gone to Hagrid's after Sirius had left.

The distant figure stopped and turned its head to cast a quick glance up at the hill before resuming its slow path towards the castle.

"How's he doing?" Harry asked.

"Quite well."

"No… memory problems?"

"He's been a horse for nearly three months. Of course there are memory problems. But Draco and Millicent visited him in the Infirmary and filled him in on everything that went on in Slytherin. There was a bit of trouble when he heard about the Republic, but Madam Pomfrey told him he wouldn't be allowed to go back to his rooms until he calmed down again. So he did." She paused. "Eventually."

"Oh. Good. Er, um, did Draco tell him about what he did as Simon?"

"I don't think Draco wanted to spark him off again. He's not suicidal. Telling Professor Snape he acted as transport through a magical barrier nobody truly understood isn't something you can do over tea and bikkies. Although Professor Dumbledore might get away with it. I'm hoping he will – rather him than me. So far all he's told him is that he's glad he's back and could he please not try turning into a horse again until the charm is properly understood. I suppose he's working up to the full story."

Luna was too scared to tell Snape of his adventures as Simon? That didn't sound promising. "So he's in a bit of a bad mood?"

"Well, he's a tad cross about the lab."

"Does, er, he know it was you?"

"Not yet. I'm helping him tidy."

"Shame Elmsworthy's gone."

"It is. I miss him. He's ever so good at knowing what would blow up."

"An unceasing effort to blow things up will help with that," muttered Harry, who didn't miss Elmsworthy's capacity for destruction.

"Well, yes, but he has a wonderful memory when it comes to dangerous substances."

Harry thought of a little girl who'd just seen her mother killed by an experiment gone wrong. The newspaper article had mentioned flammable acids. "I don't think Snape's the sort who'd misplace dangerous potions and ingredients."

"He's a little absent-minded at the moment."

As an assessment from Luna, that was even more alarming than her reluctance to tell Snape about Simon's adventures in Dark Lord slaying. "Shouldn't he be taking a holiday? I would have thought most of the staff would be away at… wherever it is they go when they aren't teaching." And yet they were mostly all at Hogwarts. He hadn't seen Trelawney around, but he usually didn't see her at all except for those times when she wanted to prophesise his death.

"They've stayed to repair Hogwarts. It's in a bit of a state. Professor Dumbledore needs everyone who has any experience in wards and regeneration magic to heal the castle. That's just about everyone except for Trelawney. Even Mr Filch has stayed. He may be a Squib, but he and Mrs Norris are very sensitive to the mood of the castle."

Harry had noticed Filch around. His mood always seemed foul, never mind what the castle felt. "I suppose if Dumbledore thinks it's dangerous, he'll tell Snape to stay away from potions."

Luna turned to face him. For the first time her eyes met his, and Harry had trouble keeping his gaze steady. "Do you really think so?" she asked.

"No. I guess not. Sorry. I was just trying to be reassuring."

"Yes. That's often why people lie."

Harry felt three inches tall. "I should go…"

"Oh. I heard you'll be living with Mr Black now. Are you going home soon?"

"No, I only meant that… never mind." While it wasn't clear if she was angry or not, he knew that she wasn't bloody furious because her upper lip hadn't gone tight like – like Snape's tended to do whenever he was particularly irritated by Harry's presence in the same universe as him. "I just want to tell you that I'm sorry for being hideous to you. I understand now that you've been protecting your uncle all along – given the history between me and Snape you couldn't in all confidence expect me to keep the secret."

"I wish I could have, but no."

Harry shifted. "No. I would have told Ron, and Ron would have… it would have stopped being a secret as soon as I knew. It still is a bit of a secret, isn't it?" he added, thinking of Remus asking if he'd heard about Snape's miraculous return.

"Yes. Professor Dumbledore made everyone except you swear not to tell anyone. He put a Binding Hush on them – even if she wanted to, Ginny can't tell Ron or Hermione. He said it was because he didn't want people running around trying out dodgy charms to turn them into animals and getting stuck that way, but…"

"But he was trying to reassure, in his own way. Snape wouldn't want word of him being Simon getting around even less than he'd want to endanger you by telling people of your relationship to him."

"No. He really wouldn't." She bit her lip. Snape had disappeared from view below, while above the castle the sun was briefly blotted out. The clouds not bearing rain were soft and a paler grey and passed quickly across the sky. The hills seemed to breathe with the rhythm of the ribcage of a sleeping animal as the cloud shadows moved over the land.

Luna made the slightest shift of balance as if she wanted to go.

"I won't tell anyone," Harry blurted out quickly before she could do so.

"Thank you." Her weight shifted back onto her elbows again.

Harry felt the prickling between his shoulders ease.

"Where are you going for the rest of summer?" she asked. "Will you and Mr Black spend all your time at his place?"

"Um, well, probably, although I could still go to Montana. There won't – there won't be Simon, but maybe I should try working with other – real – horses to see if I still like them." He'd not really considered going since Simon had returned to his real self, but as the words tripped easily off his tongue he tasted the truth of them.

"I think you will. You're a bit of a natural."

"Oh? Thanks!" Briefly cheered, he frowned as he remembered the interview with Fudge. "Sirius is going to be busy all week, but we can still do things on the weekends and maybe I could even help him get his life back on track." He sighed. "I have to go somewhere safe. That limits my choices, even if I wasn't going to Sirius'. The Ministry is suddenly paranoid about my welfare – huh." He sneered.

"Don't be bitter, Harry. It's like the story of the Little Red Wren."

"What story was that?"

"Don't you know it? It's a Muggle story."

"I didn't get many of those, either."

"It goes like this: a little red wren asks for help with making some bread, and doesn't get assistance from anyone. When the bread is ready, everyone she asked for help wants to eat some of the delicious bread –"

"Typical."

"– But she tells them to sod off, and she and her chicks eat the bread."

Harry tried not to smile. Luna swearing, however mildly, always sounded so odd. "Good for her. Hang on, I think I may have heard it a long time ago at primary school." It had seemed terribly unfair that a wren – no, a chicken – that a chicken could reap the benefits of its work when he, Harry, had always had the benefits of _his_ work snatched away from him by his lazy, stupid cousin. But even Dudley hadn't been able to stop him from listening when the teacher read the class stories – some of his teachers had told wonderful stories, he remembered with a touch of regret. If he'd talked to someone at his school, someone in authority, told them how he had been treated, things might have been very different. They might have taken him away from the Dursleys, and then... then without the protection of his blood relatives he would have been found and killed by some random Death Eater. Things were different now; he was nearly seventeen and capable of protecting what he had earned. But it was irritating how he kept forgetting this... "But it's a hen, not a wren."

"She was really a wren in disguise. Even Muggles sensed that the wild magic could be made manifest in a domestic, every-day form to demonstrate cleverness and diligent hard work trumping might. Like you and Voldemort. Or you and the Ministry. Or you and, well, pretty much anyone."

"So, like a wren, I'm a scrawny little runt, is that what you're saying?" Harry laughed.

"A _clever_ scrawny little runt."

Harry shook his head. "So… are you telling me I should tell the Ministry to go to hell?"

"No, just make your own decisions. But you can make your own decisions or not, as you like."

Harry linked his fingers. "I told them I wasn't going back to the Dursleys' house. There was a bit of a row with Fudge over that. I don't think he wants to be my friend now."

"Why would you want to be his? Better stay friendly with Draco, though. He'll be Minister of Magic in a few decades."

"Scary thought, although not as scary as Fudge keeping control. Where are you going to be for the rest of summer? Siberia?" he asked. It was almost like being friends again, this easy conversation about how far apart they were about to be.

"Well, Daddy was thinking of going to Tibet, but he sprained his ankle last month because an ancient elvish deity knew if he went there would be an avalanche."

Harry decided not to ask.

"…And he's got a huge backlog of _The Quibbler_ to get published now that all these secrets have come to light and the Ministry isn't stopping him publishing all the articles people have been sending him this year. He's still trying to get Mrs Malfoy to write her exposé now that Mr Malfoy has had a sudden attack of laryngitis and some sort of temporary arthritis – I'm sure it's because of those Hurlybumps again – that stops him from writing. So I'll stay on at Hogwarts for the summer. Most of it, anyway – I want to go and help Daddy with the typesetting and some of the copywriting, but I can do the cartoons from Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore has found a nice little set of rooms for me. They're not too far from a stairwell that goes to the Dungeons, which makes them convenient. Professor Snape has a floo connection to my house, so I can go home whenever I want and still keep an eye on things here."

"Tidying the lab, you mean?"

"Yes, that too."

It wasn't really his place to say anything like this, but: "It can't have been your fault that your mum died."

She blinked. For a moment she didn't move. Then, in a soft voice, she said, "I was there, Harry. I didn't know what to do. I'm older now. Maybe this time I can stop it from happening again."

His hand clasped hers. He didn't think about it, he just did it. "If there's anyone in this world who can stop Snape from doing something stupid, it's you."

Her shoulders twitched as if she was trying to stifle a laugh. She curled her fingers around his. "When did you turn into a Luna Mutterer?"

Harry blew out his cheeks. "It's been a long time coming."

She ducked her head and smiled. Harry shifted closer and she met him halfway, leaning up against him, shoulder to shoulder. The sun wasn't shining at that moment, which was fortunate because any more warmth would have melted him into a puddle. He took her hand, threading his fingers through hers, and brought it to his lips. "I really am sorry about what I said," he told her softly.

"I know. Some people don't know how to apologise with words very well, but genuine regret can be easy to see."

It was a moment before the humbling knowledge of how lucky he was allowed him to speak again. "You've had a lot of practice from me."

"Not just from you. You and Professor Snape are so _very_ similar."

Harry felt one eyebrow arch in horrified denial. "Er…?"

"You're both very sincere and when you know you're in the wrong you want to make it right, and get angry and sulk when you can't." She tilted her head and studied him for a moment. "You tend to smile a bit more, though."

"Oh, well, that's reassuring. Except I can't remember seeing him smile as an adult except when someone he hates is about to have a nasty accident." Or Snape was about to throw someone across the room, for example Gilderoy Lockhart.

"I've already told you he's got a great sense of humour, and I've seen you laugh when someone _you_ hate has something bad happen to them – like when Draco got turned into a ferret… although to be fair, it was kind of funny. …Don't tell him I said that. But Professor Snape does try to stop people he's responsible for having those nasty accidents, I hope you realise," she added sternly. "Unless he considers the nasty accident to be educational. Then he might stand back a bit and think of all the healing spells that might be needed once the key point of the lesson has been made."

Harry rather thought Luna was trying to make her own key point of the lesson sink in through his own thick skull, and didn't argue.

They stood in silence for a long time, staring out the window. It was a lovely view, but Harry saw nothing. He felt the warmth of Luna at his side and the slender, fragile strength of the bones of her hand in his like a wren at rest, and a light filled him. It might have been happiness, but happiness had never had these shadows to it, shadows of past grief and pain that made the light all the more precious.

"Hogwarts is safe. Safe-ish," she amended. "You could floo from here to Mr Black's every weekend, or he could come here and visit you and Professor Lupin. So why don't you stay here?"

He breathed out and the last of the weight he'd had mantling his shoulders for far too long evaporated to be absorbed and taken away by the shadow of a passing cloud. The sudden influx of sunlight made him blink. "Okay."

ooOOoo

The Dursleys were chasing him. 'Wizard reversed!' they shouted, trying to change him into a Muggle and relieve them of at least half the embarrassment of having him in their family. No matter how much Harry protested that he wasn't under some sort of charm that changed him into something he wasn't really, they kept shouting 'Wizard reversed!' at him. Aunt Petunia called Ginny on the telephone, and Ginny offered to come and use her powers on Harry. Dudley, stirring a bubbling cauldron in the kitchen with his Smeltings stick, agreed that this was the only way. Snape took five peppermint points from the Number 4, Privet Drive, House because Dudley was stirring the porridge the wrong way. 'Horses only eat oats that have been stirred anti-clockwise,' he sneered, and gave Uncle Vernon extra homework on drill bits. 'Ready for your exam, Potter?' he whispered maliciously, handing out the Potions NEWTs to everyone in Harry's year. Everyone was staring at Harry and all the Death Eaters were laughing because not only had Harry forgotten to wear clothes, he'd not studied, and now Snape would never turn back into a horse because Harry was such a dunderhead he –

'It's just a dream, Harry,' a witch floating through the Great Hall on a lotus blossom told him. Beneath yellow robes, the outline of her legs suggested they were crossed foot-over-knee like those of some meditating guru. 'Wake up.'

Harry woke up.

"Are you awake yet?"

The witch had followed him out of his dream. He clutched his blanket up to his neck before realising he was wearing pyjamas. Hopefully that meant he didn't have to sit the test, he thought, his mind still spinning in that post-dream space.

"Harry?"

It was a very familiar voice…

He shoved his glasses on and cautiously pulled aside the curtains around his bed. "…Stephanie?"

Sure enough, there was a witch wearing yellow robes in the lone Chudley Cannons poster Ron had left behind. She was sitting side-saddle on a broom and holding a Beater's club. She tossed a Quaffle in one hand. "You sounded like you were having a bad dream. Hope you didn't mind me waking you up."

"Oh? No. No." He scrubbed at his hair. "Thanks, Stephanie. It was one of those dreams where you have a final exam and you haven't studied…"

"I have those occasionally." She gave the Quaffle a resounding whack with her club and it disappeared beyond the edge of the poster. "Everyone does, I think. Well, maybe not Peeves. Was it the one where you've forgotten to put on clothes?"

"Er… no?" he lied.

She dimpled. "If you say so. It's a lovely night outside. When was the last time you went for a walk under the stars?"

"Just the other night, as a matter of fact."

"Gosh, you young generation – where is the poetry that used to reside in the soul of wizardingkind; the fire that drove our people to the lofty pinnacles of creative expansion?"

Harry yawned and rubbed his eyes. "I think it got lost in an avalanche on one of those lofty pinnacles."

A snort. "When you say it like that, I can believe it."

"So what are you doing here, Stephanie? Not that I'm ungrateful for being woken from a nightmare, but –"

"But it's a bit dodgy having a witch of a certain age hanging about in the bedroom of a young man such as yourself?"

"Er…" It was only the second night since Hogwarts had all but emptied (well, there were a few other students and the teachers plus ghosts, portraits, Filch, the occasional Auror…), but the novelty of having the castle almost to himself and Luna had already worn off. Harry looked around, unsettled by having the entire room to himself. That could explain the nightmare. Muffled echoes and dust bunnies lurked under the empty beds, and one of the taps in the bathroom dripped with sad little plunks through the night. He'd never worked out which tap it was: every time he went in to turn it off properly, the drip stopped. Until Remus sorted out a room for him (Harry had his fingers crossed that it would be near Luna's) Harry would be staying in the dormitory and flooing from Remus' quarters to Grimmauld Place on the weekends once the floo was properly reset. Sirius had greeted the new plan with a scowl, but grudgingly come around to the merits of having Harry stay at Hogwarts with Remus keeping an eye on him during the week. But Harry hoped to get a new room soon: the dormitory had its own brand of ghosts, not to mention portraits who fancied they could wander into his dreams any time they liked. "It could be misconstrued by suspicious people, yes."

"Tish! Pooh to your suspicious people. I only came to fetch a broom. I'm going to try teaching Sir Cadogan how to fly."

"Really?" Harry pictured the scene from several different angles. "He might want to take his armour off first."

"Oh, now that would take all the fun out of it."

Stephanie blew him a kiss and flew away into some picture in another room, for all he knew. Harry lay back with a sigh. He closed his eyes and waited for sleep to return.

It didn't.

His mind kept turning over with thoughts of Luna. They'd spent most of the past day together. There had been parts when Harry had been off to spend time with Sirius, of course, and presumably she had been with her uncle. Luna returning to Harry trailing the entwined smells of burnt herbs and pickled amphibian parts suggested this. She'd not been in the Great Hall for meals, but then neither had Snape. Sirius had made one snide comment about Snape's absence, but only the one: Remus had developed quite a quelling look this year, and was no longer afraid to use it on his friend.

Harry rolled over and stared out the window. Part of him wanted to go back to sleep, but the stronger energy rising up through him like spring sap yearned for daybreak, when he could venture out and find Luna and together see what the day would bring. The summer might be shorter than usual, but there were so many things they could be doing in it… It could rain every day and as far as Harry was concerned it would be the sunniest summer ever if Luna was there with him.

There might be some problems with her family…

Half an hour of twitching his feet later, Harry decided he wasn't going to get back to sleep. He dressed quickly, ferreted out his sneakers from under his bed, slung his cloak (not the Invisibility Cloak: Harry didn't feel the need to hide) around his shoulders, and crept out of Gryffindor Tower.

With air moving through dark branching corridors and soaking through doorways into abandoned classrooms, the castle breathed as slowly as any sleeper. Harry kept his footsteps as quiet as possible, not because he was frightened of being caught by Filch or Mrs Norris, but because something in him had decided that interrupting the silence with anything as mundane as clumsy feet would be as bad as clearing a lungful of phlegm in a church. The light of his wand guided him along a path that was becoming familiar – the path to the little side-door out of the castle.

Harry doused his light and stepped into a night of velvety purples and brief stars. A breeze ruffled his hair with familiar fingers. Invigorated by the welcome, Harry stepped out as boldly as he dared. The way ahead was as sure by starlight as it was in the day, and he needed to spare only the barest amount of attention to avoid rocks and gorse and sudden turns in the track.

When he reached the gate, Harry stopped to wonder what impulse had drawn him this way. There was nothing up here now. Nothing but Harry and the breeze stirring through grass and the leaves of nearby oaks. Out of breath after the steep hill, he climbed the gate and sat on the sturdy post the hinges were set into. After settling his cloak across his shoulders, he ensured his balance and made himself comfortable at the same time by resting one foot on the gate and locking his hands around his shin.

Harry surveyed his world.

There was no moon. Harry did a quick calculation and decided it must be on the other side of the world – it was a few nights after the new moon. But the lights of the castle echoing the stars above caught his attention and he watched them for a while, finding it obscurely comforting that the darkness of the castle should twinkle. Through the gaps in the clouds above him the galaxy stretched on without end. Harry leaned back and inhaled, breathing in the cool stillness as the wind shifted around to come from the east.

Harry's nose wrinkled. The night air was flavoured with something distinctive. Not quite unpleasant, true, but…

Neem oil.

Sirius must have been up this way. He'd been reeking of the stuff after his bath yesterday afternoon – or was that the day before yesterday? Harry wasn't sure if it was before or after midnight. At dinner the smell had remained strong enough for Professor Sinistra to complain that it was putting her off her food, and Professor Sprout had asked if Sirius had taken up gardening.

Neem oil was as good against Devil's Snare Weevil as it was against fleas, Sprout explained to an interested table of students and professors. This led to all sorts of questions about Animagi and attendant blood-sucking insects, all of which McGonagall avoided (with a smirk) by insisting that as the glowering Sirius was a dog Animagus, he was the expert when it came to parasites.

Remus and Harry needed to work hard to stop their smiles from growing into grins, especially after Trelawney's sniffed "Quite right, Minerva!"

A noise – uphill? – brought him back to the present, and Harry took out his wand and reflexively cast a _Lumos_ towards where he thought it had come from. For a moment the stable Dumbledore had built for Simon could be seen as empty as any fallen husk. Harry let the light die and blinked as darkness soaked up the world.

For a few minutes there was nothing to be seen – not even the stars. That light spell hadn't been such a good idea.

As Harry got his night vision back he realised he wasn't alone. That noise had come from the nearby oak tree, not uphill… Harry turned. This time his _Lumos _was softer and reached with respect into the shadows.

Snape, one of the shadows, must have realised the moment Harry focussed on him, because his eyes narrowed as he stepped out from the concealment of the oak, and he said, "Out rather late, aren't you, Potter?"

Harry instinctively stiffened at the menace. He felt the old defensive bile well up again and counted… one… two… three… and was able to see the situation as if from above; detached. The light spell flickered for a moment then steadied.

"I couldn't sleep."

Snape glared. Possibly at the lack of reaction, possibly because Harry, perched up on the gate post, was currently higher than him. Harry studied him in return, trusting that the night would soften a curious stare into something more polite. Apart from that overheard conversation with Luna, this was the first time Harry had seen Snape since he'd walked out of the barn. Harry hadn't seen him in the Great Hall for meals, and wondered if he was somehow damaged or just…

Something else.

"How are you doing?" asked Harry. It surprised him when he realised the concern was genuine.

Snape turned his head just a fraction and Harry had a glimpse of Simon, warily examining something new for potential threat. That was Snape, all right: prickly as a porcupine, testing his surroundings to see where the attack was going to come from.

No wonder he'd adapted so well to being a horse.

"Other than missing a couple of eventful months and returning to find some maniac managed to blow up my workroom while I was away, I'm fine, thank you. And you?"

Harry bit the inside of his cheek. Polite and sarcastic as hell. There was nothing wrong with Snape mentally. "Okay." He couldn't resist adding, "Missing Simon, though."

Snape snorted and turned away.

With a flick of his own wand, Snape sent up a small, softly-glowing sphere that bobbed between them, casting light without intruding on the darkness. Harry's own spell dimmed to match it. "Know anything about that explosion?" Snape asked. There was the slightest vibration through the question, hinting at some bubbling rage waiting its turn.

"Er, the one in your workroom?"

"Yes, the one in my workroom," Snape breathed, his jaw clenched. "The one that destroyed a set of alchemist-grade glassware, several priceless telewindows – it'll take me _weeks_ to reset the charms on another set – a platinum cauldron and my collection of mercury stirrers… not to mention scaring my familiar witless. I'm still picking the quills and scales out of the drawer he lives in. I've managed to narrow the suspects down to _not_ being Granger or Elmsworthy, but –"

"Would that familiar be Bertram?" said Harry before Veritaserum could be threatened, thinking of the unseen growling thing in the drawer. Quills and scales? "What exactly _is_ Bertram?"

Snape skewered him with a look. "Strangely enough, yes, my familiar would be Bertram. And Bertram is a – well, he's Bertram. What, precisely, do you know about Bertrams and their reactions to explosions?" He raised an eyebrow.

Harry swallowed. "Oh. Well. I never actually saw Bertram, but I heard him growl. I hope he's okay. I suppose Professor Dumbledore told you we were working down there to make the potions to stop Voldemort? But I wasn't around for the explosion, so I can't really give you any details. Remus tells me it wasn't anything I was working on, though." Snape was still giving him that look of 'I know you're somehow responsible for the carnage'. "Er… best if you ask Professor Dumbledore." Still no change to the look. "Er. Draco's really glad to have you back. Well, sort of. I don't think he's happy about losing Simon, either," Harry said conversationally. "Although once he didn't have to worry about anyone stealing his horse it made it easier for him to go home," he added, feeling that this was a truth that needed to be told.

Snape's eyes glittered in a pulse from the light globe. "Well, I'm so very sorry for depriving you children of your favourite pony."

Harry shrugged, needled by the casual attitude towards the world-tilting phenomenon of a Malfoy giving more than a bent Knut about something not directly related to the family. "The memory of Simon giving pony rides to the first and second years is something I'll treasure. Not to mention riding lessons for Sirius…" He trailed off, alerted by a sudden vacuum of sound on his right that something wasn't quite right.

"Er… did Professor Dumbledore or Luna tell you about the riding lessons…?"

"…"

"…Maybe not." Harry could have kicked himself for the lapse.

Snape's face was turned away, but there was another strangled sound. This time Harry thought he could make out words: "…not… that fucking arsehole Black… I'll… strangle that…"

Snape's incoherence was only superficially funny, like watching a clown slip on a banana skin and break his leg. Laughing now would not help. It could get someone killed. Probably Sirius. Best to change the subject again. "You know, if you want to keep your identity as Simon a secret you might want to stop using the pet shampoo."

"I beg your pardon, but I am not using pet shampoo!" Snape said frostily. "Luna – oh, she _would_ tell me it's herbal. Of course." He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Er, it's the, the neem oil. It's got quite a distinctive odour. Sirius uses it, you see, and –"

"And if you managed to notice the smell then a dog Animagus won't have any problem. I suppose he knew it was used on me?"

"He knows it was used on Simon. Apparently Luna used half a bottle of some special stuff Remus orders in from India for Sirius."

"Charming." His nostrils flared and he folded his arms, his robes pulling tight across his shoulders before he turned back to Harry with a vicious curl to his lip. "Now I even smell like Black. I suppose the werewolf knows –"

"No, Remus doesn't have any idea about Simon. I'm sure of that." Winding up Snape like this wasn't something Harry had planned on – it certainly wouldn't win him points with Luna – yet there was something almost predestined in the way he made Snape angry with the simplest of utterances. Harry might have said something else then, something designed to calm the other wizard down, something that would probably have set him off like an Erumpent horn, but he suddenly sensed someone or something watching them. He slid down off the post and turned his head. Snape had moved towards him, also taking out his wand as he turned to look towards the Forest.

They were alone on the hill, but far below, something moving like a minor constellation come to Earth caught his eye.

"Professor. Look."

Unicorns. Browsing the dark edges of the Forest.

"I see them."

They tucked their wands away.

One unicorn, further from the Forest than the others, had its head lifted as it gazed at the two wizards on the hill.

Even from this distance, Harry knew it was the stallion. Its horn twinkled like a star through clouds as it dipped its head in salute and returned to its family.

"Do you remember the unicorns, sir?"

"Yes." Said in a hollow voice. "I remember the unicorns."

They stood shoulder to shoulder and watched the herd graze. The wind moved across the two wizards and all that they could hear was the rustle of it through oak leaves, heather and long grass.

Lulled by the peaceful vision below, Harry voiced the thought, "How anyone could kill one of them, I don't understand."

"It is a type of madness, this need for immortality. The Da- Voldemort was a monster created out of the human fear of dying." Snape's voice sounded strangely young. For a moment Harry fancied he was standing next to his friend, and this made it easier to speak.

"It's a happy change not having him try to use my scar against me."

Snape peered closer. "I hadn't noticed – your scar's gone."

"Yes. Thank Merlin."

The brief moment of camaraderie broke when:

"Aren't you worried people won't recognise you without your trademark?" Snape sneered.

Harry should have counted to ten, but – "Do you have any idea what it's like to have people judge you by a scar?" he countered hotly.

There was a silvery whinny from the herd – probably just a mare calling to her wandering foal, but it caught the attention of the wizards on the hill. Instead of snapping back at Harry, Snape eyed the unicorns and said mildly, "I might have some idea."

Harry deflated. "Oh. Is – do you still have the, um, the Dark Mark?"

Snape looked puzzled now. "No. I gather Lucius still has his," he said with unexpected candour. "Or so Narcissa has told me… in confidence, you understand. But mine is gone. It's as if it never was."

It took Harry a few seconds before he remembered. "I used it. That was what I used to give me a way into Voldemort's magic. Did Draco or Professor Dumbledore tell you about what happened when Voldemort died?"

"Draco told me a few things, but other than a couple of bizarre stories featuring centaurs and acromantulas – oh, and the Golden Sickle, which suddenly and surprisingly I remember most vividly – I only know that Voldemort is gone." Snape's expression hinted at the curiosity Harry knew must be churning away. "Apparently I am an invalid and must be fed a supply of pre-digested news bulletins fit only for the terminally bewildered."

For a moment Harry considered withholding the story as payback for his last detention, but in the next moment thrust the idea away. To do so would not only be ungrateful but petty. But he didn't want to send Snape back into the Infirmary with the shock of too many returning memories. Remus would definitely use that new Pointed Look on Harry if he did, and Luna – well. "Do you feel up to hearing about it now? I can tell you tomorrow if you'd prefer."

A sigh. "Better tell me now. Otherwise I'll have the headmaster pretending to be earnest as he avoids the issue. He already takes far too much pleasure in half-truths and being circumspect around me."

Harry wasn't quite sure what that meant, and suspected Dumbledore might be the one giving him a Pointed Look tomorrow. But it seemed as close as Snape would ever come to begging for the story, and he doubted the unicorns would save him from the Potions master if he backed out now – they might even come and calm Snape down if need be. "You already know that Draco and I took you through the barrier? The strangest thing happened when we finally confronted Voldemort…" He left out the barrier trees, the bridge and the gallop around the roads and paddocks north of Hogsmeade, and concentrated on explaining about taking the spell from Simon's leg and pressing it into his scar, which opened a door into some dimension he still didn't understand. "Do you have any ideas about what magic was involved?" he asked finally.

Snape thought for a moment, eyes down, a line between his eyes. Harry recognised the look from Severus, and waited. "Hard to tell," Snape said at last, slowly, as if grudgingly admitting defeat. "I don't remember what happened, and I sense there's more you aren't telling me."

"There was more, true, but… it's hard to put it into words."

"It so often is."

Harry watched an owl float overhead. It must have been a Hogwarts owl, because it drifted around him and Snape before gliding away. "Do you know what happened to Helga Hufflepuff?"

"Legends say she never left Hogwarts." But Snape's dark eyes squinted at the equally dark mass of the Forest as he said this. It seemed extra shadowy with non-human promise as the eastern sky beyond it began to show the first hints of dawn.

"I think somehow she put herself into the Forest. I don't know why I think that, it's just…" Harry finished with a shrug.

"She was a typical Hufflepuff. Superficially bland and unassuming with a cheerful smile. Ready to do the hard work needed to achieve her ends – benign ends, that is. Slytherins, Gryffindors and Ravenclaws can work hard when they're really motivated, but it was Hufflepuff who demonstrated how someone could put her own interests aside and live her life for the greater good."

"When Professor Dumbledore assigned me, Draco and Luna to look after y- Simon, he talked about it like it was a way to bring all four Houses together – Hooch was meant to represent Hufflepuff, but she didn't stick around."

One eye rolled left to regard him. "I suppose you think there was an invisible Hufflepuff there with us?"

"I wouldn't be surprised."

"After all these years, neither would I," Snape said.

"Is it possible to be – not a ghost, but… in some way leave your spirit in the world, like a part of nature instead of, um, instead of something like Voldemort's efforts to not die?"

"If anyone could do it, I suspect Helga Hufflepuff could. She wouldn't have done it out of flashy overblown ego and scorn for perceived lesser mortals, which was the malady the Dark Lord suffered and made us suffer for…" His voice trailed off, his shoulders sagged.

The unicorn herd was dwindling into the trees.

The two wizards watched them go until the last of their light was left to imagination and hope.

Harry let out his breath. Sometimes his life seemed like a waking dream. As he shifted his attention back to the immediate, he was just in time to catch the loss etched into Snape's face as the Slytherin watched the unicorns go. It echoed Harry's own for Simon.

"Wonder how the centaurs are doing?" he said, thinking aloud again.

Snape was gazing wistfully after the unicorns. "You'd have to ask Hagrid," he said softly. "I haven't been on speaking terms with them since last year when I went looking for you and your idiotic friends in the Forest and was shot with an arrow for my troubles."

"Oh. One of them seems to think you're not so bad, if that's any help."

"Who? Not that lunatic Tigris, I hope."

"Er…"

Snape stretched one shoulder around in circles – Simon had always been a little stiff when working on that side – and grimaced. "I knew we'd run into that centaur somewhere along the leyline. Draco said one of them had put unicorn blood – actual unicorn blood! – on my eyes. Disgusting. Could only have been Tigris. Having him think you're 'not so bad'" – he rolled the words around his mouth distastefully – "is not so far removed from having Lucius Malfoy commend you for your hex-work." He rolled his shoulder once more, the material of his robes stretching tight against it. That was one difference, Harry noticed: Snape had filled out. While he certainly wasn't fat, he wasn't as thin as a rail anymore, and h

is shoulders were broader.

He set off down the hill with an easy stride that was a direct translation from horse to human. Harry fell into step next to him, ignoring the thin mouth and sideways glare. He was used to that. It was the faint smell of pet shampoo that was new. No wonder he'd thought Sirius might have been wandering around the hills in the middle of the night.

"Hopefully Mr Malfoy won't give you any trouble – Draco and Mrs Malfoy seem to be taking charge there."

"Huh. Draco's young."

"He's matured a lot lately. You should have seen that contract he made his father sign – right after Voldemort was killed. I guess having you and me standing there dripping with bits of Dark Lord helped his cause. Fastest blackmail opportunist I've ever met," he added happily.

Snape gave him an uncertain frown, like he might be wondering about some strange epidemic of hallucinations that had been going around Hogwarts. "What do you mean, 'dripping with –' no, don't tell me…" He managed to look both ill and smug.

"Draco gave you a good wash as soon as he got you back to Hogwarts. He was pretty good like that – he took the whole philosophy of a good rider looking after his horse first to heart, I think."

A raised eyebrow. "A year ago the only thing you would have had him taking to heart was a wooden stake."

"True. But he's a lot better now."

"Mightn't be the only one," Snape commented mildly. Before Harry realised this was compliment and insult all in one, Snape continued, "I almost thought I'd entered some sideways dimension when I returned from being a horse – you and Malfoy suddenly becoming bosom chums only cements that impression. He tried telling me some of our adventures in Simon Land, but there wasn't enough time for him to tell me everything. He and Millicent Bulstrode told me the oddest stories of what's been happening in the castle since my… disappearance."

"I expect all of them are true."

A Simonesque, put-upon sigh. "That's what I'm afraid of."

They kept their attention on the Forest. Harry was hoping the unicorns would reappear and he sensed Snape was almost praying for them – was that why he was really out here? Looking for unicorns? But the unicorns were gone, and as they strolled down the hill, following the path Harry had taken countless times with Simon, down towards the meadow and past the edge of the Forest without getting too close, the night breathed calm and steady without any magical flutters. Or at least that was how Harry felt it. Perhaps that was what lulled Harry enough to forget to guard his tongue.

"You died three times," he said, then realised he'd not meant to say that aloud when Snape's dark eyes snapped around from peering though the trees to bore into Harry. He probably should have noticed that his companion was getting edgier and remembered that Severus hadn't been used to people – people other than Luna and perhaps his sister – wanting to be around him without some ulterior motive; there was no reason to suspect that the intervening years between the boy and the man would have changed matters.

"Are you out here hoping to witness number four?" Snape snarled, as if blaming Harry for the loss of unicorns.

Harry winced. "I didn't mean it like that." He forced himself to look back into Snape's glare calmly. Horse Mutterer to Snape Mutterer… the future opportunities for employment stretched on without end. "The first time I thought you died, that time during the battle when Voldemort set up the barrier – I'm sorry, but it would be hypocritical of me to tell you I was particularly upset. I… was shocked more than anything, I think. And I guess it was just easier not to think about it. But the second death was pretty bad. Do you remember helping me find the Golden Sickle?"

"No. Yes." Snape rubbed his forehead. He seemed to be fighting off a headache. "I remember a giant fig tree. Finding the Sickle. Then – then it was gone. Until I saw it again quite recently. But as I was a horse at the time, I didn't understand exactly why it was important, only that it was sending a torrent of the oddest images through my head."

"You – I wasn't allowed to change the future, you understand. I had to lie to you. And then when you worked out the secret of where – when, I mean – of when I'd come from, Professor Dumbledore had to make you forget. Only I was allowed to remember. But back in this time when I showed the Sickle to Simon, he had the strangest reaction to it. I thought it was just because he was an edge creature, but I think he – I think you were remembering." As he spoke and watched the other wizard, he saw when the aggravation Snape was displaying so clearly began to ease back into a well-masked wariness, and Harry felt sympathy for the once-Simon. He paused for a shaky breath. "Then I came back to this time without having made it right with Severus. And when I got back, Severus was gone as thoroughly as if he'd never existed and I couldn't even talk to anyone about him – you."

"But you talked to Simon?" Severus looked slightly puzzled, as if at a memory not quite realised.

"Yes. At great length. Simon was a pretty good listener. A bit like you back – when I went back in time." Harry, remembering the enraged version of Severus, stepped away half a pace, hoping this edgily controlled adult version wasn't going to start throwing hexes. "Or how you were before you found out who I really was. No wonder you got so angry then –"

"Yes. I remember being angry with someone…" Snape rubbed his forehead again tiredly, but there were tell-tale lines around his mouth.

Harry knew that look. Confused by conflicting memories with little solid foundation, Snape was giving off strong signals of Simon about to throw a wobbly because his rider was incompetent. "I guess if you felt half the mortification I feel over spilling your secrets to someone who was lying about their identity, I can understand why you were so upset."

Snape pursed his thin lips. "If… it is any consolation, Simon couldn't understand a word you said."

"Really? You – he… he always seemed to be listening. I kind of thought he could understand a little."

"Only tone. Everything else was a variation on 'blah-blah-blah'."

"Thank Merlin."

"He was, however, adept at understanding 'whinge, moan, whine, poor me'."

Harry bit his lip, trying not to grin. "Pretty much summarises our conversations."

Snape snorted again, sounding very much like Simon. Harry looked down, just in case the sudden flare of infuriated loss showed in his face. He looked up again at the sound of Snape's voice.

"And then Simon turned into me."

"And stopped being Simon."

"So you'd rather I went back to being a horse. Well, fair enough. Some days…" He trailed off, and his face soured as he stared back at the hill.

Harry wondered what it would be like, having people suddenly stop loading you down with expectations. He'd had the Dursleys secretly expecting him to go magically psychotic for ten years. Then the Wizarding world expecting him to be their saviour for a problem they should have solved themselves. Maybe it was time Harry had his own expectations. "It's kind of freeing when instead of having to be what everyone wants you to be, you can just, um, _be_."

It wouldn't go down in history as one of the famous speeches around which the world pivoted, but Snape turned back to him. Harry knew that expression, although he wasn't used to seeing it – or, more likely, understanding it – on Snape. But he'd seen hints of it on Severus and when worn by Luna it was easily recognised as pity.

Harry didn't want pity.

"I'm sorry I couldn't have brought the Severus of twenty years ago back with me like you asked. You have no idea how sorry I am," Harry blurted out bitterly, suddenly realising he was sick to death of half-truths and too tired to perpetrate any more. "Because you won't allow yourself to believe it. And I really, truly miss Simon. But the truth of the matter is that Simon and Severus are part of what makes you you, and it would be dishonest to wish you back as a horse or turn back time and tell you not to become a Death Eater…" Harry swallowed and looked down. "Because it would deny the person you are. And that's just another way of someone sticking unfair expectations on you. I've decided not to allow other people to tell me who the hell I am anymore, but that goes two ways. If that makes any sense."

He waited for the sneer.

Snape seemed to be restraining himself for a moment. Then he said in a mild voice, "And here I thought you only rambled that much after you'd overdosed on chocolate cake and Ribena."

Was that a joke? Thin ice time… Uh, oh – Snape was looking annoyed again.

"You owe me four boxes of chocolate frogs."

"What? No – it was only two!" Harry blustered.

"Four with compound interest."

"So you remember being owed something…"

"Nothing can possibly wipe my memory of debts owed."

"Given the way you carry a grudge, I shouldn't be surprised…" Harry wondered too late if he should have said that aloud.

But Snape only smiled thinly. The earliest of the early birds were calling to each other through the trees. Dawn was close enough now to outline the world, and with a flick of his wand, Snape extinguished the light spell.

They turned and began the slow stroll back up the hill towards the paddock. There was no reason to go there, it was simply a good direction in which to walk. And this time something was different. Neither of them, Harry felt, was looking for unicorns now. Some gap had been bridged between the otherworldly and the human. As they climbed, zephyrs perfumed by heather and gorse flowers lingering from the previous day drifted across them. It was the smell of open grasslands and wider possibilities lying over the obtainable horizons of a new day.

"Three boxes," Harry said.

"Four."

"Three and a half."

"Four."

"All right, but you're getting your own peppermints."

"Can't abide peppermints."

Harry tripped over a rock with the shock of it. Snape offered a hand and Harry took it without thinking. "Since when have you hated peppermints?"

"I only like peppermints when I'm a horse."

He wondered if the adult Snape still liked Pink Floyd, Ribena and trippy Disney movies. He didn't dare ask. Maybe it was best not to press the issue. Then again – why not? Gryffindor bravery to the fore: "Do you still like Pink Floyd?"

"I do, although I prefer their middle period before their egos tripped them up and the band imploded. But I rarely listen to music these days."

"I expect your box of records is still there," Harry said, not wanting to admit he'd been back. His need for full truths seemed to come and go like waves onto a beach. Or perhaps he'd learned enough from the Horse Mutterer book for its lessons to have become intuitive – there was a time for truth and a time for deflection to avoid stress. "Wonder if the Ribena is still good?"

"Probably

"Thanks for sheltering me. I was a bit rough after the time-travel."

"Hmm. You were lucky you didn't go any further. There's a discrepancy wobble in the locator subset of the spell that increases exponentially."

Harry had had enough exposure to Elmsworthy to be able to translate that: more years, more danger.

"I think the spell knew what it was doing. Strange how it sent me exactly where I needed to go."

"That's the good thing about magic – a large portion of it is rooted in the subconscious. We mightn't always know what we need consciously, but we can manifest it in little inflections of the voice, twitches in the wand hand."

That sounded like something they should have been taught at Hogwarts, but Harry held his tongue on that subject. "That would explain a lot. Although I sometimes wonder if Hogwarts has some influence – I could have gone a minute either side of the time I entered the past, and things would have been very different. Filch might have found me instead of you."

"True." Another pause for thought. Snape began again, speaking as slowly as Harry did when he was trying to remember the exact play of a Quidditch match after being hit by a Bludger, "If so, the castle dropping you on me might prove Flitwick's theory that Hogwarts has a sense of humour. A very _juvenile_ sense of humour."

"Sorry about your knee."

Snape looked puzzled for a moment, then nodded in recollection. "That was a useful spell you taught me. So I suppose it worked out in my favour."

Harry bit his lip, ashamed as he guessed why Snape had needed to know an extra healing spell. But before he could apologise, however clumsily, for his father, Snape said,

"I'm not proud of hitting your head against the wall as I did. That really happened, didn't it?"

"Yes. You were provoked by me falling on you, though."

"I – I thought you were your father…"

Harry shrugged. "You've always thought I was my father."

Snape had the grace to bow his head momentarily, the fall of his hair hiding his expression. "Yes." He straightened again, shaking his hair out of his face. For a moment he looked younger and Harry caught a brief glimpse of the boy he'd met in a dusty corridor in an abandoned tower.

"I suppose I couldn't have been allowed to remember you."

Harry tilted his head, surprised, pleased and a little apprehensive. "No. It would have given too much away about future events."

"And I suppose it would have been wrong to have stopped me from joining the Death Eaters. We needed a spy, after all," Snape said neutrally. His hands were folded in the sleeves of his robes and his stance gave nothing away of what he was thinking. Harry doubted even Robert Python could have read all the nuances in this one.

"For what it's worth, I didn't want to leave like that. But I couldn't just abandon everyone in this time."

"I realise that." Snape stared at Harry a moment longer before his eyes narrowed, but not with malice. "Did Dumbledore send you back immediately? I seem to recall Lucius Malfoy being upset over something."

"Um. I might have… accidentally taken out my annoyance on him."

"Quite some accident. He had a broken nose."

Harry brightened. "That's right. I wasn't really aiming." He shrugged. "A bit cowardly, really. I was wearing an invisibility cloak at the time."

"As the Muggles say, it's the thought that counts."

"No," Harry mused, "I think it's the right hook that counts."

Snape laughed, then looked surprised. He sniffed in what could have been a laugh sneaking out despite his wishes. "It's the little things in life."

Harry would have grinned, but he'd already thought of something far more serious. "I wanted to hit that smug bastard with something a lot harder – like a brick or an Unforgivable. Do you remember that it was Lucius who was trying to kill you when you turned into Simon?"

Snape nodded slowly. "Vaguely. Draco told me about it."

"Really?" Where were the fireworks? The green flashes of deadly curses?

"If you're thinking that it was very brave of him, telling me when he knew very well that I could poison his father and make it look like an accidental plate of tainted shellfish, you can rest easy. I'm not going to kill Lucius."

Was it only Harry's imagination that supplied the _yet_? Asking about plans for revenge wouldn't be polite. "So long as he keeps a low profile and I can keep him where I can see him, I suppose I can stand having him on the same planet as me," he said grudgingly. "Draco has plans that involve his father becoming a massive philanthropist on behalf of Muggleborns."

Snape inclined his head. "That's what Draco told me."

"Lucius is going to die of shame, isn't he?"

"I'll make sure of it."

"A nice cold dish of revenge, is that how it is?"

Black eyes gleamed like fallen stars. "The best sort of revenge goes on for decades. But I owe Narcissa and Draco too much to actually kill a member of their family."

Harry decided it was perhaps one of the best choices he'd ever made, not going into Slytherin. A Slytherin's social life was far too complicated. "What about Bellatrix LeStrange?"

"I heard she was dead," Snape said uneasily.

"Yes, she is. That was the bit where you kicked her head in."

"What? Really?" There was a brief, delighted smile. "How did that happen?"

"Er, well, she'd just hit Draco with the Cruciatus and so you kicked her leg and broke her thigh bone. Then when she fell over, she lifted her wand. Simon really hated it when people did that. So he – I mean you – Merlin, this is confusing… _you, _you kicked her in the head. She was dead a few seconds after that."

"Hmm. Well, I suppose that counts as my good deed for the decade." Snape was doing a bad job of concealing how proud he was. "Narcissa can hardly blame me for that – I was protecting her son, after all."

"Quite right. You know, it's odd seeing so many people like Mrs Malfoy when twenty-one years have passed for them and it's been only about the same number of days for me. I'm sorry about Mr Nott – he seemed alright when I met him…" He shook his head. "All those people I had breakfast with, and they became Death Eaters…"

"Yes. Avery was being his usual idiot self, but you seemed to be getting along quite well with Rosier."

"Remember being trapped in Potions? You, me and Rosier?"

"Far too well. Rosier was helpful then."

"Did he ever get you your chocolate frogs after I left? I asked him to."

"Are you trying to weasel out of repaying me?"

"Maybe."

"He got me one box."

"Then I only owe you two boxes, not four. I still find it hard to imagine Rosier becoming a Death Eater – Avery was an idiot, he'd have followed someone into the Death Eaters if he thought it was the cool thing to do – a bit like Pettigrew – but Rosier, Wilkes and Nott… they all seemed more intelligent."

"They were intelligent. Too intelligent. Like Lucius, they knew exactly what they wanted – but in their cases they wanted to test their abilities to the point of destruction rather than for political gain. So long as it was the destruction of others, that was all that mattered to them. I believe they understood the Dark Lord earlier than I managed to do. That was what made them all the more terrible, that they knew they were following a madman and it only excited them the more."

"It's still a shame."

"Don't waste your pity on them. They didn't deserve it. I might feel some regret for Nott's death, but only on Theodore's behalf. He should have had a better father."

Harry wasn't sure what he could say to that. Theodore was a peer, but they'd never been friends. It was hard to generate the suitable level of empathy for someone like that, but saying so would sound cold. "It seems like your memory is coming back."

"You appear to be jogging my memory." He hesitated and then a strange light passed across his face, culminating in an evil smile. "For example the Whomping Willow incident. Some interesting key details I wish I had been allowed to keep – you feeding Black's wand to a werewolf, for example."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, you remember _that_. I'm amazed you haven't rubbed Sirius' nose in it before."

"I only recalled it a few moments ago." He hunched his shoulders and looked around as the owl flew overhead. "It was the only bright spark of an otherwise horrific evening."

"Was it the Sickle or being changed back into a human that made you start to remember things again?"

They had reached the paddock. The owl was perched on a rail. It hooted in greeting. Snape ignored it and picked at a splinter as he considered Harry's question.

"Definitely the Sickle, although I wasn't able to properly understand what I was remembering. Horse don't organise memories the same way as humans do – their knowledge depends even more heavily on emotion and routine than ours does. Seeing the Sickle confused the hell out of Simon… Harry Lovegood… Which brings me to another question." Snape drew himself up to his full height, which, while it was a little less than Harry remembered, was still intimidating, especially when combined with that glare. "What are your intentions towards my niece?"

Harry blinked, opened his mouth, shut it again, and thought. "Honourable," he said at last. Truthfully. It was perhaps the only answer Snape would understand.

Snape seemed to; he nodded and turned back to rest his elbows on the fence. "I suppose that is acceptable."

Another pause. This one didn't have the underlying tension of earlier. Finally, Snape asked, "So… that Sickle…?"

"Yeah. It really needs to be returned." And he had a sneaking suspicion that this was the real reason Stephanie had woken him tonight.

"Not something you want left hanging about where anyone can find it and destroy the castle."

"No. Er… did Dumbledore mention we hid it in the cupboard down by your workroom?"

"No, he didn't. But Stephanie has updated me on the details, although I haven't had the inclination to dig it out yet."

It was lucky the portrait hadn't told Snape the true story of his lab being blown up.

"I think taking it back through the tunnel is out."

The line between Snape's eyes deepened. "I had the oddest dream last night. Nightmare, rather. We were running along some tunnels and they were collapsing around us. Oh, and I was a badger."

"Ah. Not a nightmare."

Snape sighed. "It wouldn't be, would it. Dear old Hogwarts. That was the tunnel to the Glasshouse?" At Harry's nod, he continued, "So that giant tree with the psychotropic fruit was real? And the fig?"

"You ate one."

"Bloody silly of me."

"You gave me a bit of a scare, yes."

Snape was frowning. "Did you really stick your hand in my mouth to try and get it out?"

Harry laughed. He couldn't help it. "I'd forgotten that bit. Yes, I think I did. I said you scared me. But the magic gave you the boost you needed to catalyse your shape-changing charm." Harry let out a heavy breath as the full memory of just what a fright Severus had given him returned in force. "Luckily for us – it was the badger that got the Sickle in the end. Although I still say you were a lunatic for having eaten magical fruit."

Snape didn't take offence. "Hm. What about the fig?"

"You were the one who ate it – you tell me."

His impertinence didn't cost him points (although as the school year had technically ended Snape might be saving up point-taking for the next one). Snape merely gave him a haughty look, one Simon might have used when surveying a rider foolish enough to have fallen off. Harry hoped he hid the jolt of sudden sorrow it gave him – he'd already told Snape that he missed Simon. What he didn't want was for Snape to know exactly how terribly he missed his, _Harry's_, horse. That was private.

"I refer to the fig you used in the barrier-breaking potion – Elmsworthy sent me a letter to explain why he'd borrowed some of my equipment to build a percussion device, and to tell me you used some of the fig for the potion to counter the Vivicus Charm."

(Elmsworthy had sent a letter? That had been quick. He must have sent it along with the lawyer Snape had mentioned to Luna. But he doubted Elmsworthy had told Snape Harry had given him some of the fig.)

"…Although between you and me, Mister Elmsworthy undoubtedly stashed away for his private edification."

"Really? I couldn't say. It'd be a bit devious for me."

"Gryffindor."

Harry smiled. "Thank you."

"Why do you people always think that's a compliment?"

"Experience." Harry's smile widened. Snape didn't scowl.

The owl gave an apologetic _mewp!_ as if regretting the necessity of abandoning them, and skimmed away, off to hunt the last of the moths or perhaps find its nest for the day. Snape watched it go, a pensive look on his face. In a softer voice, a voice which could have meant anything from Severus imparting something to a friend or Snape about to blow up like a crate of Filibusters, he said, "Are you going to tell me about the fig, or is it some secret?"

"No – well, yes it is, but you helped get it –"

"Really? The Sickle didn't jog my memory that far. Did you take it when you returned to this time? I'm astonished it travelled back with you."

"Actually, it fell into my pocket in this time. Do you remember when you – when Simon – when… when we went to get the mistletoe?" Snape shook his head, eyes shadowed, so Harry told him the fall into the Glasshouse and the wild gravity and Simon coming to the rescue. "Thanks for coming to get me."

"Luna sent me, you said."

"Yeah, but…" Harry shrugged. "Thanks for coming to get me. It was pretty bad."

"How bad?"

"Inner ear goes screwy along with your brain bad."

Snape did frown now, but from thought rather than ire. Not a Snape expression Harry was familiar with, but he'd seen it often enough on Severus. There was a tilt of the head that was an echo of Simon, and Harry had to look away for a moment. He pretended he was looking for the owl rather than his horse.

"I wonder how much of Simon's ability to get into the Glasshouse came from the shoes," Snape mused, stroking his mouth with a long finger. "I lost those when I changed back, but doubtless they can be either found or remade."

Harry leaned on the fence next to him. "Hmm. Good point. Maybe another horse would be able to get into the Glasshouse?"

"It's possible. Or another edge creature, although the way you keep on my left side suggests you might be more comfortable with a horse."

"Oh! I hadn't noticed…" But it was true. Harry had spent most of the past half hour keeping Snape on his right, just like he'd do when leading Simon around. He scratched behind his ear, embarrassed. "I didn't mean to imply you're a horse."

"Not currently, no." Snape seemed more amused than cross. "And I would object quite strongly to someone else trying to put a leadrope on me." He didn't seem to notice the way his right hand drifted over the inside of his left forearm.

"I can't think of another edge creature that could be as handy as a horse. Cats are too small, and I wouldn't know where to begin with controlling a deer or a pig." He grinned. "Can you imagine Draco trying to convince a pig to go through a magical barrier?"

"I could say something unkind about Crabbe and Goyle, but as their Head of House it would be beneath me."

"It's a shame you – er," Harry quickly decided not to say what he'd been intending to say about Snape's treatment of _other_ Houses. "…It's a shame you're not allowed to change back into a horse."

"Was it Professor Dumbledore who told you I'm not supposed to use the shape-shifting charm?"

"He said it's dangerous. I'm inclined to agree." It was a heavy admission.

Snape's sly smile deepened one corner of his mouth. "Well, never mind. There might be another way back."

"I'd feel a lot more comfortable with the Sickle returned to the Glasshouse."

"As would I. Apparently the wards of the castle will take years to reassemble fully. Further shocks would set the reintegration back decades, or even undermine the architectural integrity."

Harry shook his head. "I wonder if Professor Dumbledore will let me help if I learned some warding spells? Now that I don't have to worry about Voldemort trying to kill me my summer is fairly free."

"Now that I don't have to worry about the Dark Lord finding out I'm a spy, feeding me my own liver and slowly roasting me over an open fire _my_ summer is wide open, too, although I'll have to give the Ministry some information on prospective bolt-holes where any of the escaped Death Eaters might have gone to ground. And Luna mentioned some ridiculous fancy about finding a Bunyip. Other than that, I hope to have a fair amount of free time myself."

"If you'd like to investigate the possibilities of returning the Sickle…?" Harry wasn't quite sure how he was meant to say to Severus Snape: would you like to work on a project with me? "I was going to ask Draco or Hermione, and Luna often has the weirdest ideas which turn out to be bang on target, but Hermione's scared of horses, and Draco –"

"Draco is busy politicking and cleaning up after his father. I should hope Granger will be spending some time with her family, also." Between the lines, Harry heard: _I can't work with the know-it-all_. "Luna…" His fingers wove between each other and tightened. "I don't want Luna going through that barrier. She's just the sort to go haring off after whatever made those nests up in the trees. Or did I imagine those?"

"Once you've seen the Sickle again I expect you'll remember details a lot better, but, no, you didn't imagine those nests. And I'd like to avoid their builders, too. What about the headmaster?"

"Avoid him, too?" Snape almost smiled, then grew serious again. "With the greatest of respect to Albus, even if we found the world's most patient old nag for him, it wouldn't help. He can't ride a merry-go-round for more than three minutes without getting thrown off. Although it would be prudent to keep him abreast of the project. This time."

Harry bit his lip. He couldn't stop himself from asking: "Sirius? He'd be up for another riding lesson, surely?"

"That… he… Never mention that event again. I'm sure he'd love to rub it in that…" Snape trailed off with an indignant sniff and a scowl.

Harry took pity on him. "If he gives you trouble, just ask him if he still sings soprano."

"I beg your pardon?"

"He… er… he hit the pommel a little awkwardly."

Snape's shoulders trembled. He flicked at his nose with his thumb, incidentally covering what could have been a smirk. "Really. Well, well. I shall… keep that up my sleeve. You haven't completely forgiven him for calling you 'Squit', have you?"

"Oh, so you remember that bit."

"Again, I wasn't sure if it was imagination."

"Do you remember being a badger and attacking him?"

Snape winced and his hand went to his ribs. "So that happened, too. And –" He stopped suddenly and watched Harry carefully from the corner of his eye. "You had your wand on him. You threatened him."

Harry nodded. "Yes," he said softly. There was an uncomfortable pause before Harry added, "He says he's forgiven me, but I'm not sure if I've… oh, it's complicated."

After another pause, Snape replied carefully, "Family tends to be."

Harry gave him a wry smile, glad Snape hadn't taken the opportunity to twist the knife over Sirius. "You've met the Dursleys, have you?"

"Your aunt and uncle?" Snape stared off into the unfolding peach and apricot tones of dawn. "You told me something about them when you were back in time. How they, as Muggles, hated you for being magical.

"How strange," he continued in a soft, hollow voice. Perhaps it had been the memory of Harry's defence of the kicked badger, but the tension had all but gone. "It's as if all the vague images that I considered mere leftovers of dreams are suddenly proving to be real. Next thing I know, that Creevey boy will spring up waving a photo of me standing on the roof –"

"Someone stopped him from taking the photo. Professor Vector, I think."

Snape blinked. "You're joking." His frown was ferocious with alarmed recollection. "I – I was on the roof of the castle with you sitting on my back. I had this moment of lucidity where I found myself wondering how in Merlin's name I'd found myself in this situation and maybe I should – should cast the counter-spell… and then you – you said…" Snape looked indignant "… I believe you called me a 'good boy' and a 'good horse'. At that point I knew it had to be a hallucination, so I walked down the wall and went back to my paddock. Presumably."

"You cantered down the wall," Harry mumbled. He wanted to cover his face, now feeling rather hot, with his hands. Bloody, bloody bad timing – Luna's potion had worked after all. Simon had very nearly turned back into Snape. "We landed in the rose garden and managed to squeeze you through one of the doors in the wall. Simon – you – you seemed to be having quite a good time, although you had a massive headache afterwards."

"Who the hell gave me that potion?"

"I'd rather not say."

"It was either you, Draco or Lun- …ah. Luna."

Had Harry twitched, or was Snape reading his mind? "I never said that!"

"No, but I can tell when you lie."

"What?" Harry had suspected that for a long time. "How? Legilimency?"

"I don't need Legilimency to tell when you lie. Your mouth moves. That's enough of a clue."

"No, really."

"If I tell you you'll tell everyone else. So how is that supposed to help me?"

"I promise I won't tell everyone else. I'll… I'll help you set those charms to replace the broken telewindows in your lab." He neglected to mention that he wanted to know how to make them for himself. Even Gryffindors were capable of being sneaky when pressed.

"Hm. I'll hold you to that." Snape leaned back on an elbow and studied Harry. "Your left eyelid twitched on her name. You always spit out a story as if it's rehearsed rather than from experience. Every time you tell me a bare-faced lie you stare me straight in the eye."

"But you're supposed to look someone in the eye when you tell them the truth. Aren't you?"

"A firm handshake and direct eye contact… what rubbish. Truth has its own signature. Horses are very good at picking up body language."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Like that, yes."

Harry gave Snape a cynical look. "Now you're just taking the piss."

Snape shrugged and didn't take points from Gryffindor. But then it was the holidays, which might also have been why he'd sworn in front of a student.

"I suppose being a spy would have honed that ability."

Snape looked away.

Watching from the corner of his eye, Harry saw Severus Simon Snape. It was as if the three aspects suddenly clicked.

"The tunnel," the man said in a voice as hushed as falling snowflakes, "it was falling down."

Harry shuddered. He still had the occasional nightmare about that. "Yes."

"You sheltered me with your body."

"I don't remember…" But he did. He'd been terrified that he would die, and that he wouldn't die alone. The fear of having altered the future for the worse by leading Severus to his doom had been in its way as bad as the surety he was going to die.

"I do. I was a badger and the tunnel was crashing down and you braced yourself over me, as if you thought you could stop it from killing me."

"I wasn't really thinking…"

"You never do. Arrogant boy."

Harry snorted and tried not to laugh out loud. "I'll take that as a thank you."

"You do that if it makes you happy."

Harry shook his head. Remembering… "I meant it when I said I wished I could've taken you back with me. I knew your future. I'd say sorry, but…"

"But sorry doesn't mean much. And reparation – penance – these cannot always be counted on." He tilted his head and a sheaf of black hair fell away, leaving his expression naked. "You did what you had to do, Harry."

Harry wasn't sure if that direct gaze meant Snape was lying or not. "You were really mad with me."

A sneer, but one he'd seen on Severus whenever the boy had been amused. "Like that's a novelty. It worked out as it was meant to. Although perhaps my anger was… not entirely justified."

Harry waited. Was this an apology?

There was a faint sigh from the Slytherin. "We mightn't need another horse to get back to the Glasshouse, but we will need some practice."

He stepped back and said softly: _"Poseidon."_

There was a swirl of darkness against the dawn. Harry blinked, not believing his eyes. But he had to believe his ears, and they told him that the clink of the metal bit in the horse's mouth was real.

Simon. Standing there, saddled and bridled. The thin light gleamed off the sleek hide and silky fall of mane and tail, buffing the dark brown leather of the saddle and the silver of the buckles to a faint shine that caught on the edge of sight.

"Are you sure this is a good idea? Professor Dumbledore said you could get trapped again –"

Simon's ears went back.

"…Or is the spell not as dangerous as he thinks?"

The ears relaxed and the head dipped fractionally.

"There was so much sorcerous magic flooding the loosebox when you were changed back into a human that – did it somehow stabilise the charm?"

Could all horses look smug, or was it an ability reserved for Simon?

"Well. It's a pity we can't tell Ginny."

The ears swept back again, and Harry hurried to add, "No, I swear I won't tell anyone. Although I guess the Elmsworthy family lawyer knows – he came to put a patent on the spell, didn't he?"

A noncommittal swish of the tail.

Harry stepped forward and, when Simon didn't move away, picked up the reins in his left hand and placed his foot in the stirrup. With the other hand on the front of the saddle, he swung up onto the horse's back. Simon – Simon, Severus or Snape – shifted, finding his footing under Harry's weight, and then as Harry settled himself into the saddle and picked up the reins –

No. This was another of those little tests Snape liked to set.

_Very carefully_ keeping the reins loose because he really, _really_ didn't want the trouble that would erupt if Simon thought Harry was putting himself in charge, Harry took up just enough slack so that the reins wouldn't flop about and annoy Simon. He coughed to clear his throat.

"In your own time, sir. The track going just north of Squirrel Hill shouldn't have anyone on it, especially at this time of the morning."

The horse dipped its head to acknowledge this, and eased forwards.

It took a few awkward strides before the horse made an annoyed sound, switched its tail, and – Harry swore he could _hear_ Simon telling himself to relax – found the balance of horse and rider.

And then it was so normal that Harry nearly reached forward to pat the horse's neck.

Fortunately he strangled that impulse before it made it past his elbow.

With Harry's cloak and the silky black tail rippling out behind them they cantered off along the fenceline, past the gate leading into the field where a Muggle horse named Simon had lived for a brief time, and up into the hills behind the castle, up towards the heather-clad moors and into the emerging day.

The End.

ooOOoo


End file.
